Jane Grigson's Fish Book - Jane Grigson [181]
Americans will find the pink, veal-like quality of porbeagle in the mako shark which is sometimes, I believe, sold as ‘swordfish’ though it is deeper in tone. Sharks of several species become more and more popular on both coasts: ‘the public has accepted shark on its own terms. It is no longer the bargain it was a few years ago,’ say the authors of The California Seafood Cookbook, ‘but it is still reasonably priced.’
Confusion in the matter of sharks comes, at least for shoppers in Europe, with tope. It is tempting to believe it is the fish that one sees in French markets labelled taupe, which – see above – is the name for porbeagle. Once you have seen both, you understand instantly that they cannot be the same (and indeed the tope is milandre or ha in French). What amuses me is that the great national dictionaries on either side of the Channel are defeated by the names – but then neither is very good at food words, as if eating were a shameful need of nature that a person of intellect should despise. The Grand Robert ignores it, concentrating on taupe as mole, with all the mining derivatives you could imagine. At least the vaster Oxford English Dictionary gives a little space to ‘tope’, confessing weakly that its origin is obscure, Cornish dialect, since tope is much caught off the Cornish coast: then it goes on cheerily to columns on ‘tope’ (verb) and ‘topers’ (noun), cheerful drinking words of known ancestry.
Oddly enough, the first tope we ever saw was in Oxford market. There were a couple of them, about 1½ m (5 feet) long, slender compared to the tight swelling girth of the porbeagle. Tope are much whippier, more like a dogfish in shape. These two creatures laid low were dark on the back, but with a brownish tinge, fading to a strange old-rose colour on their bellies which reminded me of curtains my grandmother had in the thirties when old-rose was a favourite colour in furnishing. The flesh, though, was translucent and white. It clustered in tight sections around the central bone, a brilliant rosette. My only regret was that we never thought to ask for the fins, we were so taken aback at seeing shark on a fishmonger’s slab at all.
In Ceylon and the Philippines they are treated with hot wood ash and fine salt, then dried to a brittle blue-grey crispness in smoke or sun. At last they go to Chinese cooks to be made into soup, a valued ingredient on account of their fine-tasting gelatine (flavour comes from other items, including pork).
The tope is called Sweet William in some places, sarcastically on account of its ammoniac smell. Something to look out for, but don’t let it put you off. It is not the poor tope’s fault, but part of its physical make-up which cannot be helped. It does not impugn its freshness, or the eventual pleasure of its flavour. Just take care to marinade the fish before cooking in lime or lemon juice, or cider or wine vinegar. Soaking in brine – see tuna, p. 429 – also gets rid of it.
Next point, there is no mileage in eating shark’s skin – endless tough chew, so always remove it.
Having arrived at this point, the rest is easy. You can adapt it without fuss to swordfish, tuna and halibut recipes, just be careful not to overcook it.
A Californian idea is to dry-fry it in a sauté pan that has been warmed up with a tablespoon of oil, adding a couple of skinned chopped tomatoes: serve scattered with basil and a bowl of pesto.
Steaks can be briefly fried in clarified butter and served finished like Sole meunière (p. 388). Or they can be first be dipped in egg and breadcrumbs, then fried, and served with lemon quarters, or a purée of sorrel*. Tomato sauce* and créole sauce* are obvious partners, so are white wine sauces* and butter sauces*.
These shark can be given a delicate treatment, or something more jovial. Because they are not yet too expensive, you can have fun experimenting with them. Some of the curried fish recipes in this book – pp. 174 and 404 – might first be tried with porbeagle or tope or mako.