Mussel

The traditional seafood stew of Provence is typically made with tomatoes, shellfish, local fish, and herbs, but this version is made without tomatoes, allowing the fish and saffron to be prominent. Cooking it over a wood fire adds a bit of smoke to the beautiful fish. Serve with a crusty baguette to soak up the flavorful broth.

Mussels unfettered by garlic taste more like their own sweet, turgid selves. On the tiny porch of the seaside bar where we ate this pasta, the cook who was the mussel gatherer who was the bartender who was the pastrymaker added crushed, dried seaweed to the finished dish. He cooked the mussels and the pasta over a fire he’d built of driftwood a few meters from the bar. It was a fairly good-sized blaze, ample enough to heat an old cauldron along with the mussel pot, it bubbling with a potion of wild myrtle berries in which he immersed a great, gray fish net, tinting it, cooking it to a deep, bright blue.

Prepare it with only mussels, with only clams, with various types of clams, make it for two of you or for all of you. Carry a great, steamy pot of it outdoors to a table set with candles and backlit by the moon on a cool, almost cold evening, everyone nuzzled in sweaters but still in shorts and sandals, hungry, tired, perhaps, happy. Serve it then, just the way it is offered in the tiny taverns and six-table houses that look to the sea between Amalfi and Positano.

Shellfish and beans are a classic Italian combination. In the tradition of frugal and resourceful peasant cooking, nothing goes to waste in this dish. As the beans simmer away with the thyme, rosemary, and chile, they create another invaluable ingredient: a delicious stock. Starchy and flavorful, it’s added to the steaming shellfish, thickening their juices into a complex broth. The cavolo nero adds an earthy note and a chewy texture to the seafood stew. This is a rustic family meal in which everyone should take part, serving themselves from the bountiful platter at the center of the table. And don’t forget to serve big hunks of crusty bread for sopping up all those juices.

Imagine eating mussels in their purest form. One bite of this dish and you’ll feel like you’re at sea. Quickly steamed in a rich seaweed broth, the mussels here are simply amazing. Sticky rice is great for soaking up the sauce, although I also like slurping it straight from the mussel shells.

Shellfish lovers drool over the drunken-sweet richness of the sea infusing every inch of this dish. You can use clams, shrimp, and scallops as we do or substitute your own favorites—mussels, oysters, or even some firm-fleshed fish. Just be sure to serve the pan roast with a spoon and plenty of good bread to sop up all the tasty sauce.

Who better to provide a cioppino recipe than Jesse Llapitan, the executive chef of San Francisco’s Palace Hotel, the city’s grande dame? Every San Franciscan puts his or her own stamp on this rustic fisherman’s stew, but the Dungeness crab is nonnegotiable. Chef Llapitan attended the 2005 Workshop.

Brian teaches a paella class at the winery occasionally to help take the fear out of preparing rice the Spanish way. It’s a great dish for parties because guests love watching paella come together, the flavors and fragrance building as ingredients are added. Brian cooks his paella by the traditional method, outdoors over a hardwood fire. Gauging the heat of the fire is the only challenge; if it is too hot, the rice will scorch. Be sure to let the coals burn down until they are well covered with white ash before starting. And if you still lack confidence after trying this recipe, sign up for the class. Paella tastes best warm, not hot, so allow for some cooling time.

A BEAUTIFUL BOWL OF FRESHLY STEAMED MUSSELS is even better with marinara sauce, with the tomato playing off the tender, salty shellfish. Serve this dish as a starter, or ladle the mussels over spaghetti for a hearty pasta dish. Be sure to serve a loaf of warm, crusty bread alongside to soak up the juices.

CIOPPINO, THE CLASSIC ITALIAN-AMERICAN FISH STEW for which San Francisco is famous, takes on a new life in the Northwest, with fennel and a hint of anchovy to boost the flavor. The mashed avocado is used as a thickener and adds a richness to the dish, but it’s optional. We use a variety of seafood, but feel free to use whatever is fresh in your fish market. We like to use true cod, also known as Pacific cod, because of its flaky texture and mild flavor. (Pacific cod is preferable to Atlantic cod, an overfished species.) True cod is often available frozen. If you find it fresh ask your fishmonger to bone it for you.

This is more than a soup; it is a generous meal fit for a gathering, and it has everything I love about food and flavor. I learned to make it from my French “mother,” Lulu. It’s one of the longest recipes in the book, but taken in parts it is not hard to make. I think of it as several steps: first make a fish stock, then prepare the fish and shellfish; make the rouille (garlic mayonnaise flavored with pepper purée); make the soup base with vegetables and the fish stock; toast garlic croutons; and finally put it all together, cooking the fish and shellfish in the deeply flavored soup base, and serve it with rouille and croutons to pass at the table.

Even though saffron is a Spanish spice (and the world’s most expensive one), it is often used in Mexican cuisine. I use it in this cream sauce for a richer, more flavorful alternative to the very popular mussels marinara. You can find bagged mussels, already scrubbed and debearded, at most markets. Be sure to discard any mussels with broken and open shells before you cook them, and any that don’t open after they’ve been cooked.

In a cafe in southern France about thirty years ago, I sat in a bistro and timidly prepared to order salade Niçoise. Just then, a huge bowl of steaming, powerfully fragrant mussels was delivered to a man sitting at the table next to me, and I boldly changed my order. The hot mussels were essentially tossed with fennel and fennel seeds, which I could see, but the licorice bouquet and indeed flavor were far stronger than that combination alone could provide. Later, I realized that there was a secret ingredient: an anise liqueur, either Pernod or Ricard. The combination is alluring.

Many years ago in Barcelona, I saw mussels and clams cooked a la plancha—on a thick slab of hot metal much like the griddles used by short-order cooks. The technique is common in Spain, indeed throughout the Mediterranean. Though the mollusks are usually served unadorned, they’re filled with their own flavors as well as a certain smokiness contributed by their juices, which burn on the hot surface. This smokiness sometimes makes people think that mussels cooked this way are cooked over wood, but that is not the case, nor is it necessary. It’s best to serve the mussels in the same skillet in which they cooked. To eat, remove a mussel from the shell and dredge it on the dried juices of the pan.

Most steamed mussel preparations contain parsley, garlic, and white wine, with the occasional addition of tomatoes and herbs. There are, however, other directions to take with no additional effort. Generally, there are two easy changes to make: First, use distinctive Asian seasonings like ginger, soy, or curry powder. And second, omit the cooking liquid. By relying only on the mussels’ natural juices, you can add fewer seasonings (and less of each) and still produce a flavorful sauce that is less watery than most. I always serve Asian-style mussels with a bowl of rice on the side.

For potato salads, my dressing of choice is usually a simple vinaigrette—here no more than oil and vinegar—augmented by a handful each of chopped shallots for crunch and flavor and parsley for color and freshness. The result is a great summer dish, good-looking and good tasting. As it stands, this is a potato salad with mussels; if you like, you can increase the amount of mussels, by as much as double, giving each component equal weight.

Zarzuela—the word means “medley” in Spanish—unites a variety of fish and is, like bouillabaisse, a dish whose ingredients can be varied according to what you can find. The traditional sauce accompaniment for Zarzuela is Romesco (page 606), but the variation makes that superfluous. I love this with crusty bread.

More than anywhere else, cooks in Portugal combine seafood and meat with abandon, and it usually works. This dish cries out for crusty bread. If you want a milder garlic flavor, add it along with the tomatoes so it cooks a little longer.

I’d had mussels in New York, even as a child, but never did they look so appealing as they did my first night in Rome, laced with onion, garlic, tomato, parsley, and lemon. Since then I’ve learned to love and prepare mussels in a variety of ways, but I always come back to these. Serve with lots of bread for sopping up the broth.