Pompano en Papillote

Sassafrass, the office cat, looks at a computer keyboard and thinks: “I could pee there.” I looked past the waiter at my wife’s Pompano en Papillote, and thought: “I could cook that.”

At least I do now.

I have had fish prepared en papillote here and there over the years, and it’s pretty neat - meal in a bag, French name, and all that; but when all was said and done, however nice the broth and herbs, it was to my Southern fried mind just steamed fish and vegetables.

Then the Pontchartrain Hotel reopened, and the Caribbean Room was back in business. My wife and I dined there one night, and she ordered the Pompano en Papillote. The waiter really made a big deal about it, but I got the duck, secure in my choice, and maybe a little sorry for my wife.

Then they brought out the Pompano. An inflated, oven-browned bag, radiating heat and the subtlest fragrance. Very cleverly - masterly, even - our waiter broke out the scissors and snipped the bag, fashioning a workable entrance which opened like French doors of crackling parchment. The steam rose and a marvelous aroma kicked in, and for the moment I forgot my duck. You could see the Pompano, gleaming between the leaves. The waiter stepped in with a china gravy boat, and, muttering ‘crab meuniere,’ poured a stream of rich, creamy crab-filled something right through the French doors - and I thought to myself it’s not just steamed fish anymore.

The duck was plenty good, but I resolved that next time I dined there, it would be the Pompano.

It had been a specialty of the Caribbean Room many years ago, in another lifetime. I came along too late for that, but people are still talking about those glory days, about the marvelous Caribbean Room and its renowned chef, Louis Evans. I’d even picked up a copy of the cookbook that was published just after his death.

And now I have picked it up again. Chef Louis’ Pompano en Papillote is in there. This son of a Mississippi sharecropper was no stranger to a fancy dish with a fancy French name - French cuisine was his stock and trade, and he was a master. Some (many) of the most famous people of his time - presidents, great artists, legendary entertainers - would dine at his table. It was his style to put the seafood sauce in with the fish before closing the bag. That might have its virtues, but I liked the drama of the china gravy boat.

Chef Louis prescribed what looks to have been a custard with crab and shrimp. And there were no vegetables to accompany the fish in the bag. (I believe there were vegetables in my wife’s, but I have to take her word for it, because she refused to share.)

Not so sure about the cookbook, either. Sometimes I suspect that fundamental instructions (which to wiser hands might be implied) are simply omitted - things like “reduce by half,” perhaps. And the listed ingredients don’t always square with the instructions. When six egg yolks are involved, a guy wants to be sure about the measurements.

But I can cut and slice, and I can make a sauce (or at least some of them). And I was pretty good with a pair of scissors
back in Vacation Bible School, before, you know, they kicked me out.

So I set about to find some Pompano.

And that turned out to be the hardest part.

The Picayune can take you only so far, and then one must resort to the internet. There were more than a few dead ends before I found the right place. Federal Express botched the first attempt, and was going to let me bear the cost (which they could have done legally, for I was stupid enough to waive signature receipt); but the worthy fish monger would not see a customer disappointed - they actually said that - and saved the day. I recommend these people wholeheartedly https://www.citarella.com/.

Surely, Tilapia at your local market would be cheaper; but it would not be Pompano.

Prepare the parchments. The standard width of parchment paper available in the grocery store is 15 inches. So a 15-inch length of parchment is a perfect square. Cut a thin strip, and you have a 15-inch standard to use as a measuring stick. Cut as many 15-inch lengths as you need, one for each serving. Fold each one in half, corner to corner. You will have so many triangles. Arrange them side by side on a large work space and open them up.

Prepare the vegetables. You will want between half a cup and a cup of assorted vegetables for each filet.

Take five or six interesting vegetables. Like a few rainbow carrots, a red onion, fennel bulb, some pearl onions, some grape tomatoes and green peas - frozen are fine.

Cut the carrot, as much as you will need, into thin strips, 2 to 3 inches long, and no more than a quarter inch thick, because they won’t have long to cook. Same thing with the red onion. Cut thin fan shaped slices from the fennel bulb. Peel your pearl onions - which will involve boiling them for three minutes, snatching them from the water to cool, then removing their jackets. Throw in some grape tomatoes and peas. Anything you want. You decide how much.

Do not mix them up; keep them in separate bowls.

Load the parchments.

Onto the center of each sheet of parchment, next to the crease, apportion like amounts from each bowl of vegetables, making a pile of half a cup, or a little more.

Lay a filet, its edge alongside the parchment crease, over each pile. If it seems too long for your sheet of parchment, cut it in two and stack the halves. Season with salt and pepper, Cajun seasoning, anything you like. Place pats of butter and lemon slices on top. Strategically position fennel fronds, sprigs of thyme and dill. Drizzle over all some olive oil, and a little white wine - not too much, maybe a teaspoon or two for each packet.

Sealing the parchment.

Fold the other half of the parchment sheet over the fish, and get the edges as lined up as you can. Videos aplenty are on the internet. There’s more than one way to do it. You can practice with the rotogravure. (It’s not every day you can use that word.) The usual method is kind of ad hoc, just a matter of taking a corner on the crease side, bending it inboard till its upper edge is against the mound in the middle, and then smoothing it down - really hard. 

Then move further down, a little at a time, adjusting the angle a bit each time so as to make the edge follow the outline of the mound, making a series of folds. When you finish you might have a half moon shape like mine - or if the filet isn’t very long, it might be more like a circle.

Judging by the pictures I took, I have no particular talent for sealing a parchment packet. I have done this a number of times now, but it seems there has been no improvement in my technique. When I look at those pictures, I say to myself, Jeez, even I could have done better than that. But therein lies the beauty. It still works. Maybe you can fold it any old way. Maybe any mistake can be corrected if you fold it in one more time and rub it down hard with the bottom of a glass. 

Or better yet (though I have as yet to stoop so low) - use a stapler.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Make the sauce.

1/4 C minced shallots

2 sticks butter

3 T flour

1/2 C white wine

1 C fish or chicken broth

1 C heavy cream

1/2 t salt

1/2 t cayenne

1 C picked crab

3/4 lb peeled shrimp

In a 2-quart saucepan, melt a stick of butter. Add the minced shallots, 3 T’s of flour, and start whisking. Cook for at least a minute, maybe two. Then reduce heat to low and slowly add 1/2 C white wine (sweet or dry, whatever you like), give it another minute; then slowly add 1 C broth and the remaining stick of butter, whisking all the while. When all the butter is melted, slowly add (still whisking) the cream, the salt and cayenne. When the thickness suits you, fold in the crab, cook until it is thoroughly heated through; add the shrimp, and when they are nicely poached, you’re done.

Put the packets on a baking sheet.

Bake the parchments

Put the baking sheet with your parchment packets in the preheated oven. Set the timer for 20 minutes.

The packets will be inflated and browned.

Serving the packets.

Plate the packets. Then with scissors cut a short, wide “H” (with the middle bar of that “H” running lengthwise) in every packet, fashioning those French doors I was talking about.

Or, in the real world, you can stand idly by with your useless scissors as your guests ignore your instructions and simply open the packets with their fingers.

In any event, your assistant should be standing by to pour about half a cup of sauce into each packet as it is opened.

A New Orleans Spaghetti Bordelaise is a good accompaniment, for it really knows what to do with a Cajun cream sauce. You could in fact dump the contents of your packet on a mound of spaghetti and drench it in sauce. And don't forget the crusty French bread.

Which wine to pair with Pampano en Papillote is an easy choice, because, as a friend reminds me, and as Edward G. Robinson unforgettably explains (click below for dramatic illustration) -





 Champagne and Pompano - they really go together.