Good Eats (1999–2012): Season 14, Episode 18 - Waiter, There's a Fish in My Soup - full transcript

Hi, I'm Alton Brown.

And I did not
always want to be a cook.

In fact, uh, culinary matters

weren't even on my radar
until Summer of 1981,

when I experienced, I don't
know, an edible epiphany.

Having failed to gain entrance

to any of the institutions of
higher learning

to which I had applied
after high school,

I decided to take a relative's
advice, and money,

and head off to Europe
to seek something.

I hiked my way across
the pub-strewn landscape
of jolly old England,



across the Netherlands,
with their funny, but delicious
little brownies,

up through the Rhineland,
down into France,

and finally, made my way
to the coast,

arriving on a cold, dark
night at the docks of Marseille,

tired, hungry,
and darn-near broke.

What do you want?
I'll have a cheeseburger,
s'il vous plait.

No cheeseburger, bouillabaisse.
Gesundheit!

Uh, well then, I'll tell
you what, I'll have
a sandwich du jambon.

No jambon, bouillabaisse.

Bouillabaisse,
bouillabaisse,
bouillabaisse.

Beer, beer, beer.

(both chefs yelling)
Bouillabaisse.

(both chefs yelling)
Beer.

So you'll have bouillabaisse?
Boil your face?



Bouillabaisse...drink?
Um, vin rouge, please.

No vin, beer.
Okay, beer.

Beer.
Beer.

Needless to say, I had no idea
what I had just been forced
into ordering,

but at least it was cheap
and there would be beer.

Moments later, a bowl appeared,

unceremoniously, I might add.

Merci.
Whatever.

The bowl was a riot of color
and aromas, some familiar,

others strange,
new and exciting.

And then...

I took a bite.

And I saw the light.

This was flavor like nothing
I'd ever experienced...

A melange of seafood
in a rich, red,
luxurious liquid

redolent with citrus and spice.

And there,
perched in the middle,

a huge, toasted crouton,
onto which had been slathered

a creamy concoction that tasted

like red peppers
and angel tears.

By the third bite, I knew
I had to possess its secrets.

Oh, pardon, mademoiselle...

Um, do you think that I could
ask the cooks for the recipe?

That is funny.
Like Jerry Lewis.

Why?
Because you can never
make bouillabaisse.

Because you are not French.
You do not have
the right fish.

Or the tomatoes.
Or the fennel.

Or the saffron.
You are lucky
we let you eat here.

Because you will never...
ever...
ever...

successfully prepare...

♪♪

♪ Good
Eats ♪

♪♪

Ever since that, uh,
fateful night,

those many decades ago,
I have made bouillabaisse

my personal culinary
raison d'etre.

I have fussed over
every aspect of its manufacture,

from the software,
to the hardware,
to the processes,

and I'm here to you that this
apparently simple stew

is not just another
fussy bowl of France.

In fact, some historians don't
even think it's French at all.

In fact, according to
the historian Thucydides,

Marseille was not only founded
in 600 B.C.,

by Greeks, from Phocaea no less,

bouillabaisse itself was
actually concocted

by none other than
the Greek goddess Aphrodite,
who, although married to

the chronically short and ugly
Hephaestus, god of fire
and forge,

was secretly running around
with Ares, god of war.

Whenever Hephaestus got busy
down in his workshop,

Aphrodite and Ares
just got busy.

One day, Aphrodite concocted
a fish soup seasoned with
saffron,

which, for some crazy reason,
she thought would put her
husband to sleep,

so that she and Ares could
get busy.

Hephaestus loved the soup
but instead of going to sleep,

he went off and finished
the fine metal net
he'd been crafting

to snare the crafty lovers.

It's a romantic tale
to be sure,
but the simple truth is

that fishermen stews tend to
happen wherever fishermen fish,

and bouillabaisse
is no exception.

In fact, the really great
thing about this type of stew

is that it is highly adaptable.

Now the software fits
into four categories.

There's vegetable, spice,
liquid, animal.

Now the plant matter,
all easily obtained
at the local mega mart.

You've got aromatics
like onion and garlic,

you've got fennel, some parsley,
orange peel, fresh bay leaves,

red bell pepper and red chile,
oh, and tomatoes,

which can be canned.

Now, the spices include
sea salt, cayenne pepper,
ground of course,

saffron and black peppercorns.

The liquids...

Water, lemon juice,
olive oil and dry white wine.

A burgundy or even a cassis
would be nice,
but you know what?

In a pinch, you could get by
with Pinot Grigio.

Just don't tell anybody
who's French.

And then of course,
there are the animals,
the seafood.

Now this is the big
sticking point when it comes to

bouillabaisse authenticity.

Come here.

Let us now take a few moments
to meet the denizens of the deep

that appear in the classic
bouillabaisse.

This is the rescasse,

a handsome member of
the scorpionfish family,

as is the chapon, down here.

The baudroie is an ugly
member of the anglerfish family.

Then we have red mullets,
we have the dorade--

member of the bream family--

John, Dory, um, Gurnard,
down here,

and of course, the slipper
conger eel.

Oh, and lest I forget,
there is the Mediterranean
spiny lobster down here.

Now what's key is that
these are all essentially

trash fish...
Sorry guys.

That's why fishermen eat them,
they can't really sell them.

Now typically at least
four members of this roster

appear in bouillabaisse,
but the only one
that seems to be

absolutely required
is the rescasse,

which is unique to the area
around Marseille.

Now, scorpionfish, big family,
and if you can throw a line in
the water,

you can catch scorpionfish
right off of L.A. Harbor.

But they rarely show up
in markets because sushi bars
grab them all up.

But guess what?

None of this really matters,
the way I look at it,

you want a firm white fish,
you want a flaky white fish,

a crustacean, and a bi-valve.

And you want them
as fresh as possible.

In America, that we can
easily manage.

Although a wide array of seafood
is acceptable in this
application,

remember a bouillabaisse
is only as good
as the seafood that's in it,

so seek out top-quality product
from an independent fishmonger

or a mega mart
with a fishy reputation...

In a good way.

Now, I have cross-referenced
the list of French
bouillabaisse seafood

with sustainable, common market
varieties here in the U.S.,

and I've come up
with a hero list, if you will,
to choose from.

Now my top three flaky fish
would be...

in no particular order

halibut, black cod
or sablefish and black bass
or black rockfish.

As for firm fish, I would say

striped bass, Cobia,
and of course, sea scallops.

When in doubt, of course,
you can turn to

your friendly neighborhood
fishmonger.

He or she is an expert,
and is there to help,
watch this.

Henry, I--
where's Henry.

(imitating French accent)
Henry is off today.

Apparently his goldfish died.

That's terrible--
well look, I want to
make bouillabaisse.

Impossible.
Ridiculous.

Why? You've got lots of
beautiful fish here.
Ah, but we have no rescasse.

So no bouillabaisse for you.

You guys look familiar.
No we don't.

We are from France.

Okay, whatever--
look, I'll take a couple of
the Cobia fillets,

and a couple of the black cod
fillets, all right?

Fine.
Whatever.

Of course, I also need
bi-valves--

although clams would do
in a pinch,

I prefer blue mussels,
which are only a few genes away

from the ones found
in the Mediterranean.

They're grown on ropes
that hang down from rafts,

where they can
freely filter-feed

and they can be harvested
without impacting
the surrounding environment.

So I'm gonna take a pound
of the mussels.

Fine.
Whatever.

And I also need, of course,
a crustacean,

so I'm going to take
one lobster tail.

Now spiny,
or Caribbean lobster tails

are widely available
in raw, frozen form,

and are easily recognized
by their cheetah-like spots.

So I'm gonna take
one lobster tail.

Fine.
Whatever.

And I also want one pound
of these fish bones and heads,

preferably from cold-water
varieties, which contain
more gelatin.

Ah, we have no bones.

What are you talking about,
they're right there.
Reserved.

Reserved?
Oui.

Fish bones?
Oui.

I want to talk to Henry.
Fine.
Whatever.

Hello, Henry--
Henry?
Hello, old chap.

Hey look, I'm just--
I'm trying to make some
bouillabaisse, you know?

You can't make
the bouillabaisse...

You can't do it.
What are you...?

Henry, I--something weird
is going--
Henry? Hello? Hello?

Oh bother.

♪

Having procured my seafood,
finally,

I want to make sure that
I store it properly.

All right, the fish
should be kept on ice,

but that ice needs to be able
to melt and drain away

without waterlogging the meat.

That's why I put the ice
and the fish

in a perforated plastic tub
with another tub underneath

to catch the run-off,
and of course a top
is always a good idea.

Now when it comes to
the mussels, just about
any containment will do,

but make sure you top them
with moist newspaper...

Remember they're alive in there
and nothing will kill 'em off
quicker

than fresh water.

All right, now about
them bones...

I've got 16 ounces of them
and they need to be rinsed,

because they could be a little,
obviously, on the fishy side.

And yes, odds are something's
going to be staring at you,

don't freak out.

Give them a quick rinse
and then move them into

a tall, narrow pot
in the 6-quart range.

Add 1/2 teaspoon
of black peppercorns,

4 to 5 fresh bay leaves,
and 1 teaspoon of salt,

and in this case,
I'm using coarse sea salt.

Then 6 cups of
the cleanest, freshest
water you can get,

and if you've got stinky water
at home, you might want to use

bottled or filtered.

Now this is going to go over
a high heat, covered,

just long enough to bring
to a boil,

and when it does hit a boil,
remove the lid and drop the heat

to as low as you have got
to maintain a bare simmer

for 25 minutes.

After that, strain the stock,
and do it through the finest
strainer you have,

a colander is definitely
not fine enough,

and don't go pushing
on the solids with a spoon
either...

Believe me, they've given up
all that they have.

Now just discard all that
and let the stock cool down.

In the meantime, clean that pot,
get it back on medium heat,

add 1/4 cup of olive oil,
and when it shimmers

toss in 6 ounces
of chopped onion,

and 3 ounces of chopped fennel.

Now unless I'm mistaken,
we have not actually used fennel

on this program before.

What's this?

Oh yeah, thank you Thing,
we did...

the wheat berry salad,
I'd forgotten about that.

All right, so this is
the second time that we
have used the fennel bulb.

But if you're unfamiliar,
basically we're gonna treat it

like a big, fuzzy green onion.

We're gonna cut off
the stalks here,

and of course, these can be
used in a stock...

stalk/stock, stock/...
never mind.

Then split the bulb thusly,

and then just treat it
like chopping an onion,

by cutting in one direction,

and then chop through in
the other direction.

There.

Toss the fennel in with
the onions and 1/2 teaspoon

of either the coarse sea salt
or Kosher salt,

and saute for 10 minutes
or until semi-translucent.

Stir frequently please.

Back to the bouillabaisse.

Now, once the onion and fennel
are semi-translucent,

go ahead and add
1/2 cup of the white wine,

then add one 14.5 can
of diced tomatoes,

undrained, that's important,

and finally, the fish stock.

Every last loving drop of it.

There.

Now 1/4 cup
of chopped flat leaf parsley

a 3-inch piece of orange peel,

try to avoid the pith,

and a mere 1/16 of a teaspoon
of saffron.

That's not a lot, but believe
me, this is powerful stuff.

Now, boost the heat to high,
cover, and bring to a boil,

that'll take
3 to 5 minutes, maybe.

And then decrease the heat
and simmer for 15 minutes.

Now that is going to break down
the onion and fennel further

and extract flavors
from the saffron and citrus.

It's also going to give us time
to prepare the pungent paste

that I experienced
on the crouton in my soup
all those years ago.

It's called rouille,
and it turns out to be

kind of the multi-tasking sauce
of Provence.

It begins with a large,
ripe, red bell pepper.

You want to thoroughly char it
by placing it

right slap dab on a gas burner,
set to high.

Just turn it, you know,
several times a minute

until it looks like it,
you know, came out of Pompeii
somewhere.

Now, if you don't have
a gas cooktop, you could
use a blow torch,

or even a heat gun from
the hardware store...

it takes the paint off too.

You could use your broiler,
on high, but it's a big,
fat pain if you ask me.

Once thoroughly charred,
move the pepper to a bowl

and cover with either a pot lid
or a plate or what have you--

let it sit like that for
5 to 10 minutes.

That will give steam
time to go work
loosening that outer char.

Then, you can simply rub it off
with a clean kitchen towel,

or at least most of it.

And go ahead and remove
as many of the seeds
as you possible can--

don't worry about
getting them all.

Now as far as making the sauce,
we could use
a mini food processor,

or a standard food processor,
if you have the accessory
small work bowl--

that would definitely
be best here, so we're just
gonna load that up

with everything we need,
including the charred,

and now skinned
red bell pepper,

one fresh red chile,
like a Fresno, split in half,

3 large garlic cloves,

a teaspoon of freshly squeezed
lemon juice,

a 1/4 teaspoon
of either the same

coarse sea salt
we've been using
or kosher salt.

Lid up and spin up,

until everything
is relatively smooth.

There, now it's time
to drizzle in 1/2 cup
of olive oil

until you've got an emulsion.

And there you have it,
the mayo of Provence,

only without the eggs--
store in the fridge for now,

but be sure to bring it
to room temperature
before dispensing.

Now while you're here
go ahead and retrieve
your seafood,

including the mussels, which
will require a quick inspection.

They may be open or gaping,
but if they don't close
within a minute of being tapped,

send 'em to the trash,
not the soup--
these are okay.

All right, we're going to cut
the seafood into 1-inch pieces.

Now if the fillets
have their skin on,
that's gonna have to go.

The best way to do that
is to just start down here
at the end of the piece,

kind of cut a little piece
of meat away,

then get hold of the tail,
hold it on the board,

and then scoot your knife
under, 'til you can really
get hold of the skin,

and kind of wiggle it back
and forth against the blade

until it comes free-- there.

Now on the cobia, that actually
has kind of two little sections,

or loins of meat.

Just slice through into strips,
against the grain.

There, now just cut into
1-inch strips, across the grain.

As far as the lobster tail
goes, the best thing to do

is to break into the underside,
using your shears.

Now they call this a spiny
lobster not just because
of its headgear,

but because of the spines
on the tail, so be careful.

Cut down, kind of,
crack 'em open,

then just get hold of
the tail meat and pull it out

in the opposite direction,

then just slice through
into medallions or strips.

All right, now the part
that strikes me kind of odd.

Boost the heat all the way
to high,

and then add all of your fish,
both the cobia and the cod,

2 cloves of garlic, crushed,

1/4 teaspoon of cayenne pepper,

1/2 teaspoon of your sea salt,
along with

1/4 cup of olive oil,

extra-virgin,

and let that come to a hard,
solid boil,

and keep it there
for 5 to 7 minutes.

Now I know it seems like
a crazy step--why boil?

Well, it's in the name.

Remember my little malapropism
from back in '81,

"Boil your face?"

well turns out, it was only
partially wrong.

"bouill" does mean boil,

while "baisse" translates
to lower.

So obviously there is
reducing and boiling
going on here.

Not simmering,
all-out boiling.

Why is this necessary?

Finally, some good,
juicy science.

So, what's with boiling
the bouillabaisse?

Well let's say for just a moment
that this water represents

the water phase of the soup--
that being the stock,
the wine and the tomato liquid.

And the oil,
it's right up there.

Now anyone who's made
a vinaigrette can tell you

that this two do not work
and play well together,

and if you're gonna bring them
into an even semi-stable union,

agitation will be required.

And that would be pretty tough
to do in our case,

at least with a whisk,
since our soup has got
a lot of bits and pieces in it.

The answer...boil it.

The convective action of boiling
is a fine agitator indeed.

Of course, one would think
that when the bubbles stop

the mixture would just separate
right back out and you would

end up serving a red soup
with an oil slick on top.

But you don't have to worry
about that.

Why? Because of the stock...

Remember we used water to
extract a considerable amount
of gelatin

from those old
fish bones and heads--

and fish gelatin
is very sticky stuff

due to the molecular weight of
the proteins it contains.

That's why it used to be used
to make the adhesive
on envelopes,

and believe it or not,
electrical insulators
on circuit boards.

It's true.

Now, the proteins in question
make excellent emulsifiers,

bringing the water and the oil
in the bouillabaisse together,

thus creating a liquid
with a heavy, rich feel
in the mouth.

Science...it tastes good.

Looks pretty funky too.

Time is up, the soup is done,

so kill the heat,

and add our final additions--
the mussels, 1/2 pound.

I know I bought a pound
but I'm gonna eat the others.

And the lobster tail pieces,

give a stir, cover,
and allow to poach

for about 4 minutes.

During this time, you may want
to contemplate your toast.

Bake or buy a decent,
crusty baguette or French loaf,

what we in the trade call
a lean loaf.

You're gonna slice that
on the bias about 1/2 to 3/4
of an inch thick.

Now rub each side with
a cut clove of garlic.

Believe it or not it'll bring
a lot of flavor to the party.

All right, then we're gonna
toast these, either under
the broiler for a few minutes,

in a toaster oven, on a grill,
or even just on a cooling rack

over a gas flame--
very rustic.

You want a little bit of color,
but no burning, please,

and be sure to do both sides.

Ah, behold, bouillabaisse.

When it comes time to serve,

there are two distinct
bouillabaisse schools of
thought--

one says put the crouton
in the bottom
and then ladle the soup over.

And then of course there's
the school that says

to ladle the soup
and then float the crouton
on top.

I could personally go
either way.

So, what's the consensus?
(imitating French accent)
Oh...crap!

What, are you kidding?
I've worked on this dish
for years, it's good!

Is it from France?

Is it from Provence?
Did you use rescasse?

No.
(all)
Crap!

Folks, I hope that we've at
least inspired you

to give bouillabaisse a chance.

Will you ever
get it right enough
for the average Frenchman?

Odds are, no,
unless of course,
you are a Frenchman.

Will you produce a devilishly
good soup, allowing you
to enjoy

a wide range of flavors,
textures, aromas,
and sustainable seafood?

Mais, oui...
As in oui'll see you
next time on "Good Eats."

(imitating French accent)
Hmm, zat was terrible.