How to Roast a Lamb_ New Greek Classic Cooking - Michael Psilakis [21]
It was the boat trips alone with my father that were most precious to me. It was about more than just getting his undivided attention; it was during those times that I had the opportunity to see a different aspect of the man he was on land. We would share those solitary and peaceful fishing hours in the mornings, when we would catch enough porgies to fill multiple tar buckets to overflowing. And it was here that my father taught me how special it was not only to have time with the people you love but also time alone with yourself.
My father was recognized as the head of our extended family. Not only were we children his dependents, but his brothers and brothers-in-law would often come to him for advice and financial assistance as well. While he was no doubt proud of the position he had achieved within the family, he had a tremendous amount of responsibility and pressure resting on his shoulders. On the boat, it was as if all of that were carried away by the wind. I don’t think I ever saw my father more at peace.
My father wasn’t big on reading instruction manuals. Early on during the second season with our boat, he forgot to check the oil before we headed out for the day. We had an oil leak, and by the time we got out into Long Island Sound our motor was grinding. Of course, we learned all of this only after our engine exploded in the Atlantic Ocean and my father had to call the Coast Guard to tow us in.
Our second boat was a Silverton with twin diesel engines. This was an entirely different experience for me because, while I was still my father’s first mate, having the twin engines took the chaos out of our boating excursions. Well, it eliminated some of the chaos. We Psilakises would never escape chaos altogether when boating.
We always came home with a bountiful catch. After spending hours scrubbing and washing the boat, my father and I would gut the fish. If it was bluefish, we’d scale it and hand it over to my mother to make plaki, a hearty peasant dish. She’d put the fish in a pan with tomatoes, onions, potatoes, white wine, lemon, and oregano, and bake it in the oven. If we caught porgy, which we often did, we wouldn’t scale it. My father would put it on the grill, scales down. As the scales heated up they’d pull away from the skin and as the skin heated up it would naturally separate from the meat. The layer of fat between the skin and the meat would melt and essentially steam and baste the fish in its own fat. After he cooked the fish, my father would pile up the fish heads on a plate, and there was always someone who sat with that plate and sucked at the eyes and ate the cheek meat.
When I look back at my childhood summers, I think of fishing on our boat and the many happy times I shared with so many people—not just family, but friends as well. Nobody was overlooked; even our parish priest sometimes came along. Most of all, though, I remember what the boat meant to my father: the peace of mind it brought him.
The recipes in this section are, to me, a taste of the open water, a taste of freedom and tranquillity, a remembrance of time with my father.
OCTOPUS, SALAMI & APPLES WITH ANCHOVY VINAIGRETTE
OCTAPODI, SALAMI KAI MILA ME LADOXYDO ANJOUYAS
SERVES 4
A few years ago, I was playing around with ways to incorporate fat into an octopus dish, and I happened to have an Italian hero sandwich. I realized that the fat molecules in the salami explode on your palate and resonate for a while. This was a revelation! While the fat remains on your palate, anything that follows benefits from its residual afterglow. Here, the texture of the octopus is faced with the crispness of the apple and the fat of the salami. Then, this tartly acidic vinaigrette