I can’t say that it was a shock that he’d died, but my first thought wasn’t, as you might expect, tragedy at sea. Had I thought that I would have certainly taken pause because a buddy of mine fishes on the Corn Hole (as the boat is affectionately known). No, I was pretty sure that when the third came to me with this news that the cause of death wasn’t some maritime catastrophe but more like some sort of coronary issue, cardiac arrest or stroke or something more fitting a legendary fisherman like Phil. No disrespect to Mr. Harris but I think it’s interesting that Bering Sea crabbers are more often noted for their fast living than their fishing exploits. It’s true they risk their lives and have interesting and sometimes exciting occupations but more often than not their true mark, their real legend is built on the stool of a bar rather than at the helm of their vessel.Phil was probably a heck of a guy and a pretty decent fisherman, and I don’t mean to disparage him or his memory just because he was on a crappy television show. I only mean to point out a sobering truth, fishermen are, for the most part, full of shit. Contrary to the picture we get of them on the television screen they are not by and large sage observers of the human condition but drunkards and gluttons, with bad hygiene and missing teeth. Not to say they’re not a lovable bunch, I just wouldn’t take any grooming tips from them. Or for that matter advice on women or health.
I didn’t know Phil Harris. For all I know he was next of kin to the Dalai Lama. The closest I ever got to him was I sat between him and a greenhorn off our boat at the Airport Bar in Dutch Harbor. I remember this kid made us move from our table so we could sit closer to Phil. We were the only ones in the bar and this kid almost creamed his pants when he saw Phil come in with one of his famous deckhands. I didn’t want to move from where we were sitting because first of all I thought it was weird, and second of all I was trying to watch something on TV and they had another channel on at the bar. This kid wouldn’t quit though. He kept going on about how he couldn’t believe it was actually him and that he couldn’t wait to tell all his friends back in Nebraska that he’d actually been in the same bar with this TV big shot. Finally to shut him up I agreed to go up there on the condition that he didn’t bother the guy or say one word to him. He said that that was fine, that he’d probably be too scared to talk even if he could think of something to say. I sat between him and Phil just to be on the safe side. I still felt weird. I didn’t have anything to say to the guy either, but not because I was tongue tied by awe. I just thought of him as some other asshole out there trying to catch our crab. Who the fuck was he anyway? So what if he had a boat and could throw around a few hundred pots? Any idiot can catch crab in the Bering Sea. Believe me, it’s not rocket science.
I do, however, want to dedicate this blog entry to the late Phil Harris, may he rest in peace. Like I said before, I’m sure he was a heck of a guy. My sincere condolences to his family and friends.
Country Captain
Country Captain is an old Southern chicken and curry dish that came to the States by way of the British Navy who in turn probably picked it up in India in the early 1800’s. Traditionally the British used to refer to indigenous members of their colonies as “country” people, meaning essentially anyone not from England. With regard to India and its local merchant fleet a country captain was a ship captain of Indian descent. It is only conjecture but it is believed that the dish got its name because it was learned by British mariners from their Indian counterparts. The Brits in turn brought it to the U.S. through ports in South Carolina and an “American Classic” was born. I put that last bit in quotes because for one thing it seems as though there isn’t much about this meal that is particularly American, and for another, I doubt that a lot of you have ever heard of it. It was however quite popular in the 1940’s and 50’s in large part because Franklin D. Roosevelt and George S. Patton were served the dish (on separate or the same occasion I’m not certain) and instantly fell in love with it. In fact it was the President’s favorite food. Mrs. E.H. DeSaussure came out with a recipe in the 1950 book “Charleston Receipts” which was reported to be identical to the one Mr. Roosevelt enjoyed. The recipe came to me by way of Paul Prudhomme who included it in his epic edition “Seasoned America” in 1991. This book has made several journeys with me on the Bering Sea and does not have a bad recipe in it. It doesn’t have an easy recipe in it either which made it challenging to cook from at sea, but it never disappointed (not that starving crabbers are a tough audience). A distinct difference I noticed between DeSaussure’s recipe and Paul’s was that D included bacon and the spice mace. It’s unlike Prudhomme to pass up a chance to use bacon, and while I’m not really all that familiar with mace I’ll have to try this other version someday.
A couple of things that are in both recipes but that I don’t include in mine are raisins and sliced almonds. I leave the raisins out primarily because my wife thinks they are some sort of culinary abomination. She can’t understand why they exist or why anyone would want to turn a perfectly good grape into something shriveled and dry that resembles a black booger. Before we’d ever met though I’d omitted them on the boat because our Chief engineer Billy thought that anyone who ate meat and fruits together was a kind of degenerate he liked to call a “fruity meat lover”. I come from a family that stuck to the traditional pairings of applesauce and pork chops, pineapple and ham, and oranges and waterfowl so personally I don’t share this aversion. Coming from an Irish background and living more than a decade in an industry skewed toward Norwegian influences, an industry that’s meal set was almost entirely meat and potatoes, Billy refused to believe that normal people would eat such reprehensible concoctions. To him these people were following some sort of unnatural path, their inclinations for fruit and meat a sign of other aberrations like body piercings and gay sex. Naturally I steered clear of these associations. The last cook on the boat they’d taken to calling “the Gay Chef,” and hoping to avoid that nickname myself I’d chosen to pare down these fruit and meat groupings.
The only one I didn’t totally abandon was apple sauce and pork chops, but that was only because I’d read somewhere that it was bad luck to serve pork without its apple accompaniment. Not being one to tempt fate, and being in a field who’s participants have a certain respect for superstition I guarded myself against any accusations of fruity meat loving by loudly declaring this fact. This worked for the most part. I think Billy respected that my hands were tied on this particular meal and so couldn’t fault me. The blame obviously had deeper more ancient roots and lacking the willingness to give up pork chops and the intelligence to discover the origin of this superstition he just let the matter rest.
Had I known at the time that Country Captain was one of George S. Patton’s favorite dishes I may have had the courage to serve it in its original form, raisins and all. I don’t think even Billy, as tough as he was, would accuse Patton of being a fruity meat lover, not at least without risking being pistol whipped.
As for the slivered almonds I really don’t have a reason for leaving them out. Maybe it’s because almonds are so expensive (especially in places like Dutch Harbor), or maybe it’s because I don’t like the idea of having slivers of any kind in my food. That just sounds like it might be dangerous. Whatever the reason I’ve never made Country Captain with almonds and therefore view them as merely optional.
RECIPE
SEASONING MIX
2 tbsp curry powder (I use Gram Masala)
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp dried cilantro
½ tsp dry mustard
1 tsp dried sweet basil
1 tsp ground cumin
½ tsp white pepper
¼ tsp ground cardamom
¼ tsp ground allspice
2 tsp salt
1 tsp dark brown sugar
It’s best to make this seasoning mix first so you have it on hand. It will play a role in several stages of the recipe
1 whole fryer (about four pounds) cut into six pieces
1/3 cup all purpose flour
3 tbsp olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
2 cups chopped green peppers
1 cup long grain rice (uncooked)
4-6 cloves garlic (minced)
2 cups chopped fresh tomatoes (or 1 ½ cans whole tomatoes, drained and chopped)
3 cups chicken stock
1. Rub chicken pieces with 2 tbsp of the seasoning mix.2. Mix the flour with 1 tbsp of the seasoning mix in a shallow bowl.
3. In a large pot or sauce pan (something
you can cover and will hold several quarts of liquid) heat the oil over medium high heat. Flour the chicken pieces, reserving the left-over flour. When the oil is hot arrange the chicken in the pan and brown, turning several times. After about eight or ten minutes remove the chicken and set aside.
4. In the same pan add ½ cup of the onions and ½ cup of green peppers and cook for several minutes.5. Stir the rice and the remaining seasoned flour. Cook for several minutes stirring and scraping the pan occasionally so that the rice doesn’t stick.
6. Add the garlic, tomatoes, remaining onion and pepper and remaining seasoning mix and cook for five minutes.7. Add the stock and scrape the pan in order to get all the crust from frying the chicken off the bottom. I’ve actually burned the chicken a little a couple times but don’t worry if this happens. When the little black bits get released into the rest of the sauce it lends a nice charbroiled aspect to the overall flavor.
8. Return the chicken to the pan resting the pieces on top of the sauce and bring to a boil. Once you’ve reached a boil reduce heat and cover. Simmer for 20 minutes.
9. Remove from stove and let stand 10 to 15 minutes keeping the lid on.
10. Serve in bowls.
10. Serve in bowls.
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