Back home , I first worked with the common knowledge that bluefish are an oily , fishy tasting fish . The way everyone combats this is filleting the fish and covering them in mayonnaise . After twenty-four hours of “ marinating ,” I cooked the fillets on a grill . Not good .
The next day , I made a brew with curry , hot sauce , salt , pepper , oranges , basil , peppers , onions , garlic cloves and some white wine . I threw the ingredients into a pot on the stove until the liquid reduced into the bluefish . The result was better but still not good .
The bluefish were now three days old . I ’ d had them iced up and cleaned since I brought them home but , even someone like me who views fish in Third World street markets as a dare , seventy-two hours was pushing it . It was my last chance to get this right .
I built a beach fire and thought about all the spices and sauces I ’ d used the previous days and how none of them fared well . Why was I listening to everyone else ’ s advice ? Bluefish are a simple fish . They live off the delicacy of bay anchovies . They drink the salt of the bluest waters on earth . Why was I trying to complicate this natural order ?
I soaked the remaining bluefish in a bag with twelve ounces of Corona , a little garlic and some lemons while I built up the beach
Scott Laudati cooks the fish different ways , including in an outdoor oven he built . fire . No frills . I knew my mistake so far had been trying to mask the fish . This time I wanted to taste its plasma . The oil in the cast iron skillet I was using started to crackle as it heated . I dumped in the bag of fish and watched a magnificent reaction take place . A golden hue painted the pot , and suddenly the aroma of fish and beer and garlic became as lovely as Grandma ’ s house on a high holiday .
Then I ate . I picked the hunks of meat out of the skillet , still sizzling , and they fell off any bones I ’ d missed like a soft cheese . The fish was as decadent as expensive fondue , juicier than pork belly , had more bite than any fluke or bass . It was the most delicious thing I ’ d ever tasted . I sat on that beach and felt as if I had been let in on the best-kept secret . Barehanded , I dropped pound after pound of fish into my mouth . I ate and ate , and then I ate some more , riding the high of going against the prejudices of society and proving them wrong . It was one of the few moments of victory you might get once or twice in a lifetime . I lay there on that sand like a walrus in ecstasy , belching and half-asleep , trying to memorize what it felt like to be right .
Of course , with great knowledge comes great resistance . Eventually , I went up to the house and let my tribe know that everyone was wrong and bluefish were actually delicious . “ I ’ ll pass ,” was the response . And everyone happily ate Costco shrimp and tilapia for dinner , all the wiser and still uninterested in the endless supply of bluefish just out the back door . �
PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF SCOTT LAUDATI ( EXCEPT OPPOSITE PAGE , STACKED BLUEFISH , GETTY IMAGES / FAZILET PHOTO ); ILLUSTRATION : GETTY IMAGES .
RHODE ISLAND MONTHLY l MARCH 2021 53