It's pretty common in my family for us to start thinking about a holiday menu weeks in advance, if not months. We carefully decide what will be served, and how, and when. What is the ideal centerpiece this year? How heavy should we go on the apps? Is it going to be a night of grazing, or should the meal be served family-style? Will we still have room for dessert after all that eating? (Duh.)
But one of the meals this week is already determined. Plenty of time is still spent discussing what precisely to cook, of course, but we know exactly what the meal will focus on: fish. Lots and lots of fish. It's the Feast of the Seven Fishes.
If you come from an Italian-American family, you're likely already quite familiar with this meal. It is typically consumed on Christmas Eve, a day when Catholics (as most Italians are) are not traditionally supposed to eat meat, and thus load up on fish. Ultimately it's evidence of true Italian style—why eat just one fish when you can create a festive feast of several? And in my family, that's no different.
The number seven is significant for a few reasons. There are seven sacraments, and it took God seven days to create the world; the number seven is repeated over 700 times in the Bible! But the exact origins as to why Italian Americans have to eat that many fish on Christmas Eve is unknown; again, I'm chalking it up to overindulgence.
In preparation for my own family's feast, I wanted to test my skills, to see if I could make a slightly extravagant feast that would make my Italian ancestors proud. Yes, I decided to cook my own little Feast of the Seven Fishes. In my New York City apartment. Though, as you'll see, there was nothing small about it.
And the familiar planning debates began, albeit inside my head. I spent hours poring over example menus and pondering the most important question: Was I going to make seven individual courses of fish? Or just a few dishes, designed to be packed with different fish? I chose the latter—prudently, I think—and here's the menu I came up with:
- Marinated anchovies with bread and butter
- Mussels with tomato and garlic
- Fried calamari with garlic aioli
- Seafood chowder
You'll notice there are only four dishes there, but rest assured they contained more than seven fish. I wanted these to be the strongest four fish dishes of all time, so I really started from scratch—that is, I took a page out of queen Ina Garten's book (quite literally, as the dish comes from her latest cookbook) and began the meal by making my own seafood stock.
If you've never made stock, I will just say this in my best Ina impression: Store-bought is fine. I got the fish bones from the seafood market, then threw them in a pot with shallots, garlic, carrots, celery, and water until it all came up to a simmer. And believe me, you'll know when it's come up to a simmer, because your entire house—every crevice, crack, and corner—will smell like fish bones. So just prepare yourself for that.
Then, I really got started on the seafood chowder. I sautéed more shallots, garlic, celery, carrots, plus potatoes and corn, then stirred in flour and eventually the stock. Then came crab meat (fish #1), monkfish (fish #2), and shrimp (fish #3). I seared scallops (fish #4) for a minute on each side, and then added them to the soup at the end; that way, they were cooked and crispy, without being rubbery and overdone. Shortly before serving, I added a bit of heavy cream and parsley, because of course.
Next up, I marinated the anchovies (fish #5) in white vinegar, red pepper flakes, and olive oil. At this point, the mussels (fish #6) came together pretty and felt easy-breezy. Pro tip: do not be freaked out if they are a little bit open, as long as they close again after tapping them.
And finally, there was the calamari (fish #7). I sliced the squid into rings, marinated them in buttermilk, and dredged them in seasoned flour. I fried in batches until golden and crispy, which takes about three minutes. Unless of course your smoke alarm (if you've been here before, you know I call mine Linda) starts going off at the slightest hint of steam. Then you might just find yourself overcooking the last batch by a minute amid all the noisy chaos!
But not to worry. By my count, that's seven fish, not including the stinky fish bones, so I think the ancestors and possibly God himself would be pretty happy with me. And I would hope so, as my entire apartment will smell like these blessed dishes for the next week.
In any case, the mussels were garlicky in their amazing broth. The anchovies were tangy and sharp. The calamari was ultra crispy and tender—at least the rings that were cooked correctly. And the chowder? Well, queen Ina certainly knows what she's doing.
It was certainly a fun experiment to test myself into cooking four rather intense seafood dishes in an afternoon. But at my next iteration, later this month, I'll be happy to split the heavy lifting with my mom. Now please excuse me, while I go try to sage the fishy aromas out of my apartment with the help of incense and prayers.
