Cookbooks

Even though places like St. Hubert Rotisserie have been serving the “hot chicken sandwich” since the 1930s, no factual proof exists that it originated in Quebec. Our only proof is that we haven’t seen it outside the province, whereas inside, it’s a weekly staple. It’s basically hot, shredded chicken, served with galvaude (peas and gravy, usually a poutine variation) and two pieces of white bread. In this recipe, you have four meat options: pork, duck, rabbit, or chicken. They’re all hot and they’re all delicious. For pork, use the pulled pork recipe in Scallops with Pulled Pork (page 30). For the other meats, there are three steps: (1) cure it, (2) smoke it, and (3) confit it. If you don’t have a smoker can, you will need to dig up an empty 1-quart (1-liter) tin can for step 2. If you live in the States, D’Artagnan (www.dartagnan.com) will deliver the duck fat you need in step 4 to your door. If not, use bacon fat. The gravy is the perfect clone of the local poulet barbecue sauce. It’s not a hot sauce, but it’s also not that thickish gravy that tastes like spinach and baking soda. It’s zingier, a cross between BBQ sauce and gravy. It is classic on these sandwiches, but it’s also good, minus the bread, on duck, pork, poutine, or yes, chicken.

When we wrote “mackerel” on the blackboard menu, it didn’t sell, so we renamed it silver tail and a star was born. Now when we serve silver tail with bacon and sage, or in a breakfast Benedict, it flies out of the kitchen. We sell so much that our supplier thinks we might be feeding farmed killer whales in the backyard. Our guys at McKiernan Luncheonette do a great job of smoking 50 pounds (23 kilograms) every week, which culminates with the Saturday brunch mackerel Benedict, with eggs, hollandaise, maple syrup, and an English muffin.

Of all the crab we receive at the restaurant, West Coast Dungeness and the common crab from the Saint Lawrence (tourteau, brown crab, or Jonah) are our favorites. Many of the same guys who fish for lobster in these areas also fish for crab. But oddly enough, these crabs don’t make it to Montreal. Instead, they’re highjacked somewhere along the way for the Asian market. The crab is typically picked clean and frozen in blocks, shipped to China (for example), sawed, and only then sent back in one-pound (455-gram) packs. Although we make a point of using PEI or Quebec crab, Maine seems to understand the game a bit better. At Portland’s Browne Trading Company, you can buy fresh, handpicked Jonah crab, meat and claws: our dream. Whatever crab you buy (or catch!), make very sure to check the meat closely for bits of shell and cartilage that might have been left.

All of the eels of the world begin and return to the Sargasso Sea: can you imagine a more disgusting place to swim? It sounds like the scariest place on earth. In the course of their journey, some of those eels swim down the Saint Lawrence River, near the shores of Kamouraska, Quebec. And some of those eels get caught in weir traps by guys like Bernard Lauzier. Bernard smokes and brines eels and sturgeon, both of which we use at all three restaurants for many dishes, including this one right here. Eel is so meaty and delicious; Fred refers to it as the “undersea tenderloin.”

According to argumentalist extraordinaire John Bil, these are actually called “stuffies.” Everyone seems to agree that this is a great way to eat razor clams, as it’s not uncommon for us to sell one hundred pounds (forty-five kilograms) per week at Joe Beef. We get our clams from the elusive fisherman John Doyle, who lives on the northern coast of the Saint Lawrence. To our knowledge, no commercial fisheries in Canada sell razor clams. If you want to prepare clams this way, but can’t find razor, quahog will do.

We wouldn’t call ourselves purists (like John Bil), but we tend to agree that steamed clams served with anything other than their own broth and butter is an abomination. We also think PEI might just have the prettiest white sand–dug clams we have ever seen.

Whelks are giant marine snails. In towns along the Saint Lawrence (like Kamouraska), you can find them in gallon jars, marinated in brine or white vinegar. At Joe Beef, we buy whelks fresh from La Mer, Montreal’s big seafood broker, and serve them with escargot butter. In Burgundy, chefs are judged by their snail butter. Literally. You can work under three different Michelin-starred chefs and they’ll all tell you that there is only one way to make escargot butter—and each way will be completely different. This classic recipe is the escargot butter that drowned Montreal after Expo 67 (see page 52). If you’re not a whelk fan, you can enjoy the butter slipped under the skin of a chicken before it is roasted, on a steak, over mashed potatoes, or just spread on toast.

David’s childhood memories inspired this recipe: “When I was a kid, my father and his in-laws would go fishing off the Rivière-du-Loup Wharf. They would come back with buckets full of smelt that they caught using bamboo fishing sticks. We would get out the Robin Hood flour and start frying them up. They’re delicious and what’s better, they’re small so you know that they’re not feasting on anything dubious at the bottom of the sea.” We serve smelt piled high on a plate with mayo on the side.

Fred worked at Toqué! in the early 1990s, and one of his many tasks was cleaning squid. Every so often, the Anglophone sous chef would order from the Quebecois fishmonger at La Mer, and one day “15 pounds” of squid was heard as “50 pounds.” That week Fred cleaned 150 pounds of squid. He couldn’t smell squid for about ten years without feeling sick, but he’s back on the squid train now. The only way he can bear it, though, is filled with lobster and cooked in lobster juice.

We do not have a story for this recipe. Sorry.

We cannot not dedicate this recipe to the New Dynasty restaurant in Montreal’s Chinatown. Every Joe Beef cook has woken up at least once with an odd burn in his or her gut from the MSG and a soy sauce stain on his or her mouth after eating there. At New Dynasty, the tables are covered and the lights are really bright, not unlike Dexter’s murder rooms! The kitchen serves until 5:00 A.M., and the boss is patient with drunks who are loud and drunks who fall asleep at the table (that is, Peter Meehan). Here you can find every sea crawler you dare to eat: eel, jellyfish (served with cold chicken), huge live crabs, winkles, hacked-up crispy lobster, razor clams, and more. Inevitably, we start a meal at New Dynasty with the big Vancouver oysters, steamed with black bean sauce, one or two each, and a hefty pour of cold beer from a teapot. For this recipe, we use Gigas oysters from our friend Victor McLaggan of Cortes Island, British Columbia. They are as big as my feet and a bitch to open, but they have huge meats that can be overcooked without much sorrow. This is a case, unlike real life, where it’s easy to feel inept with a big one. If possible, ask your fish guy to open the oysters. If you can’t get these big oysters where you live, use smaller shucked oysters and bake them in ramekins. You’ll probably have sauce left over, so store it in the fridge and use it on chicken, duck, or anything else that sounds good.

This great side dish has a bit of a Quebecois-lumberjack-in-Bollywood taste. It is red lentils cooked like dahl, seasoned like baked beans. It is a pork chop’s best friend, or will mate with a hefty breakfast.

It’s tough to find real chowder in this city, so we promised we would always have delicious homemade chowder by the cup or bowl at McKiernan. Ours is made with fresh Carr’s PEI clams.

When we started Joe Beef, the town was suffering from a weird vibe, a kind of up-the-ante feeling with regard to food: people went out to eat like college kids drink beer. If someone was doing testicles, you could count on someone else to pair them with pizza. Feet were kept on chickens, and heads and eyeballs were served as sides. There was no end in sight, much less vegetables. To put a damper on the frenzied quest for more, we thought that maybe the next ingredient should be inedible: not gold shavings, but what about an old radio? Doesn’t “oysters on the radio” sound good? When we ran out of radios, we used bags of sugar, erotic novels, or old album covers. The oysters themselves are simple: plump specimens topped with crisp bacon, chives, potatoes, eggs, cream, and some bread crumbs. Serve yours on any inedible ingredient of choice.

This recipe is from a trip that Fred took with Allison and her parents to the Czech Republic: “I was thirty, traveling in the back of an Opel minivan loaded with adults. The bottles of beer were always too small and the stops never frequent enough. This was back when I was ignoring a little gluten issue and drinking vast quantities of Czechvar/Budvar. Basically, this trip was like the Griswolds in Prague. “While visiting an old brewery’s beer garden, I noticed a ‘little things to eat with beer’ section of the menu. It was full of pickled herring, utopenec (pickled sausage), and cheese. We ordered them all, and when the cheese arrived, it was like a gathering of all of the cheese leftovers blended with beer. It was unsightly and completely delicious.” You will need four (4-ounce) cheese molds with holes or four Styrofoam coffee cups with holes poked in the bottoms and sides, plus four paper coffee filters to make the cheese.

This recipe is an homage. While aboard the Ocean, en route to Prince Edward Island, we had three choices for dinner: haddock Dugléré, chicken jalfrezi, or fish chowder and sandwich. Meredith went for the chicken, everyone else had haddock. Fred looked at Meredith’s, knew it was better, and talked the entire trip about ordering it on our return. As we made our way back to Quebec, all he wanted was a warm and true jalfrezi. So we’re back on the train, in our favorite booth, two bottles of wine down when the attendant comes to our table. Fred orders. “Sorry, sir, all we have left are ham sandwiches and Pringles.” Devastation in the form of a one-hour rant about the decline of the railroad ensues. The jalfrezi had such an impact that we wanted to get it into this chapter. So we asked ex–Joe Beefer and curry pro Kaunteya Nundy to come up with a classic jalfrezi. Not surprisingly, he came up with a recipe that put the VIA Rail version to shame. This is for Fred. And this is what Kaunteya had to say about the dish: “I asked my family what jalfrezi means, and I was told by my Bengali grandmother [Calcutta region] that jal means ‘hot’ and frezi means ‘fry.’ This is a very Anglo-Indian dish that was invented by the British. My mom, Shobhna Nundy, and I created this recipe. We made it three times to make sure that it was just right and would not blow away the ‘white folks’ from a spicy [heat] level.”

Even though peameal has nothing to do with the bacon we know and love, many still refer to it as “Canadian bacon.” They call it that in Canada, the place on both sides of Quebec—joking, joking. . . . Part of the history of Montreal is an overdramatized opposition to Toronto. Maybe it’s hockey, maybe it’s the separatist thing, or maybe it’s just a friendly rivalry. Regardless, we love Toronto. It’s where our favorite butcher, Stephen Alexander, has his shops (Cumbrae’s), and it’s the national capital of oyster bars (Rodney’s, Oyster Boy, Starfish). It’s also home to Kids in the Hall, John Candy, the Black Hoof, and, of course, the Saint Lawrence Market, where you can get a peameal bacon bun with maple mustard. Peameal is not made with peas anymore. Like most aspects of life, ranging from food to plastic, peameal is being taken over by corn. We make our peameal with dried yellow peas crushed in the processor. The purpose of peas or cornmeal is to wick and dry, thus preventing spoilage. You will let the meat brine for a minimum of four full days, ninety-six hours, in the fridge. It is necessary to have a brine injector; they sell them nowadays for under ten bucks in big stores.