“You eat them,” Moishe says, offering one to the Martian. The Martian eats it and gives Moishe a big smile.
“Do you like it?” Moishe asks.
“It’s good,” replies the Martian. “But it would be even better with cream cheese and lox.”
While this is not a great joke, I know, it’s a joke that is now probably understood by the majority of people living in North America, regardless of their ethnic background. The bagel and its cream-cheese-and-lox counterpart have gone mainstream; they are now part of American culture.
Contrary to conventional wisdom, each part of this now-classic combination has its own separate history. The three components ultimately met and were married in the appetizing stores of the Lower East Side in the 1930s. At one time, every appetizing-store owner in the neighborhood claimed to be the originator of this creation. It has always been known as “bagel and lox”—the presence of cream cheese is understood. And there was no reason to use the word “sandwich”; what else could it be? Before the lox, cream cheese, and bagel troika came into being, smoked fish was traditionally eaten with butter schmeared on thick slabs of dark pumpernickel or rye bread. Which is still not a bad way to eat your smoked fish.
Salmon: Lox et Veritas
Confusion reigns when it comes to the difference between smoked salmon and lox. The word “lox” is derived from the German word Lachs, which means “salmon.” The anglicized version, “lox,” was first used to describe the millions of Pacific salmon caught, packed in a salt brine, and shipped to New York ports for further travels to Europe. Some of these fish found their way to Brooklyn smokehouses, where they were smoked in a heavy mixture of charcoal and wood chips. They were then sold in the appetizing stores on the Lower East Side, the “smoked lox” alongside the unsmoked salted salmon, known simply as “lox.” Both products were extremely salty. The Eastern European Jews in the neighborhood had no prior experience in their shtetlach with salmon, smoked or otherwise, but they did bring with them a taste for salt-preserved fish like herring. Because huge quantities of salmon were available, the prices were very cheap—pennies for a quarter of a pound. Lox quickly caught on among the residents of the Lower East Side, and they took the taste for it with them when they moved out of the neighborhood.
Today there are many varieties of salmon available to consumers; they come from locations all over the world. What is known as New York–style smoked salmon is usually wet cured and cold smoked. In a wet cure the filleted sides of the salmon are dumped into large vats of salt water with a bit of brown sugar and left to soak for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Europeans generally prefer a dry cure: salt is generously rubbed into the flesh of the salmon. The salt is rinsed off and the fish is then smoked. Whether dry- or wet-cured, salmon gets its silky texture from a cold smoking process, so called because the smoker gets no higher than 75°F. Industrial fans blow the charcoal-and-wood-chip smoke—often from cherry, apple, hickory, or oak trees—over the fish. Cold smoked fish has a delicate flavor and a silky texture, which allows for thin slicing. Hot smoking, by contrast, is an actual cooking process. The fish is brined and then smoked in an oven at a temperature of approximately 160°F. The fish flesh becomes flaky; it cannot be sliced thinly and gets chunked instead.
Every new customer at Russ & Daughters asks us the same question: “How much salmon should I buy?” It all depends on how you’re serving it—on a bagel, on a slice of pumpernickel, or on a plate. Generally, two to three slices per bagel are sufficient. Allow two slices for a piece of pumpernickel, three to four slices on a bed of greens. Each slice should weigh about one ounce. Similarly, we are asked the best way to store and save any leftovers (there rarely are any). Smoked salmon sliced to order will last about a week to ten days in the refrigerator. To keep the salmon beyond that period, freeze it immediately after purchase. Defrost the fish gradually in the refrigerator for ten to twelve hours. If defrosted correctly, the salmon will retain its original taste and texture. If defrosted too quickly—in the microwave or at room temperature—the ice crystals will melt too fast, ruining both taste and texture.
Bagels and Cream Cheese: The Hole History
The origins of the bagel have always been a bit murky, but the generally accepted story places its beginnings in the late seventeenth century. A Viennese baker wished to honor Jan Sobieski, at the time the king of Poland and also a legendary military commander who in 1683 had saved the city from invading Turks. The baker fashioned a round roll with a center hole in the shape of Sobieski’s stirrup, which in German is called a Bügel, and the bagel was born. More recently, a theory has been advanced that the bagel’s origins are even older, going back to the thirteenth century in the Puglia region of Italy, where the local hard bread—a thin circle with a big hole in the center—is known as taralli. Located on the heel of Italy’s boot, where the Ionian and Adriatic Seas come together, Puglia was a trade center, with merchants and merchandise traveling to and from Europe and the Middle East. At one time, Puglia had a substantial Jewish population. It’s possible that when members of this community migrated to Eastern Europe, they brought the taralli with them, and that over time it became thicker and acquired a smaller hole.
The bagel landed in America along with the huge wave of Eastern European immigrants who began to arrive on the Lower East Side in the 1880s. Bagels were not difficult to make—they consist of flour, yeast, water, and salt—and once all the ingredients were combined, they were hand-rolled, boiled briefly in water, and baked in ovens located in the basements of tenement buildings. The finished bagels were displayed on sticks and sold on the streets for two cents apiece. A bagel was a quick, on-the-go snack, meant to be eaten by itself—an early form of fast food that was not originally intended to be the structural support for a sandwich.
The origins of cream cheese are equally cloudy. There are, of course, both French (seventeenth century) and English (sixteenth century) claims to its invention. The American version is traced back to a dairyman in upstate New York who, in 1872, was trying to reproduce the soft and creamy French Neufchâtel. His results were less fatty and less creamy but became a big hit when wrapped in silver foil and branded as “Philadelphia.” (At that time Philadelphia, not New York, was an appellation of quality.) At Russ & Daughters we sell an all-natural cream cheese free of the chemical preservatives and stabilizers found in the commercially packaged products. We also sell, heaven help me, tofu cream cheese, for those who do not eat dairy products. And, frankly, it’s not bad at all.
And That’s How They Slice It?
You went salmon fishing in Alaska, caught a thirty-pound fish (no one ever catches a small one), had it smoked at a local smokehouse, and shipped it home. Or perhaps a friend sent you a whole Gaspé smoked salmon as a gift. Since freshly smoked fish isn’t pre-sliced, how do you impress your friends and family with paper-thin slivers of salmon? Practice these steps and everyone will applaud your new Jewish sushichef skills.
First, you need the proper equipment: a sharp twelve-to-sixteen-inch knife with a flexible blade that is no more than two inches wide and tapers to a fine point; a pair of needle-nose pliers; and a cutting board.
Lay the salmon with the wider head end of the fish to your left and the narrower tail end to your right on a cutting board. (If you’re a lefty, reverse the position.) You always start slicing at the head end, moving toward the tail.
Just as there are two ends (head and tail) to a salmon, there are also two sides. The thicker side is the loin; the thinner is the belly. Place the fish belly side up on the cutting board. There is usually a thin strip of fat that extends along the length edge of the belly side of the fish. Run the knife down this edge from top to bottom and remove that strip of fat. The knife will run into a small side fin (called fliegel in Yiddish); cut away the fliegel so that you will be able to remove it as part of the fat strip. If your knife skills are good, the thin strip of belly fat and fliegel will come away in one piece. (If not, ask friends to send more salmon to practice o
n.) Those in the know will eat this strip, since it’s the richest, most succulent part of the fish. Native Alaskans call it “Eskimo candy.” It’s removed to make slicing easier, but it should be enjoyed, not discarded.
Sometimes there is a ribbing of bones that covers much of the belly side of the salmon. Slide the tip of the knife just under the top of the sheath of bones. Then slide the entire knife blade from the tip to the middle of the knife under the bone and down the side from the head to the tail to remove the layer of bone, leaving the salmon meat intact.
Gently run your fingertips along the top surface of the salmon to feel for any small pin bones, most often found in the middle of the fish. If you feel a bone, use the pliers to pull it out. It is important to remove all bones so the knife doesn’t run into any obstructions when slicing. (And you don’t want your guests suing you.)
Hold the knife firmly and think of it as an extension of your hand, not a separate tool. To slice, lay the knife blade almost totally flat—no more than a ten- to fifteen-degree angle—on top of the salmon. The top third of the knife blade is the only part that should be in contact with the fish. Your first slice will start at a point approximately six inches up from the tail of the salmon.
Slice—don’t saw—with an easy back-and-forth motion, smoothly and evenly, at a consistent angle. Each slice must finish toward the tail end of the fish. Carefully pick up the slice in one hand and hold it up to the light; it should have the same even transparency throughout. If it breaks when you hold it up, then it was cut too thin. If the slice is entirely opaque, chop it up and add it to scrambled eggs and onions.
When slicing, it’s important to maintain the same gentle pressure with each slice. Changing the pressure of your hand on the knife will create uneven, wavy slices. Work with the middle portion of the knife blade: the portion from one third down from the top to one third up from the bottom. Keep the knife as flat to the salmon surface as possible. In effect, you will be shaving off layers of meat, and the knife blade should be visible through the fish as you’re slicing.
Caviar: Luxury on the Lower East Side
I recently found a letter in the office filing cabinet dated June 1969 from my father to a wealthy customer, advising her that the price for a pound of Russian beluga caviar was $69. (A Russian caviar pound is fourteen ounces.) Forty years ago, $69 a pound was considered a luxury. Today, in places where beluga caviar is still offered for sale (we were one of the first to take it off the menu years ago, when it became a threatened species), the price is about $250 an ounce, or $3,500 for a fourteen-ounce pound.
It is now common knowledge that the Russians overfished their sturgeon stocks and polluted their sturgeon-spawning rivers. What is less well known is that until about two hundred years ago, the United States had huge sturgeon fisheries along New York’s Hudson River. The sturgeon meat was known as “Albany beef,” and the salted sturgeon roe—caviar—was offered for free at local bars, along with a nickel beer. But we, like the Russians, failed to protect our waters and preserve our fisheries. The Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) now controls the production, processing, importation, and sale of caviar, but it is too little, too late. The wild sturgeon species of the Caspian Sea—beluga, osetra, sevruga—have gone from threatened to endangered species, and the Hudson River no longer has a sturgeon fishery at all. Through the heroic efforts of conservationists, sturgeon are slowly starting to reappear in small numbers in the Hudson River.
When Caspian Sea caviar was readily available for sale in the United States (it was officially banned for sale here in 2005, under the Endangered Species Act; the ban was lifted to a limited degree in 2007), it was quite a challenge to establish and maintain relationships with caviar suppliers. Over the years, many of our suppliers ended up in jail, were on their way to jail, or were in hiding to avoid jail. Short supplies and high prices made this product “black gold.” The ignorance of the consumer and the lack of enforcement of existing import and export regulations made it easy and financially rewarding for some suppliers to do the wrong thing: mislabel, bait and switch, buy smuggled products, freeze and sell old caviar. One supplier was indicted for selling American sturgeon roe as Russian beluga to a large airline that was serving it in first class. But he didn’t wait around to be tried; he jumped bail and is now presumably in a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States. Another supplier, whose family for generations produced caviar for the czars, was indicted, convicted, and served jail time for his shady dealings.
I’m happy to report that the world of caviar has changed. Today it’s all about sustainable farming of sturgeon and careful extraction and processing of the roe. Because this has proved to be so profitable, it is done in many countries throughout the world: France, Italy, Germany, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Romania, Spain, and Uruguay, to name a few. American fisheries have been involved in this for years, and transmontanus, a sturgeon native to California whose roe are similar to osetra in flavor and texture, has become a favorite of chefs throughout the world. The Chinese are now in the market with Kaluga, a Huso species similar to beluga, and schrenkii, which is similar to osetra. The Israelis are producing a beautiful golden osetra from the Acipenser gueldenstaedtii species. Not to be outdone, the Saudis are farming sturgeon, and next door Abu Dhabi is building what they claim will be “the largest caviar factory in the world.”
It comes as a surprise to many people that the caviar produced from farm-raised sturgeon, no matter where in the world the farm is located, is very expensive: the prices generally range from $50 to $120 per ounce. This is because it takes a long time—up to eight years for some species—to raise the sturgeon to a point where the eggs are mature enough to be harvested. During that time, the fish must be fed and kept disease-free. Fortunately, there are affordable alternatives to sturgeon on the market. Paddlefish (a sturgeon look-alike) and hackleback (an actual member of the sturgeon family) are species found in the river deltas of the United States and are extremely good substitutes. They both look and taste like their more expensive sturgeon cousins and cost about $25 to $35 per ounce. Even more affordable are those big orange eggs from wild Alaskan salmon, the ones that “pop in your mouth” and sell for less than $5 an ounce, or French trout roe for about $7 per ounce. Consider topping your scrambled eggs with a dollop of sour cream and a big spoonful of salmon or trout roe.
Whether eating wild or farmed sturgeon roe, a great caviar experience means that the eggs taste as if the sea has kissed your tongue; they impart just the right amount of salinity to enhance, rather than mask, the underlying flavor. It is the retailer’s responsibility to know by sampling the caviar supplied by the distributor which ones are worthy of sale to customers.
The visual criteria are straightforward: clean eggs of uniform size; no membranes or blood spots, which would indicate inferior processing; and eggs that easily separate rather than clump or stick together. (Old eggs clump together.) The color of the eggs is not an important factor in determining how the caviar will taste; it can vary from pale gray to dark black, or from dark yellow to bright gold, depending on the type of caviar. But eye appeal does add to the overall experience.
Determining whether the caviar you are buying tastes good is more difficult, since it relies on the subjective palate of the taster. Those of us who are serious purveyors of caviar have taught our palates how to taste. A tiny sample—no more than ten eggs—is placed on a mother-of-pearl spoon. (A metallic spoon, even one made of silver, will adversely affect both the taste and freshness of the caviar.) Each sample is tasted three times: first on the tip of the tongue for texture; then on the roof and back of the mouth for flavor; and then it’s swallowed to check for any aftertaste—from the tin can, from mud or earth, or from too much salt. Between samples, the mouth is rinsed with lukewarm water.
The best advice: If you love caviar, find a reliable vendor with a reputation for integrity and for selling quality products. Someone who is selling what i
s being marketed as high-end caviar for a ridiculously low price is probably someone to stay away from.
I am often asked how much caviar one should buy. That all depends on how you intend to serve it. Some prefer the display of luxury and opulence that comes from serving caviar in its original tin, set in ice, or set in a crystal bowl or caviar server. After all, you are serving one of the world’s greatest delicacies, so why not show off? If you allow guests to serve themselves, it’s likely that you’ll never have enough. To control the amount, make caviar canapés just before serving. One ounce per person is a very generous amount. Put a bit of caviar on a small square of white toast or on a blini and top with a dollop of crème frâiche.
Caviar can also be spooned into hollowed-out boiled new potatoes with a touch of sour cream on top. Then there are those (myself included) who prefer to eat it straight out of the tin, without anything else to get in the way of the pure caviar flavor. There are, of course, many ways to serve caviar, depending on your budget and your palate. The only mistake, and in my experience it’s a common one, is to serve it with chopped egg and onion on top. If you have purchased good caviar, that would be, as we say in my neck of the woods, a shanda (shame).
Other Fish in the Sea (and the Showcase)
Half of the smoked-fish-eating world will swear that chubs are better than whitefish: they are, these folks claim, fatter, sweeter, less salty. The other half swears by whitefish for exactly the same reasons. Of the smoked-salmon aficionados, half will claim that the top half of the fish (nearest the head) is better; the other half make that same claim for the bottom half (by the tail). And so it goes in the world of smoked fish—and in food generally. Everyone is a maven. And who are we to take sides? We sell chubs and whitefish, salmon heads and tails. DE GUSTIBUS NON EST DISPUTANDUM (There is no arguing about taste) is the sign that hangs behind our cash register. It would be nice if there was a Yiddish equivalent that we could hang up alongside it, but the meaning in any language is clear: If you like it, it’s the best.
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