I am a proponent of cooking fish whole. However, after having cooked, served, and eaten a wide variety of fish, both at home and in restaurants, I find that the way fish is served, especially when it comes to whole pieces, needs to be seriously reconsidered everywhere. Of course, I am referring to whole pieces cooked in a way that respects the product to the fullest, applying only what is necessary to enhance its characteristics and masking it as little as possible. In other words, I am not talking about fish dishes where the chef wants to leave their mark on the recipe or highlight their authorship.
First of all, I would show the piece that is going to be cooked and served beforehand. Personally, I can much more clearly assess the freshness of a raw fish by observing the redness of the gills, the brightness of the eyes, the shine of the skin, the condition of the fins, etc., rather than when it is cooked, where with a bit of skill, the lack of freshness can be corrected or softened.
However, instead of bringing a tray with the fish to the diner’s table and parading it around the restaurant, changing trays, and losing part of the mucus from its skin, altering its humidity and temperature, etc., I would have a space where the fish would be displayed without damaging them, only at the start of the service, or better yet, I would take the diner to the place where the restaurant keeps the fish from the time it is received until it is cooked. In other words, I would dedicate a space and a moment to the act of selection. I would invite the diner to get up, if they wish, to choose the fish they prefer, explaining the different varieties, their origins, the approximate weight of each, etc., so that they could choose based on their condition and preferences. Moreover, I find that this moment, besides generating trust and showing complete transparency on the part of the restaurant, would also be a great opportunity to have a brief conversation and explain the philosophy of the house regarding fish handling. One of those heartwarming moments when guests can speak with the chef, the maître, the owner, a family member, the waiter, or someone at the restaurant with the background and knowledge that make us visit them.
With this brief introduction, I will continue to explain how I believe fish should be served.
THE SERVICE
First of all, it’s important to note that fish are not usually symmetrical. Therefore, I would ask diners which part they prefer: the top or the bottom (in the case of flatfish such as sole, turbot, brill, etc.), whether they prefer the loin or the belly, or if they prefer the part closer to the head or the tail.
Assuming there are 2 diners, equitable sharing is more or less feasible, but if there are 3 or more, the situation becomes even more complicated. When dividing a fish, not everyone can eat the same or from all parts. Someone will eat the thicker loin part, another the thinner part closer to the tail, etc. Dividing a fish evenly is practically impossible or, at the very least, very time-consuming, which, if carried out, ends up cooling both the dish and the fish. Therefore, once plated and topped with its own juice (never oil that hasn’t been through the cooking process with the fish to avoid masking it with foreign aromas), I would give it a touch of warmth by leaving it in the oven for a moment.
I would also ask the diner if they want the parts that often cause controversy (skin, head, tail, fins, bones, liver, roe, gonads, swim bladder, heart, and all kinds of offal), which, it seems, even in specialized restaurants like Elkano—where it is assumed that the visitor is a gastronome who enjoys fish and knows how to eat it—these parts are still considered anything but the loins, as if we were still in the 1960s when only loins were served and valued.
Finally, assuming they wanted the “difficult” parts, the marine offal, I would serve the fish, at the very least, in two courses without even asking. First, the loins (of course, with the skin, but given the situation, it’s best to emphasize it) filleted and everything that can be eaten with cutlery, keeping the rest in an oven or somewhere it can be kept warm without overcooking to avoid altering the texture or cooking point. Furthermore, I would serve the loins with the skin touching the plate, that is, with the flesh facing up so the juices can be poured over and penetrate the fish, keeping it well-hydrated and juicy, and not the other way around, pouring them over the impermeable skin.
Then, I would serve the head, tail, bones, and everything that I believe should be eaten with the hands, just as fishermen likely ate them on boats (and in private homes), leaving behind the formal protocols that emerged later, which often go against gustatory pleasure in favor of established rules of elegance and refinement.
If it were possible to do three courses, I would serve the bones first and leave the head for the end. The bones, whether crunchy or with a bit of fish skin, fat, and gelatin, lose their textures quickly, and resting does not suit them. In contrast, I would leave the head for the end because it benefits from resting and, being larger, can even withstand slightly more cooking than the loin. In this second and/or third course, it’s also essential to provide a clean and empty plate where diners can place the sucked bones instead of having them remain on the plate from which they are eating.
Unless it was a specimen weighing more than 3 kg (and therefore with an excessively large head) or if the relationship between the diners wasn’t one of trust, I wouldn’t even dissect the head. Instead, I would let one of the diners (the one who prefers it) take their time exploring, savoring, and either sharing with the rest of the table or keeping it all to themselves. Plating the different parts of the head (eyes, face, lips, cheeks, nape, tongue, gills, brain, jowl…) seems to me a false luxury that detracts from the taste. I find it as terrible as if a waiter were to break the yolk of a fried or poached egg. Or is it that when you are served a drumstick of chicken, quail, or any bird with bones, the waiter comes to remove the meat that remains stuck? I believe the true luxury is allowing for that intimate and enjoyable moment that forms between the fish’s head and the diner. Not having the waiter extract an eye and serve it on a spoon or struggle to remove the fish’s brain, leaving all the juices that come out on a serving plate that will go straight to the dishwasher with all the marine essence.
Another important aspect is the tableware. It is crucial that it is warm. Both the platter or tray on which the fish is served when it is taken out of the oven, grill, or griddle to be brought whole to the table and portioned in front of the diner, and the individual plate on which the waiter finally serves the fish should be warm. Both should be heated and served directly from warming cabinets, a salamander, a heat lamp, or whatever is available. Additionally, the plates should be of sufficient size and stability to comfortably cut the fish. And, for the love of God, the plate should be white—the star is the fish, not the chef or the artist who felt like decorating the ceramics.
Regarding cutlery, I would always serve a fork, knife, and spoon. No Laguiole knives for cutting beef, no fish knives that don’t cut, and definitely not El Bulli’s tweezers. And I emphasize, a spoon.
Finally, instead of bringing one of those pungent, citrus-scented hand wipes or the alternative bowl with water and lemon that always arrives too late when the napkin is already dirty, I would serve, from the first course, an ice bucket (with water and ice) on a stand and the typical cloth or towel next to each diner so they can wash their hands whenever they wish. Instead of providing hand towels at the beginning of the meal when we are already clean and groomed from home or have just come from the restroom after washing our hands, I would offer the towel at this much more necessary moment.
CONCLUSIONS
With all this reflection on service, what I want to emphasize is that the final step—the moment of serving and consuming the product—is often neglected. It’s like serving a great wine that’s too young, at the wrong temperature, in an inadequate or low-quality glass, or like serving a poorly matured cheese. So much effort and knowledge from the producer, so much effort from the chef in acquiring a good product and cooking it to make it shine to the fullest, and then, at the last moment, it’s ruined due to service issues, carelessness, ignorance, never having considered it, economic reasons, or a mistake by the chef or waiter.
Of course, different people have different tastes, and what one person might enjoy, another might find sacrilegious. And clearly, there is a fine line between what is correct or incorrect and what is simply a quirk or preference. But I believe that serving a whole fish is a ceremony that requires time, knowledge, practice, and a great deal of respect, and restaurants often do not do it correctly or with the finesse that could be achieved. It requires a ritual and a whole ceremony that could be elevated much further, aligning with the current trend of seeking “immersive experiences” and even creating an entire menu around the service of a fish—such as “the monkfish menu,” “the scorpionfish menu,” or “the grouper menu,” for example, similar to how we have the magnificent woodcock menu at Ca l’Enric. Simply adding a broth at the beginning and some mildly sweet and creative desserts, also based on fish, would result in a 100% fish menu that is truly minimalist. Even with the scales, these temples of the product often do nothing, when just well-fried, they are delicious and can add a crunchy touch to dairy-based or refreshing fruit desserts. But well, I’ll leave these desires and suggestions for another piece of writing.
