Tuesday Night Dinner Party: Turn Frozen Tuna Into a Feast

I have vowed to stop letting my perfectionism in the kitchen keep me from entertaining [2]. The old me could barely pull off a dinner party because my ambitions of restaurant finesse just didn’t scale down to my kid-crowded life. So I decided to change my model. I’d make do with what was already in the fridge, settle for one-dish meals [3] or mayo not made from scratch, and make spice substitutions [4] that once would have made me cringe. Like exercise, I’d make entertaining a habit, and see if I could develop skills to make it less overwhelming, less about the food, even, and more about the people I welcome into my house. Now I invite people over every Tuesday. Join me as I lower my standards.

My father-in-law, Chet, arrived to spend the night before heading out on a four-day motorcycle jaunt with my husband Andrew. I was slightly stressed about the sheer volume of rubber they’d be burning, given that neither is a serious touring biker (although Andrew has been prepping, sort of, by watching Ewan MacGregor’s charming Long Way Round [5] TV series). Andrew and his father were a little nervous too: They took an extra practice ride before dinner to make sure they could handle the bikes with all their saddlebags loaded up. Chet was on a rented jade-and-white Harley, which made me wonder if there are telltale rental bike colors, just like there are certain car paint jobs—like refrigerator-white and Sonic-the-Hedgehog-blue—that you only see coming off the Hertz lot.

The menfolk had maps to study and stuff-sacks to repack, so I didn’t plan much in terms of company, but at the last minute our neighbors (and an old family friend of theirs) seemed eager to get out of the house, so the dinner guest list went from three grownups to six, plus four in the 5-and-under crowd. No problem—I already had poached tuna in the fridge. Not just any tuna, but the yummy frozen albacore loin my friend Curtis discovered at Uwajimaya [6] and has made a staple of his kitchen. I don’t eat tuna all that frequently, since it is relatively high in mercury and in many regions totally overfished. But I’m not a purist on the subject (or any others, really). Plus, this frozen tuna loin is an astonishingly good deal for fairly premium fish. (Fish that has been scrupulously frozen like this is far better than poorly handled “fresh" fish.)

In preparation for the meal, I had defrosted the tuna, and then poached it in a bath of water slightly acidified with lemon, wine, and vinegar. Then I let the flesh cool in a more luxurious bath of olive oil, sage, and garlic, and refrigerated overnight. By the time I got word of the expanded guest list, all I had to do to stretch the tuna for a crowd was toss it with a vat of pasta, ready-made tapenade (an inexpensive Moroccan [7] brand that my favorite fishmonger carries for some reason), and some of my 4-year-old Gus’ pre-peeled carrot nubbins that I blanched in water. Salad was a drawer-cleaner—a bunch of asparagus that had been lingering in the fridge for a few days, plus a bag of frozen edamame. I blanched them both and then tossed them with some dill, diced red onion, and a Dijon vinaigrette, and laid it on a bed of lettuce from my garden (an unnecessary but pretty step).

I’d like to point out that in a previous life, I never would have served frozen fish or frozen edamame to guests. As it was, I had to stop myself from trotting out for real, peels-on carrots from the local natural foods store. And I’m pretty proud that I didn’t make that run: I was trained in restaurants to be obsessive about ingredient quality, and in a perfect world I would still be. (Heck, even in this imperfect world, I grow herbs and vegetables in my own garden, and get many others from a CSA.) But there is a certain grace in using what you have before zipping off (in a car, no less) for perfectly sourced vegetables. Furthermore, with all the sage and garlic and tuna and olives, this isn’t a dish for which you need perfect, pageant-winning carrots to taste great.

My father-in-law didn’t care about the middlebrow carrots, eating with gusto at our backyard table. He doesn’t obsess about food the way I do, but he can appreciate such preoccupations. After all, he was well-tanned from his time outdoors, tinkering with outboards and varnishing the brightwork and whatnot on his boats (he’s a vehicular type). As we chatted about sailboats, Vienna, and, yes, motorcycles with our friends, he eased into the summer evening with a martini of the driest sort. A few days later, he and Andrew returned safely, and he went off on the second stage of his burly adventure: salmon fishing in Alaska, which has yielded even more frozen fish for me to contend with in Tuesdays to come.

Tuna for a father-in-law (and then some)
1 tuna loin—about 1 ¼ lbs., defrosted if frozen
Kosher salt to taste, about 1 ½ teaspoons
1 ½ cups white wine
¼ cup white wine vinegar
4 little carrot nubs
2 bay leaves
1 sprig thyme
1 sprig tarragon, if available
¼ bunch parsley
4 garlic cloves, peeled
1 small onion, halved and peeled
1 lemon cut crosswise into five or six slices
5-6 peppercorns
3-4 cups olive oil (not the expensive stuff here)
3 sprigs sage (optional)

Cut the tuna into 3 or 4 pieces. Season generously with kosher salt, and set aside while preparing the rest of the ingredients. In a 3-4 quart, nonreactive pot, place the wine, vinegar, carrots, bay leaves, thyme, tarragon, parsley, garlic cloves, onion, lemon slices, and pepper corns. Top the pot off with water, leaving about three inches of room at the top. Bring the mixture to a boil, and then turn the heat down so the broth just emits a tiny bubble from time to time. Lower the fish into the broth, and let it poach until just cooked through—about 10-15 minutes. (Pierce the largest piece of tuna with a fork to check for doneness—it should be opaque, but still just a tiny bit pink.) Remove the tuna from the pot, and when cool enough to handle, break it into large flakes. Place it in a baking dish or bowl along with the optional sage and the cooked garlic cloves (toss the rest of the poaching broth), and then cover with olive oil. Use immediately or, better still, refrigerate and use the next day.

Pasta with tuna, tapenade, and carrots (a very rough guide)
Tuna from the recipe above, strained (save the olive oil in the freezer for future tuna marinating)
1 box tubular pasta, like rigatoni or penne
3 tablespoons readymade tapenade (plus more to taste)
1 ½ cups cooked carrot chunks
1 tablespoon finely minced sage, optional
Salt to taste
Olive oil to taste
Lemon juice to taste

Cook the pasta and drain, and then toss it with the tapenade, tuna, carrots, and sage. Season with salt, lemon juice, and olive oil to taste. Serve hot, cold, or room temperature.

What the kids ate/ignored
Plain pasta, strawberries, Ikea meatballs, carrot nubbins