Starter

You will need a smoker that can be controlled or a grill and a chip box for this recipe and a supply of maple wood or maple wood chips.

We never went hungry as kids. And we have no inherent fear of the next Great Depression or anxiety about canned food. Still, we always want more. Wanting and eating four of the Swedish shrimp-egg things you can buy in the restaurant at IKEA is a good example of that. Another good example is how we would have piled more stuff on this modest toast if we could have fit it: a can of sardines from Bretagne, maybe, or quails stuffed with crab hiding in the corner. Our first reaction on seeing this photo was, “Shit, we forgot clams.” There are thirty items here, and if we do another book, we will put in sixty, we promise (just so we don’t run out of food). Disclaimer: In no way do we aspire or pretend to serve authentic Scandinavian food. This is just our view projected onto a classic. The closest we have been to Scandinavia is Fred Heimlich-maneuvering a Dane who choked on the biggest oyster ever eaten raw. And it was a weird experience because it was like they kissed; they were shy around each other for the rest of the evening. In the list that follows, an asterisk means a recipe is included. If there’s no *, it means the item is straightforward and you can figure it out. We suggest serving the items on rye bread or a baguette sliced lengthwise and buttered. You then eat your open-faced sandwich with a fork and knife. Or, you can do as we do: add condiments and eat it like a military strategist, portioning, placing, moving, and rationing. Regarding yields: the smorgasbord is more of a concept than a straightforward recipe. The smorgasbord shown here serves 4 to 6, and includes every single thing listed. You don’t have to follow our lead (though we would be pleased). Typically we put 4 or 5 proteins and 4 or 5 condiments on the average smorgasbord. Following this rule, each of the small recipes serves four.

At Joe Beef, we mix up the tartares on the menu, sometimes offering the classic French recipe and other times the zesty Italian. This is the one we prepare at home the most. A nice alternative to carpaccio, it’s a great summer tartare.

This is more of an appetizer than a cocktail. What’s the reason behind the size? Hunger, gluttony, and insecurity are but a few. Serve in a large glass or a Mason jar.

The best image we have of bagna càuda is in the Time-Life Book, Cooking of Italy: a few stocky men and their elegant wives, towels around their necks, are sitting solemnly around a table in a brick vault. You would think they are about to eat ortolans or monkey brains, but no, they are enjoying long sticks of celery dipped in a warm butter-oil-anchovy bath. It’s a strange image, and we were inexplicably inspired by it. Bagna càuda is peasant yet elegant—the essence of Italian food. We love the flavor and the process of trimming the vegetables, and we (bittersweetly) think most people like bagna càuda because it tastes like Caesar salad. We serve our bagna càuda with a dip or aioli and have provided both options below.

This recipe is a perfect illustration of the Big Mac Theory: It hits everywhere at the same time, it tastes perfect, and it’s so rich but you barely notice it. It’s a bit weird, a bit trashy, and very tasty. Awesome.

Of all the crab we receive at the restaurant, West Coast Dungeness and the common crab from the Saint Lawrence (tourteau, brown crab, or Jonah) are our favorites. Many of the same guys who fish for lobster in these areas also fish for crab. But oddly enough, these crabs don’t make it to Montreal. Instead, they’re highjacked somewhere along the way for the Asian market. The crab is typically picked clean and frozen in blocks, shipped to China (for example), sawed, and only then sent back in one-pound (455-gram) packs. Although we make a point of using PEI or Quebec crab, Maine seems to understand the game a bit better. At Portland’s Browne Trading Company, you can buy fresh, handpicked Jonah crab, meat and claws: our dream. Whatever crab you buy (or catch!), make very sure to check the meat closely for bits of shell and cartilage that might have been left.

All of the eels of the world begin and return to the Sargasso Sea: can you imagine a more disgusting place to swim? It sounds like the scariest place on earth. In the course of their journey, some of those eels swim down the Saint Lawrence River, near the shores of Kamouraska, Quebec. And some of those eels get caught in weir traps by guys like Bernard Lauzier. Bernard smokes and brines eels and sturgeon, both of which we use at all three restaurants for many dishes, including this one right here. Eel is so meaty and delicious; Fred refers to it as the “undersea tenderloin.”

According to argumentalist extraordinaire John Bil, these are actually called “stuffies.” Everyone seems to agree that this is a great way to eat razor clams, as it’s not uncommon for us to sell one hundred pounds (forty-five kilograms) per week at Joe Beef. We get our clams from the elusive fisherman John Doyle, who lives on the northern coast of the Saint Lawrence. To our knowledge, no commercial fisheries in Canada sell razor clams. If you want to prepare clams this way, but can’t find razor, quahog will do.

We wouldn’t call ourselves purists (like John Bil), but we tend to agree that steamed clams served with anything other than their own broth and butter is an abomination. We also think PEI might just have the prettiest white sand–dug clams we have ever seen.

Whelks are giant marine snails. In towns along the Saint Lawrence (like Kamouraska), you can find them in gallon jars, marinated in brine or white vinegar. At Joe Beef, we buy whelks fresh from La Mer, Montreal’s big seafood broker, and serve them with escargot butter. In Burgundy, chefs are judged by their snail butter. Literally. You can work under three different Michelin-starred chefs and they’ll all tell you that there is only one way to make escargot butter—and each way will be completely different. This classic recipe is the escargot butter that drowned Montreal after Expo 67 (see page 52). If you’re not a whelk fan, you can enjoy the butter slipped under the skin of a chicken before it is roasted, on a steak, over mashed potatoes, or just spread on toast.

David’s childhood memories inspired this recipe: “When I was a kid, my father and his in-laws would go fishing off the Rivière-du-Loup Wharf. They would come back with buckets full of smelt that they caught using bamboo fishing sticks. We would get out the Robin Hood flour and start frying them up. They’re delicious and what’s better, they’re small so you know that they’re not feasting on anything dubious at the bottom of the sea.” We serve smelt piled high on a plate with mayo on the side.

Fred worked at Toqué! in the early 1990s, and one of his many tasks was cleaning squid. Every so often, the Anglophone sous chef would order from the Quebecois fishmonger at La Mer, and one day “15 pounds” of squid was heard as “50 pounds.” That week Fred cleaned 150 pounds of squid. He couldn’t smell squid for about ten years without feeling sick, but he’s back on the squid train now. The only way he can bear it, though, is filled with lobster and cooked in lobster juice.

We do not have a story for this recipe. Sorry.

We cannot not dedicate this recipe to the New Dynasty restaurant in Montreal’s Chinatown. Every Joe Beef cook has woken up at least once with an odd burn in his or her gut from the MSG and a soy sauce stain on his or her mouth after eating there. At New Dynasty, the tables are covered and the lights are really bright, not unlike Dexter’s murder rooms! The kitchen serves until 5:00 A.M., and the boss is patient with drunks who are loud and drunks who fall asleep at the table (that is, Peter Meehan). Here you can find every sea crawler you dare to eat: eel, jellyfish (served with cold chicken), huge live crabs, winkles, hacked-up crispy lobster, razor clams, and more. Inevitably, we start a meal at New Dynasty with the big Vancouver oysters, steamed with black bean sauce, one or two each, and a hefty pour of cold beer from a teapot. For this recipe, we use Gigas oysters from our friend Victor McLaggan of Cortes Island, British Columbia. They are as big as my feet and a bitch to open, but they have huge meats that can be overcooked without much sorrow. This is a case, unlike real life, where it’s easy to feel inept with a big one. If possible, ask your fish guy to open the oysters. If you can’t get these big oysters where you live, use smaller shucked oysters and bake them in ramekins. You’ll probably have sauce left over, so store it in the fridge and use it on chicken, duck, or anything else that sounds good.

This recipe is from a trip that Fred took with Allison and her parents to the Czech Republic: “I was thirty, traveling in the back of an Opel minivan loaded with adults. The bottles of beer were always too small and the stops never frequent enough. This was back when I was ignoring a little gluten issue and drinking vast quantities of Czechvar/Budvar. Basically, this trip was like the Griswolds in Prague. “While visiting an old brewery’s beer garden, I noticed a ‘little things to eat with beer’ section of the menu. It was full of pickled herring, utopenec (pickled sausage), and cheese. We ordered them all, and when the cheese arrived, it was like a gathering of all of the cheese leftovers blended with beer. It was unsightly and completely delicious.” You will need four (4-ounce) cheese molds with holes or four Styrofoam coffee cups with holes poked in the bottoms and sides, plus four paper coffee filters to make the cheese.

When we started Joe Beef, the town was suffering from a weird vibe, a kind of up-the-ante feeling with regard to food: people went out to eat like college kids drink beer. If someone was doing testicles, you could count on someone else to pair them with pizza. Feet were kept on chickens, and heads and eyeballs were served as sides. There was no end in sight, much less vegetables. To put a damper on the frenzied quest for more, we thought that maybe the next ingredient should be inedible: not gold shavings, but what about an old radio? Doesn’t “oysters on the radio” sound good? When we ran out of radios, we used bags of sugar, erotic novels, or old album covers. The oysters themselves are simple: plump specimens topped with crisp bacon, chives, potatoes, eggs, cream, and some bread crumbs. Serve yours on any inedible ingredient of choice.

As we write this, it seems much more acceptable to spend $18 for an entire appetizer than it does to spend $180 an ounce for real caviar. What makes this setup grand is the ceremonial feel it has, like something you could get on the Orient Express. Feel free to use any kind of fish eggs: whitefish, salmon, trout, or even smoked or preserved fish. It’s also crucial that what you save on the real caviar, you spend on Champagne and on an overpriced silver serving dish from eBay. Eat it in your bed or on the bus.

If Parmesan is the king of cheese, Époisses is the cultural attaché. It’s smelly in a way that makes you proud to like it. It’s also red-wine compatible and awesome on a piece of steak. A washed-rind cheese, Époisses is made from milk from Burgundian cows and washed with the local marc de Bourgogne. It is crucial that you buy a good Époisses, and, in fact, only one or two brands make it to the United States and Canada. Sniffit before buying, and avoid one with a horse urine–window cleaner smell. Remember, too, warming up the cheese only amplifies the aroma. Sometimes Gilles Jourdenais at Fromagerie Atwater gets in tiny individual Époisses, which we try to use whenever possible. This dish, which combines the cheese with shallots, used to be the classic Joe Beef drunk staff meal at 4 A.M. Eat it with toasted bread, a few rosettes of mâche, or on top of steak.