All Praise To Ye, Mighty Moules

Apologies to those who live far from our salt water coasts and to those of the vegetarian persuasion, but I need to offer up some praise, admiration and love to the lowly bivalve known as the mussel. We first attempted preparing mussels back in our New York days, when fresh seafood entered our lives, and we quickly became hooked - on the taste, the presentation, the sheer versatility. What proved most delightful was how mussels responded effortlessly to whatever preparation one decided to use. As long as the mussels themselves were fresh, the rest was up to the cook.

One could argue that the French eat escargot not because they love the flavor of snails, but because it is such a fantastic excuse to enjoy potent spoonfuls of garlicky butter. In much the same way, one doesn't necessarily serve mussels only for the taste of the sea critter itself, but also for the wonderful broth that comes as a result of the steaming process. In fact, whenever I serve mussels, I always make sure we have a large serving of crusty bread to serve alongside - the dunking of warm bread into rich moules broth is a pleasure I'm sure will one day be taxed.

This is not to deny the flavor of the mussel itself, which is a truly lovely mixture of brine and richness. And the quality of the moules dish is often wholly dependent on the mussels. But let's not kid ourselves. What distinguishes a superior dish of mussels from its lesser neighbors are the ingredients used to flavor and steam them with. And it seems that the possibilities are nearly endless. This brings up the other fascinating thing about mussels, which is that it would be difficult to think of other dishes that have such slight differences in presentation between "pub grub" and haute cuisine. That is, a bowl of mussels steamed in a rich white wine and parsley-based broth is pretty much going to taste as good coming out of the most humble French seaside bistro as it will during a seven course tasting meal (provided the mussels were properly scrubbed free of grit, of course). A bowl of moules can be both the food of the people and the dinner of kings.

Anthony Bourdain (who somewhat famously frightened many readers away from ordering mussels in restaurants after revealing the often-sloppy attitude taken by many back kitchen employees) has it right when he characteristically insists that mussels are excellent "bang for your buck" food - "dump stuff in a pot, cook for a few seconds, and drop into a bowl". They go very well with french fries. They pair excellently with both beer and wine. They fill you up slowly, have very little fat, and lots of selenium and Vitamin B12. They look pretty in the bowl. They are the rare aphrodisiac that would be consumed without the sexual side effect promise.

Bourdain's enjoyable Les Halles Cookbook has several pages of competing moules recipes, all of them sounding mouth-wateringly good - moules normandes (with bacon, mushrooms, apple and Calvados), moules a la portugaise (chorizo and lots of white wine), moules marinieres (utterly basic, with only butter, shallotts, white wine and parsley), moules a la basquaise (roasted bell peppers), moules a la grecque (secret ingredients fennel, lemon and coriander). I've enjoyed a Greek preparation from the Attica region called midia saganaki, or "mussels au gratin," which involved first steaming the mussels open, then removing the meat from their shells and baking in the oven over a thick tomato/feta sauce. And let us not forget Asian approaches to the mighty mussel - the intense flavors of geng hoi malaeng puu mangkrut (or "mangosteen and mussel curry) come from the fiery blend of red chilies, shrimp paste and galangal. I'm sure we could go on and on.

But my moules gift to you will be from the wintry lands of Norway, in a preparation utilized just last night. It's a rather straightforward approach, but with a surprising addition of cinnamon sticks (or bark). Let me assure you - it's utterly lovely.

Finally, I can neither confirm nor deny that I suspect the dire warnings made by each and every food handler in these united states regarding unopened individual mussels - namely, that way there be danger - is poppycock. The reason I'm remaining mum on this point is that I'd hate to be responsible for something as dreadful as food poisoning. But read these words of wisdom from the good folks at San Diego's own Sea Rocket Bistro on the matter, and ponder the adventures of David Dale. Then make your own decision. If you're still too skittish to consume the stray unopened mussel, do as I do and order slightly more than required when next at the fishmongers (or, ok, the grocery store). And happy steaming.

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Moules a la Cannelle

2 pounds fresh mussels, scrubbed & debearded
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 garlic cloves, crushed and chopped
1/4 cinnamon stick
fresh or dried thyme
1 cup dry white wine
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
grated orange zest

Heat oil in a pot just large enough to hold all the mussels. Saute the garlic briefly. Add the cinnamon stick, thyme and mussels. Pour in the wine.

Cover and let steam for 6-8 minutes, until the shells have opened. Transfer to a serving bowl.

Bring the cooking juices quickly to a boil. Cook for several minutes until thickened. Stir in butter and mix. Pour broth over the mussels. Sprinkle with parsley and orange zest. Serve immediately.