The sublime trout
No fish has such wonderful associations for me as trout does. I think of Huck Finn eating it with eggs, fried over an open fire, right from the pan (Huck Finn didn’t actually do this, but I’m for some reason convinced he did); or the famous shed over the Calumet River on the South Side of Chicago where they sell smoked trout that melts in your mouth; or Captain Beefheart; or Franz Schubert; or Kilgore Trout; or (of course) Mike Trout. I haven’t had a fishing license since I was in grade school, but every year I tell myself I’m going to get one and lay siege to the trout in the Wissahickon, and I’ll probably even get around to it.
Among its many other virtues, trout tins up as well as any other fish—maybe even better than any other. If you were drawing up a Venn diagram to characterize commonly canned fish in terms of price, availability, healthfulness, ecological impact, flavor, texture, and—not important to me, but important to many—not being overwhelmingly fishy, it would sit precisely at the point where every one of these considerations overlap; in addition, while it has a ceiling as high as any fish, it also has a fairly high floor. I’ve had some truly revolting tins of such ubiquitous fish as salmon, sardines, and tuna, and while I’m sure there’s some nasty trout out there, the worst I’d say about trout I’ve ever had is that it was a bit bland. Recently, I ate five tins of trout, ranging from the good to the truly superb, and I now just want more.
This was an experiment. Two of the tins were from Trader Joe’s, and I knew them to be reliable; the other three were expensive ones I bought at Herman’s Coffee, the South Philly tinned-seafood (and many other excellent things) destination. I go there every once in a while and buy three or four tins, because they always have new and unusual ones alongside my favorites like this, and these usually form the core of my tins-to-try stockpile; the last time I was there, knowing a person enthusiastic about trout would be staying over during the holidays, I bought an intriguing tin I’d never seen before. Knowing my stash contained the Trader Joe’s trout and a favorite tin to serve as controls, as well another intriguing-looking but unconsumed tin, I had all I needed for science.
The first tin I tried was Trader Joe’s skinless smoked trout, which I had twice—once over lentil soup in which I’d wilted baby spinach, and once over kale alongside rice and black beans and a runny fried egg. (I didn’t have it twice in a row, but between the second and third of the fancy ones.) This isn’t a tin that’s going to inspire rapturous odes, and I don’t think it’s supposed to be a tin that inspires rapturous odes; it’s a straightforward and honest one for weekday lunches and snacking. The fish flakes well, has a pleasing and not overwhelming smokiness to it, and would make an excellent point of entry for anyone new to trout. It’s … trout—firm but yielding, meaty yet delicate, distinctively fishy without being all that fishy, and with, in all, a perhaps more convincing claim to be the chicken of the sea (or at least lake or river) than tuna. If I have any objections to it, it’s that it’s bit on the drier side and that it’s packed in canola rather than olive oil, but these aren’t a big deal at all, especially since packing the fish in something I wouldn’t immediately want to sop up with bread is presumably a lot of what keeps it at around $3 a can. Along with the sockeye salmon, this is my favorite Trader Joe’s fish, and a real pantry staple. One suggestion: It benefits a lot, even more than the usual tin, from heat and/or acidity, however you prefer those delivered. Lemon juice and jalapeños worked for me this go-round, and next time I’m going to try some sambal oelek.
My next tin was one over which I’ve previously rhapsodized, the JOSE Gourmet smoked trout fillets in olive oil. I was almost hesitant to try it because I’d enjoyed the first tin I had so much, but it was just as good the second time. At its best the canning process preserves the fish in all its freshness, capturing the air and water and a sense of place in a way there’s probably some (likely Portuguese) word for that isn’t terroir but means much the same thing, and this tin does that as well as any I’ve ever had, more than justifying its outrageously over the top promotional copy (as well as its outrageous price). These are firm yet buttery fillets with beautiful skin attractively presented, bright and dense and subtly smoky; I had them with black beans, white rice, avocado, red pepper slices, and green onions, and if I had that for lunch every day for a while I don’t think I’d mind. The visiting trout enthusiast was every bit as impressed as I was, proclaiming the trout “blends well,” flavor- and texture-wise. “It just adds a little bit,” they said. “It’s smooth. Not too oily, either. Whenever I add tinned fish to something I worry it will be too oily.”
At this point, I was prepared for my next tin, Fangst’s smoked Danish freshwater trout with juniper and lemon, or Regnbue Ørred, to be something of a letdown, not just because the JOSE was so good but because I had bought it on a lark—with an open mind and in a spirit of curiosity, but prepared to be revolted. As is the case with a seemingly increasing number of cans of fish, this one came with a charming if perhaps not strictly necessary backstory (“In his childhood, Martin co-founder of FANGST, enjoyed his many visits on trout farms with his father,” etc.) but more important to me it came with juniper. I hadn’t, to my knowledge, had juniper before, and associated it with the opening cutscene of Skyrim; in the event it was a non-issue, and herb-wise the heavier notes came from some thyme. This is a lot of throat-clearing ahead of saying I liked this a lot. I had it on sautéd kale with black beans, rice, and parmesan. It was fresh and firm and, curiously, flaked evenly horizontally as well as vertically, making it fun to pick apart and eat on forkfuls of other stuff, dipped in chili sauce. It had an earthiness to it, and a bit of a bite, and didn’t taste like gin at all. For the money I’d go with the JOSE, but this is a fine tin.
As things turned, I’d inadvertently built up to the main event. The next tin I opened was one about which I knew nothing other than that it was trout; that it was more specifically marked as “TRUTA AGLIO OLIO,” which could mean a lot of things; and that it had cost a $18. Reader, the trout was covered in mayonnaise, and this was, at minimum, as good a tin as any I’ver had. My tasting notes reveal me to have been totally inadequate to the task of describing what this actually tastes like, containing words and phrases like “luxurious,” “wont take photo bc afraid of real food writers, ones who use words like ‘jammy,’” “a riot of flavors and textures,” “The one tin that gave me a real sense of eating like a king,” and “eating like an emperor.” After my first tentative bite, I was moved to move around the house, wielding the tin.
“Wow,” said the visiting enthusiast, a taciturn person from whom this was the highest praise. “That’s really good. Smooth, creamy, and it doesn’t overwhelm the trout. The trout is really good.”
“I don’t like where you’re going with this!” said a resident anti-enthusiast at whom I thrust the tin, explaining that this was as good a tin as I’d ever had, like fishy mayonnaise but really good. “Don’t drag fish around,” they replied. Daunted, I returned to the dining room, where I corrupted the experiment by enjoying the trout not with legume-based mush, as I had the previous ones, but with toasted sourdough, pickled beets, and quick-pickled red cabbage. I regret nothing. The trout melted in my mouth along with the emulsion. It was rapturous.
Quarter-assed research reveals that this tin is the ABC+ Trout Fillets Aglio e Olio. ABC+ is described as “Portugal’s smallest cannery” on the website of Caputo’s, a Salt Lake City-area purveyor of fancy foods that sells its products. (“Recipes for sardines in EVOO, lemon, and tomato are tried and true, but ABC+ builds on that tradition by developing new, elevated recipes preserved in distinctively round hand-sealed cans,” reads copy on the site.) It appears—plot twist!—to enjoy some sort of relationship with JOSE, which I say partly because a San Francisco-area wine store markets the tins as “ABC+ by Jose Gourmet” and partly because the JOSE website features ABC+ products, placing them on par, design-wise, with its own. I could ferret out the nature of this relationship with an email, but ferreting out the nature of relationships is the sort of thing I do professionally and I just don’t want to. What matters is that ABC+ appears to be a mad science lab of tinning, not only turning one of the most disgusting-sounding combinations imaginable in high-grade trout slathered in what is functionally mayonnaise (“a simple and creamy sauce where the fresh flavors of garlic and parsley take center stage,” claims the Caputo’s website) into the food of the gods, but selling things like trout fillets in dill pickles, trout fillets in onion relish, and mackerel fillets in curry. I’m going to have to try them all.
Housekeeping
—Happy New Year! I hope everything is going great with you. Since the last edition I read and consequently would like to recommend the Chronicles of Barsetshire, which I enjoyed more than I would have thought possible, and not just because it proves that popular culture is not only not in decline since, but hasn’t really changed much in basic ways since, the 19th century by featuring a set-up for the Palliser novels, a second series of novels set in the same universe, worked in so shamelessly that it makes the scene in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice in which Wonder Woman watches trailers for upcoming DC movies look subtle.
—Hopefully the next newsletter will be about a new cannery that daunted me by sending me an enormous quantity of fish. If you would like me to review a product you make or sell feel free to email; I can’t promise I’ll like it or write about it, obviously, but I will sincerely attempt to do both.