Paddlefish
The majestic but under venerated Ohio River reaches the widest point (about a mile) in its 981-mile saunter from Pittsburgh to the Big Muddy just west of this city’s bravely reviving downtown. Louisville, although it is the nation’s 17th-largest city and home of the eponymous Slugger, is rarely associated with caviar. But the ornate hotel Seelbach on Fourth Street honors the Ohio’s rival to the roe of the Caspian sturgeon with as much respect — well, not quite as much — as it extends to aged, single-cask bourbon in its storied bar. Even for a Louisville booster, however, it must be hard to get excited about the eggs of the shovel-snouted paddlefish, the source of Kentucky’s own caviar. And yet this homely and very large sturgeon lookalike has lately swum into the fine-dining limelight. Paddlefish (Polyodon spathula) routinely grow 5 feet long and exceed 60 pounds. Hunters go after them with bow and arrow or large snagging hooks. Their flesh is oily; mounted trophies have been known to ooze oil down walls. But their eggs are the beauty part. They are black and tasty. And very sought after, since the world’s most prized caviar, from beluga sturgeon in the Caspian and Black seas, has been banned by the U.S. since 2005. So the Ohio River Basin’s sturgeon-roe taste-alike is suddenly a glamour puss instead of an ugly cousin. Paddlefish eggs have lately been cropping up at high-end venues. Indeed, domestic caviar, including farmed California sturgeon and wild hackleback roe, are on menus such as Petrossian in New York, beluga central since 1920, as well as Thomas Keller’s French Laundry, the Ritz-Carlton in Sarasota, Fla., and hip Mas in Greenwich Village. Petrossian mail-orders paddlefish caviar for $50 for 1¾ ounces, compared with $381 for its best Caspian osetra. But how does paddlefish caviar compare with the “real stuff?” To find out, we flew down to Louisville to taste these tiny, dark briny eggs on their home ground. We could have gone to Tennessee, but the idea of feasting on paddlefish caviar in the elegant main dining room of the Seelbach was irresistible. Chef Todd Richards has created a fresh menu with revamped traditional ideas (yukon potato poached in ham-hock broth) and his own inventions (sunny side up truffle quail eggs). I had prepared for this test in the Max’s bar downstairs with a glass of cognac-like Pappy Van Winkle bourbon. Upstairs, it seemed appropriate to switch to triple-distilled Kentucky vodka filtered through diamond dust. Very smooth. So was the caviar. But if you object to applying that word (ultimately a loan from ancient Persian), to home-grown stuff, you have other choices that jingle nicely. Paddlefish roe goes by many vernacular names, among them spoonfish and chataluga. But for me, caviar will do fine. My problem is with the Seelbach’s overstuffed presentation: Several little blini pancakes, chopped egg white, chopped egg yolk — all of it overwhelming two little dabs (a quarter ounce) of tiny eggs on noncorroding little mother-of-pearl spoons. But a couple of strategic tastes of the stuff was enough to remind me of my first taste of chataluga back in the 1980s. The nutty, mildly salty taste was just dandy. The little eggs don’t, however, each make an individual impression the way that Caspian sturgeon roe can at its best. But only Russian mafiosi can get hold of opulent, charcoal-grey, mild and civilized Beluga eggs nowadays. for the rest of us, paddlefish may look like a tarry smear, but in a blind tasting, they make many folks think they are eating sevruga, a prized Caspian sturgeon variety with small eggs and a buttery flavor. So there is no reason to get sniffy the next time you see paddlefish caviar on a menu. The price is right and, in my book, lightly salted eggs from almost any fish are worth downing with a flute of vodka. Do I refuse bright red salmon roe at sushi bars? Or extra-marine-flavored flying fish roe (tobiko)? Or even very fishy-tasting barracuda roe, which I once ordered at a little place on the Santa Monica pier? Nyet. That would be un-American. We live in a country where fish eggs are a part of our heritage. In the late spring, when the shad are bursting with roe in the Hudson or the Chesapeake, who could possibly reject them in favor of endangered Caspian products? As big as a calf’s liver and darkly wonderful with bacon, shad roe is something even Slowfooders ought to love: local, wild and with as tiny a carbon finprint as you could ask for. In the meantime, you can get your feet wet, paddlefishwise, by watching these ungainly prehistoric giants gliding around in the Tennessee Aquarium in Chattanooga, testing the waters with their sensitive spatulate snouts.
Source:Wallstreet Journal