It’s a cruel trick of the brain that the things we can’t easily reach become so much dearer to us by that quality alone. Consider one of the recent additions to the list of my favorite foods ever: pissaladière, Provençal pizza. It has all the makings of a Neven Pleaser: rich, salty, satisfying. Yet I can’t think of a single restaurant in Portland that serves in (on a regular basis, anyway).

Luckily, it’s pretty easy to make pissaladière at home. Before we look at the ingredients, a brief disclaimer: like pizza, this is a dish of many styles and variations. This recipe is a combination of several kinds I’ve read about, ordered, and attempted myself. Feel free to improvise. I’m including a bonus sauce at the end; it’s optional but delicious, and good to know as a secret weapon for other dishes.

The below recipe, combined with a nice salad, will feed two. If you plan on using both puff pastry sheets from the package, double everything and bake in sequence.

• 1 sheet puff pastry, frozen
• 8-12 anchovy fillets; half chopped, half whole
• 10-15 niçoise (“nee-swaz”) olives or Kalamatas, pitted and quartered
• 1 large onion, sliced chunky
• fresh thyme
• fresh parsley, chopped
• good olive oil
• salt, sugar, black pepper

Ingredient notes: the best possible anchovies are Ortiz brand; Scalia will also work. Check your local Italian deli - the grocery store is unlikely to carry anything you’d want to eat.

Preheat the oven to 500º F. Next, grab the puff pastry sheet; they usually come in pairs, so remove one from the package and place it on a tray on the counter for 30 to 60 minutes, until it unfolds easily.

Meanwhile, let’s caramelize the onions - heat a bit of oil in a shallow nonstick skillet on medium-high. When it’s shimmering, add the onion and half a teaspoon each of salt and sugar. Stir lightly immediately to distribute the sugar. Cook 15-25 minutes until the onion is soft, with some brown spots, but not fully browned. If any slices were so small that they’re now burnt black, remove them. When done, remove from heat and add half a tablespoon of water to the skillet to keep the onions shiny and moving. Set aside.

Time to assemble: place a large sheet of parchment paper (NOT wax paper) on a pizza peel or a cookie sheet. Unfold the puff pastry sheet onto it and roll it out with a rolling pin lightly; we want to prevent the whole thing from puffing up madly, but don’t “crush” it.

Brush the whole thing with olive oil; if your anchovies came in a nice oil themselves, add some of that. Next, top with the olives, then the chopped anchovies, leaving a 1/2” border around the toppings. Add a sprinkle of fresh thyme and grind on some black pepper. Grab onions from the skillet using tongs and top the pissaladière. Finish it off with the whole anchovy fillets arranged in a pretty criss-cross pattern.

Bake for 10-15 minutes, until the edges of the puff pastry and the underside are golden brown. The edges may puff up quite a bit, but they’ll deflate once out of the oven. Let it cool for 5 minutes, then cut into a 2 × 3 grid. Top with the parsley and the sauce. What sauce? This sauce:

Bonus recipe: herbed mayonnaise

I learned this as sauce ravigote, which is probably not quite right, though the definition of the sauce appears to be controversial. Let’s just call it a sort of herbed mayo.

• 1 tbsp mayo; if possible, Kewpie brand
• 1 egg yolk
• 1/2 tsp Dijon mustard
• 1 tbsp canola, grapeseed, or other mild oil
  
• 1/2 tbsp lemon juice
• 1/2 tbsp combined fresh herbs: parsley, chervil, tarragon, thyme; minced as finely as possible

Combine the egg, mayo, and mustard in a small bowl. Slowly drizzle in the oil while whisking vigorously, making sure it gets integrated and the sauce stays together without separating. Stir in the juice and the herbs. Add salt if needed.

Grab dollops of the sauce with a fork and drizzle it over the pissaladière; if you have any left over, it’ll keep in the fridge for a week. Use it on literally anything savory.

Serve everything with a crisp white wine or lemonade for the youngsters.

The heat reached 96 degrees in Portland yesterday. I wasn’t built for this sort of thing, I tell you. I knew I’d have to prepare something cold for lunch, but I also had a bit of a salty tooth, as I usually do. Cold food usually covers the creamy and sweet parts of the flavor spectrum; what about salty, spicy, and pungent?

Presenting: cold sesame noodles with fried anchovies.

We will need the following ingredients, which are discussed in more detail after the list:

• Soba noodles
• Toasted sesame oil
• Sesame seeds
• Soy sauce
• Rice vinegar
• Fish sauce
• Dried anchovies

You’ll notice I’m skipping measurements; they make no more sense here than in, say, salad dressing. Start with what looks right, don’t add too much of anything, and since there’s no cooking involved in the sauce, you can always correct as you mix. The liquids in my list are probably sorted from highest to lowest amount, but please, follow your own stomach.

If you don’t stock any of these items, it’s time to make a trip to your local Asian market. These are all rewarding ingredients with a long shelf life. Speaking of which: store your sesame oil in the fridge. Precious oils (like hazelnut oil or truffle oil) will lose their punch quickly if left in the pantry.

You can buy toasted sesame seeds, but toasting your own isn’t rocket surgery: nonstick pan over medium heat for a minute or two until they’re fragrant and hazelnut-colored (but not dark brown.)

The rice vinegar and the fish sauce are optional, but you’ll be breaking my heart if you skip them.

As for those anchovies… Fine, they’re not totally crucial, and most places won’t top their noodles with them. Most places don’t serve the best cold sesame noodles ever. If you’re vegetarian, I get it. If you eat fish otherwise, it’s time to acquaint yourself with one of the world’s greatest under-appreciated flavors. 

In this case, we’ll be using Thai dried anchovies. Your Asian market will definitely have them; look for bags near all the other dried foods. There are myriad brands; here’s how to spot the good ones: the fish should be about 3” in length, whole, and shiny. Avoid broken fish and anything with “dust”, either at the bottom of the bag or on the fishies themselves. Think of it as cereal - you want solid pieces.

Start cooking by frying the anchovies, brave soul: in a small pan, heat canola or peanut oil over medium-high heat; drop in the fish, then spoon them out onto a paper-towel-lined plate in a minute or so. They should look darker and crisper, but not burned. 

While that’s going, boil your noodle water and cook the soba for about 4 minutes, or whatever the package instructs you to do. Then do the thing you never want to do with hot pasta: rinse the noodles with very cold water, moving them so they don’t stick. Immediately toss them in a large bowl (no, seriously, a very large bowl) with all the liquid ingredients. As you do that, throw in the toasted sesame seeds. Season with furikake or shichimi togarashi, garnish with green onions and the anchovies.

This recipe has meandered a bit, so to recap: toast the sesame, mix the wet ingredients in a bowl, fry the fish, boil the noodles. Enjoy on the porch or in front of a fan. Happy summer!

And oldie but goodie. Blue Ocean rates fish by abundance as well as common methods used to fish or farm your favorite seafood. There’s even a mobile render and text message service for when you’re standing in front of the fish counter or contemplating that Chilean sea bass special.

“Fishy” is one of the great, underused flavors. Those who know and love it must perform lingual acrobatics to describe what they mean and why it’s a good thing: we speak of fresh sea flavor, of salty air, of garlic’s pungency; of bacon, even. And these terms are helpful; a good fishy fish indeed has all those components. But so specific and irreplaceable is the dominant flavor dimension of a small, oily fish that I feel it would be best to instead develop an appreciation for the “fishy taste” instead, accept it, and then find it as a component in other foods (and not vice versa).

I said “oily fish”, which has a pretty technical meaning. Oily fish include tuna, salmon, trout, sardine, and anchovy. They are distinctly different from whitefish like cod and pollock. A not-too-controversial statement, I hope: the typical fish sandwich served in the US of A contains a fried or grilled whitefish, dressed in tartar and lettuce. And that’s fine; I’m sure many places do that well. But there’s a whole world of fishy flavor waiting to be discovered. Let’s start with three sandwiches.

Tuna Sandwich

• 1 rustic baguette
• 1 can of good tuna, drained
• 1 egg
• 1/2 green pepper, sliced
• 5-6 black olives, halved; preferably whole Kalamatas, freshly pitted
• 1-2 tbsp vinaigrette of balsamic vinegar, mustard, mayo, olive oil, salt & pepper.

Hard-boil the egg using the technique described in our Pickled Eggs post, then slice it. Halve the baguette and “canoe” it, meaning, remove some of the fluffy inside to make room for the toppings. (You can use the removed bread to make breadcrumbs, or heck, just eat it.)

Make the vinaigrette (this is a whole other post, but in brief: start with vinegar in the bowl, add a bit of mustard and mayo, stir until smooth, then slowly drip in the oil while stirring, making sure it’s all integrated and the oil doesn’t float on top; season.)

Fill the bottom half of the bread with the tuna; pack it in well. Follow with the sliced egg, the halved olives, then the green pepper. Drizzle with the vinaigrette. Close the sandwich and…

…Wrap it tightly in plastic wrap. This is when permeating, integrated, rich flavor is born. If it’s going to be a few hours before you eat it, store the sandwich in the fridge. I recommend, however, leaving it on the counter and eating it at room temperature after an hour or two. Pair with white wine and a bag of chips.

Notes: My favorite tuna is Ortiz. I usually buy Peloponnese olives. Frantoia olive oil is still the best I’ve had.

Sardine Sandwich

• 1 soft baguette (Vietnamese if possible; these are fluffier and lighter than the rustic, Italian style used in the tuna sandwich.)
• 1 can sardines in tomato sauce, the best you can find (recommendation below)
• 1 large shallot or 1/2 onion, sliced
• 1-2 tbsp Kewpie mayo
• Butter, salt, sugar
• Balsamic vinegar

We’ll be caramelizing the onions first. The secret to this is to cook the onions twice, first at high heat (to brown them) then at medium heat (to soften them). Heat some butter over high heat; as soon as the butter is melted, go in with the onions, salt, and sugar. Give it a few minutes, making sure the onions soften but don’t burn. Then turn the heat down to medium and cook for another 10 minutes, stirring often. When almost done, splash in some balsamic vinegar and stir lightly. You should end up with sticky, dark onions - not melting-soft, though.

Slice the baguette with a knife sharp enough to not crush the fluffy inside. Spread the mayo on both halves. Fill the bottom half with the entire contents of the sardine can - sauce and oil and all. This will be a juicy sandwich (hence the fluffier, more absorbent bread!) Top with the caramelized onions. Eat pronto, perhaps with a side of pickled daikon and a glass of Saison Dupont.

Notes: I love Pollastrini and Connétable sardines; the stuff you find at Safeway (Crown Prince, Brunswick) is almost unusable. Find the real deal at your friendly, fancy deli. As for mayo, I either make my own or use the excellent Japanese Kewpie; no US mayo comes close. Always cut with the sharpest (i.e. safest) knife you have - mine is a Global santoku.

For sardine discussion and recommendations, and a general argument for eating small fishes, make sure you follow the peerless Society for the Appreciation of the Lowly Tinned Sardine.

Anchovy Sandwich

• 3-5 anchovy filets, lightly patted dry
• 1 ball fresh mozarella, sliced chunky
• 1 handful spring mix (endive, arugula, radicchio, mâche, frisée, etc.)
• 1 sandwich-sized square of good focaccia bread 
• Olive oil and balsamic vinegar
• Black pepper

As simple as it gets: slice the focaccia, top with mozzarella, anchovies - acciughe, alice! - then finish off with the salad drizzled with the wetware, and season to taste. Enjoy with a Chianti or an Italian soda, or maybe even some drinking vinegar if you can find it.

Notes: For this recipe, your best bet is to visit the local Italian deli. Hopefully they’ll have fluffy, shiny focaccia; a big jar of mozzarella balls in whey; maybe even some Ortiz or Scalia anchovies (the former are amazing, but a bit hard to track down.)

And a final note regarding the product links above and on Salt & Fat in general: they point to our Amazon affiliate accounts, which means we get a small percentage of any money you spend on Amazon when you follow our links. We believe in shopping fresh and local, but if something is hard to find in your area, Amazon is a pretty good option these days. Beats settling for subpar substitutions from the local brick & chain & mortar.