Recipe: Baccala Mantecato for La Vigilia
Baccala mantecato, whipped preserved cod, is not a Southern Italian dish. It’s Venetian, usually made with stockfish, an air-dried cod, but since I like salt cod better (it’s less stinky and has a more familiar taste to me), I make it with that. And I whip one up almost every Christmas Eve. I like it much better than the traditional Neapolitan or Sicilian baccala presentations, where chunks of the soaked fish are simmered or baked with potatoes and onions or tomatoes and chickpeas. These dishes often taste too fishy to me, but when salt cod is puréed with good olive oil, a touch of garlic, potato, and a drizzle of cream, the result is truly voluptuous. Every family has its favorite baccala preparation for La Vigilia, Christmas Eve, and this one has been mine for about the last 20 years (my mother refused to make any type of baccala, feeling it was just too crass for her cosmopolitan world). I learned how to make brandade, the Provençal version of whipped cod, almost identical to the Venetian dish, while cooking at Florent, the sadly now defunct French diner in the now totally obnoxious Meatpacking District of Manhattan. I change the recipe slightly every time I make it. This year I’m including lemon zest, nutmeg, and thyme. These aren’t traditional (although they do taste really good), so if you’d prefer a purer version, consider them optional (or play around with the amounts to suit your taste).
I’ve lately been seeing baccala mantecato around town at a number of Italian and French wine bars. I almost always order it when I see it, and on almost every occasion I find it too salty (not soaked long enough) or too creamy and plain (too much cream, not enough good olive oil), or way too garlicky (boy aren’t I a picky little so and so?). But, you know, if you’re going to make something that requires two days of soaking and, as an added bonus, stinks up your kitchen, you might as well make it nice. And this dish can be heaven.
And for your listening pleasure, here’s the great Louie Prima singing “Zooma Zooma Baccala.” It doesn’t get any better than that. (Wow, is that really true?)
Baccala Mantecato for La Vigilia
(Serves 5 or 6 as an antipasto)
1½ pounds salt cod (try to find the thicker middle section, which has fewer bones to deal with)
1 fresh bay leaf
½ cup dry white wine
1 large baking potato, cooked soft, peeled, and roughly mashed
1 medium garlic clove, minced
Extra-virgin olive oil
The grated zest from 1 small lemon
A few big gratings of nutmeg
5 or 6 thyme sprigs, the leaves lightly chopped
Freshly ground black pepper
A few tablespoons of heavy cream
¾ cup homemade, not too finely ground breadcrumbs
A handful of black olives
Toasted bread made from slices of baguette, brushed with a little olive oil
You’ll need to soak the salt cod in a big pot of cold water for about a day and a half, changing the water a bunch of times (and putting the pot in the refrigerator overnight). After this, taste a bit to see if enough salt has leeched out of it. If not, soak it a little longer. Then drain it.
Place the salt cod (cut into pieces if necessary) in a large skillet. Add the bay leaf, and pour on the white wine. Add enough cool water to just cover the cod. Bring to a boil, and then turn the heat down to very low. Cover the skillet, and gently simmer the cod until it just begins to flake. This should take only about 15 minutes, maybe even less if you’ve got thin cuts. If it cooks any longer, it might become dry. Take the cod from the skillet, and when it’s cool enough to handle, pull off the bones and the skin.
Put the cod in a food processor, and give it a couple of pulses. Add the potato, the garlic, about ¼ cup of your best olive oil, the lemon zest, thyme, nutmeg, and some black pepper. Give it a few more pulses. You want a texture that’s creamy but not completely smooth, sort of like slightly lumpy mashed potatoes. Add about 2 tablespoons of cream, and pulse again. You shouldn’t need any salt.
Scrape the brandade from the food processor, and spoon it into an olive oil–coated shallow baking dish. Top with the breadcrumbs, and drizzle the top with olive oil.
When you’re ready to serve the dish, preheat the oven to 425 degrees, and heat it through, about 10 minutes. If the breadcrumbs don’t turn golden, run it under a broiler for a minute. Scatter on the olives, and serve with the warm toasts.
What do you drink with this concoction? Something pretty strong, I would guess. Like gasoline. When I was a teenager, I tasted this dish once at my friend Dave Marano’s house on a Christmas eve where we all got hammered drinking homemade red wine…I think the vintage was December 21st of that same year. In keeping with our Xmas tradition, we had stolen the wine and cases of beer off of the back porches of our neighbors’ homes, where they would leave it out to chill for their evening parties. Anyway, the wine was rotgut that reacted chemically with the baccala to form an explosive mixture…in my stomach, anyway. I don’t recall too many specifics of that night but the next morning, the party fare was all over the wall next to my bed and the room smelled like the cargo hold of an Italian trawler, manned by degenerate winos. The other party guests didn’t have any problems with the food because they were all super-Italians, raised in homes where only Italian was spoken and nursed on baccala. They’d leave a plate for Santa by the chimney. Unfortunately, this one bad experience forever dimmed my appetite for baccala and I haven’t had any since high-school. BUT YOURS SOUNDS GREAT! I wish I could be there to try your recipe. Don’t worry: I promise to vacate the minute my stomach starts to rumble, okay? Oh…MERRY CHRISTMAS, cookie! What’s on the menu for New Year’s Eve?
That’s a sweet story Michael. I’m thinking it was the home-made wine not the baccala that threw you over the edge. My grandfather used to make wine and it was very close in smell to nail polish remover.
Merry Christmas to you too.
A few years ago, I was able to get freshly soaked baccala at Emily’s Pork Store in Brooklyn; 426 Graham Ave. Although the owner was preparing it mainly for his own family’s use, he was willing to part with a couple of slabs.
You may recall you helped me come up with the recipe that I prepared especially for my dear Uncle Ledo. Baked it in a beautiful light tomato sauce made with oranges and fennel. Ledo, a discrete and wonderful man, was overwhelmed with gratitude for this dish, which brought him back to the meals his family, from Abruzzi, made. Although with much more sophistication, he added.
Hope to see you soon in NYC; I’ll be in town just after Christmas.
Yes Marieta, I was thinking of you when I wrote up this recipe.
Merry Christmas to you. Love to you and Paris, and see you soon.