By Zac Harvey
The smell of fish hangs heavy in the living room. “What’s on the menu?” I ask, doing my best impression of genuine enthusiasm. “We’ve got some excellent haddock,” our host announces, “Got it at the grocery store—on sale, too.” I avoid my wife’s gaze. “Sounds awesome,” I say, drawing the corners of my mouth up into what I hope looks like an appreciative grin. “Smells great.”
Truth is, I can practically imagine the excellent haddock in question packed into the cod-end of a dragger’s net, day one of an eight-day trip—George’s, Iceland, the North Sea? I envision the yellowing fillets traveling by forklift in plastic tubs. I’m a fisherman, an insufferable fish snob. I’ve eaten most New England species deemed edible. I can’t stomach old, poorly-handled fish, the way I image ranchers get fussy about steaks, the way farmers won’t suffer through second-rate produce. It’s no accident that rod-and-reel-caught fish earns top dollar at the fish houses, and we all agree that the fish we catch one at a time are far better than anything we find in even the best fish markets. So, as rod-and-reel fishermen, we start off with a major advantage. If we take a little extra time at the end of a drift or before we rummage through the cooler for a sandwich, our good fish gets better still. A few simple steps after a teen-sized bass lands on deck or a 4-pound fluke comes aboard in the landing net will make a big difference in the quality of the flesh on your fork.
First off, bleed the catch. Most fishermen who enjoy bluefish recognize the importance of this step. Tuna fishermen, as soon as the gaff is pried loose, measure two finger-widths behind the pectorals and sever the arteries to insure quality product for market. Not so many folks take the time to bleed the whiter, more delicate species: fluke, tautog, scup, sea bass, cod. With fluke, for example, a quick slice across the tail and a second incision just behind the gills on the white side will get the job done. With cod, haddock, stripers and sea bass, use the knife tip to break the membrane connecting gills to collar bone.
There’s no nice way to put the following, but since, in the act of fishing for the table, we’re reconnecting with the food chain, best to do it right. Bleeding a fish means allowing the fish’s still-functioning circulatory system to pump blood out.
Ideally, to avoid a mess in the cooler and to facilitate the process, hang the fish overboard or let it sit in a five-gallon bucket of clean sea water for a few minutes before transferring it to the cooler. With a bigger fish like striped bass, consider gripping it firmly by the lower jaw, hang it outboard and flush it out. You won’t ruin a white fish by not bleeding it, but the extra step will absolutely improve the end product.
With fish that have significant ribcages and large belly cavities—cod, striped bass, sea bass—the next task is to remove the guts. Especially during the summer months, when water temperatures spike and feed is abundant, leaving the guts in a fish quickens decomposition. The contents of the stomach are rotting before the fish exits the water, and, left in the fish over the course of a trip, the stuff will leach out into the flesh, tainting the flavor. Make a quick, shallow cut from the vent up to the throat, grab the guts, and disconnect with a short fillet knife. Rinse the fish again to remove any remaining blood.
No matter what the season, packing fish carefully in ice halts decomposition. On commercial tuna boats, fish go into a brine tank or “slush box” containing a mix of ice, kosher salt and sea water. This solution works better than mere ice for rapid cooling, chilling fish—literally–to the bone. If you have a well-insulated, tight-sealing cooler or fish box aboard, and your boat is large enough to handle the additional water weight, try using the “slush box” method to chill and store your catch. In addition to super-cooling the flesh, the brine will continue to rinse the fish through a day’s fishing.
Cutting fish is an art form, and unfortunately, there’s no substitute for practice. It goes without saying that a sharp knife is the number-one priority. Additionally, get in the habit of making the same series of cuts on each fish you fillet. Following the bone structure, make long, fluid strokes, rather than poking or hacking at the flesh.
With thicker-skinned stripers or tuna, it helps to use a serrated blade to break the skin; then go back in with a regular blade to separate meat from bone. Most traditional “table” fish break down into three categories: flatfish (fluke, flounder), fish with pronounced rib cages (cod, haddock, sea bass, tautog, striped bass) and fish with “pin” bones (tunas, bonito). The knives used and cuts made vary with each type. Because no one has ever learned to cut fish via the printed page, the best bet is to watch an experienced mate practice his craft. Learn by modeling.
As a bit of a side note, the part of fish we eat is mostly muscle. While the fish is still alive, and for a period after it’s dead, these muscles will contract. I can’t offer a scientific explanation here, but it’s wise to let fish rest, whole, for an hour or so before filleting. During skinning and even in a hot pan, fish filleted prematurely will often curl up around the edges or, in the case of flakier meat like cod or sea bass, fall apart.
As much as “still flopping in the pan” connotes freshness, filleting a live fish can have negative impacts later. The consensus among most fishermen is that fillets shouldn’t see freshwater until the oil is warming in the pan. In my experience, fish hold up best after a quick, simple rinse in clean salt water. I’ve always been a fan of grabbing a five-gallon bucket or two of cold, clean water outside the harbor for the final rinse. For whatever reason, a freshwater rinse seems to ruin the flavor of saltwater fish.
We all freeze our fish differently. Some will portion out fillets, rinse in freshwater, then dry thoroughly with paper towels. I leave the freshwater alone, opting instead to wrap freezerbound fillets in paper towel to wick out moisture, let sit for a bit, then vacuumseal the dried fillets in meal-sized packets.
Another good alternative, in lieu of the big expense of vacuum-sealing bags, is to place fillets in a quality Zip-Lock bag, seal the zipper most of the way, then immerse the whole deal in a bucket of water, leaving the top of the bag exposed. This will force any air out of the bag—an important step, since air is one of two vital ingredients in freezer-burn (the other is moisture).
Choosing your method, the main consideration is how long the fish will spend in the freezer. If it’s a late-October run to load up on sea bass, the boat soon to be pulled for the season, the vacuum-sealer is probably the best choice. Vac-packed fillets of delicate white fish will keep almost indefinitely, while Zip-locked portions have a way of souring after a couple months.
Doing it the right way—much work as it will seem the first few times–will definitely sharpen your eye for what the best fish looks like, and give you a new standard to evaluate flavor. Suddenly, that glistening, over-brined scrod behind the glass at the fish market will look a whole lot less appealing. You may also find yourself skipping over the “Seafood” header in restaurant menus, knowing that what they’ll serve up will pale in comparison to the stuff coming off your own stove.
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