Miso horny: Nobu's black cod with miso

You know that feeling.  It's that lingering cloud of doubt that hovers over you while preparing a recipe from a cookbook written by one of your favourite chefs.  Maybe it's Batali, maybe Keller, or maybe, as in my case, that chef is Nobu Matsuhisa.  I hate that feeling.

You follow the recipe to the letter.  The finished dish is good, great even.  But no matter how hard you try you can't fully appreciate the dish because you're bugged by that voice in your head constantly feeding that nagging doubt: is this really as good as the dish at the restaurant?

This niggling suspicion attacks in two ways.  First, it casts doubt on whether you've even prepared the dish well.  "Surely," your frazzled brain reasons, "Thomas Keller has some sort of magical knack for roasting a chicken.  I, however, am a rank amateur, and have surely prepared a chicken only slightly better than Swiss Chalet."  There may be some truth to this -- none of us will ever be Thomas Keller -- but such worries are best written off as the culinary equivalent of performance anxiety.

The second cause for suspicion is far less benign, in my opinion, specifically because it's beyond the home cook's control.  I'm speaking of the cookbook recipe that can charitably be described as an "adaptation" of the restaurant dish, but is, of course, presented as "the dish I serve my patrons."  One of the more disturbing lessons of Heat, Bill Buford's chronicle of his time at Babbo (Mario Batali's flagship restaurant) is that Batali's recipes are not faithful reproductions of his astonishing restaurant dishes.  Want to reproduce the fresh egg pasta at Babbo?  Don't use the Babbo cookbook.  Ditto for polenta.  Buford reveals that Batali enriches the pasta at Babbo with extra egg yolks, and that the use of instant polenta, which is a Batali recipe standard, is viewed as a personal failing at the restaurant.

There are times when scrupulously recreating a restaurant dish is impossible, and so the recipe must be adapted to better suit the equipment and ingredients available to the home cook.  I've got no issue with alterations under such circumstances.  It is, however, reprehensible to sell an altered recipe as the original when a home cook could reproduce the original without any specialized equipment or ingredients.

There is hope, though it doesn't come easily or cheaply.  The only surefire way to learn whether a homecooked version of a dish is the real deal is to actually go to the restaurant and eat the original.  Which brings me, finally, to Nobu's black cod with miso.   Many years ago, I made this dish after friends who had tasted it at Nobu London raved about it.  Word spreads quickly, and now Nobu's signature plate seems to be on the menu at pretty much every pan-Asian restaurant in the Western hemisphere.  For good reason, too.  Not only is the recipe (FYI, I use equal amounts of sake and mirin) accessible to even the most novice cook, the finished product is phenomenal.  The key is the fat content of the black cod, which creates a luxurious buttery texture and flavour.  Three days in a sugar-spiked miso marinade adds more umami punch and increases caramelization during cooking.  We fell in love with this dish the first time we made it, and have continued to prepare it frequently ever since.

But how does homemade black cod with miso compare to Nobu's version?  To figure that out, we visited New York and enjoyed a stupendous meal at Nobu.  We chose to eat omakase -- the Japanese equivalent of a tasting menu -- but asked if the chef might make one little exception and include the black cod.  Some things you just have to know, after all.  Nobu's black cod with miso is superb -- it doesn't hurt that they served ours with some seared foie gras -- and I was thrilled to learn that our homemade version, minus the foie gras, is every bit as good.  So much for that anxiety.

There was, unfortunately, one thing I discovered I cannot prepare even a fraction as well.  Our menu included nigiri sushi -- wonderfully fresh slices of raw fish atop sushi rice.  But what rice!  I have never tasted such perfect sushi rice in my life: a fragrant, perfectly cooked, neatly compact bundle in which each grain of rice was still individually discernible on the tongue.  Simple genius: rice free of starchy consequences.

I know I can't make rice like Nobu, but at least I can prepare its black cod with miso secure in the knowledge that it's every bit the equal of what they serve to their customers.

Comments

[Brilynn]

I'm fairly confident that even if the dish you make isn't the same as the restaurant, it's going to be pretty damn good anyways. And if you ever need a guinea pig, I'm available.

[david]

I'm sorry, but is the title for this post the best title for a blog post ever, or what?

[cookiecrumb]

(Ha ha. David got it.)
Rob, you're right that it's about the quality of the ingredients. You have to trust your abilities and techniques, but if your basic food is not first-rate -- I seem to remember something about a silk purse and a rabbit's ear... :D
Could you find out what rice they're cooking at Nobu? Probably makes a big difference.
Congratulations on your beautiful dish.

[Tommy]

Although I don't get too worked up over this, I read your post with some interest, as I prepare to try my hand at Batali's Tagliatelle with Fresh Tuna Ragu (although I don't think I'll be getting out to New York any time soon for a comparison). And I'll remember that extra yolks trick next time I make pasta.

[Ms. Glaze]

That's not fair – the sushi here in Paris is terrible! – did you have to write about Nobu? You know I have dreams about eating sushi that's how much I miss it. Btw, I love the Nobu cookbook. Its beautiful and simple with emphasis placed on quality of ingredients and preparation. Can't wait to try this recipe. Bises, Ms. Glaze

[Anita]

I loooove Nobu...and I looove their black cod with miso. I am pretty sure with your skills you more than accurately replicated the dish!

[mk]

Nobu probably has access to high-grade sushi rice that you'd be unlikely to find in your neighborhood grocery store. In the US, Lundberg Farms grows a sushi rice which is better than most of the standard white rice you find here, but the best US-grown rice I can find here is Tamaki (www.tamakimai.com). The Tamaki Haiga is my favorite.

[Ivonne]

I'm with David. You get the award for the best post title ever!

And what a photograph!

[Erielle]

Extra egg yolks...extra butter...I don't think chefs could ever really give away how much butter is really i their recipes. Their secrets would be uncovered!
The black cod looks and sounds delicious. I've never mariniated something for 2-3 days, though. Let alone fish. It will be a test of my patience.

[Susan from Food "Blogga"]

You know, Rob, after reading Heat, I don't think it's possible to recreate restaurant meals at home. But I wouldn't want to. That's part of the magical quality of dining in well regarded restaurants. Though I'm sure your final product wasn't too far from the original. It looks beautiful.

[Rasa Malaysia]

I made this dish following Nobu's cookbook. I even did the plating just like the book. LOL!

The taste was great...but not as great as the restaurant because my fish wasn't restaurant fresh.

Here is my post: http://www.rasamalaysia.com/2007/04/recipe-black-cod-with-miso.html

[Steamy Kitchen]

I just found your blog via who knows where....I love your writing and photography. I've been on your site for about an hour now, neglecting the dirty dishes and wifely duties. Better go now else husband will think I'm having an affair!!!

[Okihwn]

Not to burst your bubble with Nobu, but folks in Hawaii have been enjoying "miso butterfish" for untold years. Same in Japan. Nobu was just smart and aware enough that it would be a winner with Anglo tastebuds. He did not "create" the dish. Thanks goes to the Japanese, who call the traditional dish "gindara no kasuzuke". The so-called black cod is actually usually sablefish caught in the Northern Pacific Ocean. Also called gindara.