After I made this for the first time, Fishpie became my bowling nickname. That tells you the impact it had on those who ate it.
This isn't a pastry pie, but a kind of oceanic shepherd's pie, with a chowdery underside, and a luxurious mashed potato topside. It is a very gently adapted version of a recipe by Nigel Slater from his extraordinary cookbook Appetite. Nigel has a real thing for smoked fish, and while I love it too (witness husband's all-smoked fish birthday party), I don't find it particularly cost effective in the bulk that you need it for this recipe. Fresh tilapia fillets, however, are fantastically cheap and delicious - and if you can find a few tidbits of smoked bluefish, trout or some other white fish (not salmon) to throw in here, it's great but hardly essential. The mussels, however, are. See my notes on moules and be reassured that they're probably the easiest part of the recipe.
If you break the recipe into a few phases, it's a nice afternoon project that culminates in a glorious Sunday evening feast. It really comes into its own with a Belgian white beer and a big bowl of lightly buttered peas. Serves six.
- 4 pounds or so fresh mussels
- glass of white wine
- 3 pounds tilapia fillets
- 3 bay leaves
- 2 cups milk
- 1/2 stick of butter
- 4 tablespoons of flour
- handful of chopped parley
- 3+ pounds of potatoes (Idaho or Yukon gold are nice here)
First stage: mussels. Rinse and inspect the mussels, tossing any open mussels or mussels with broken shells. Throw the wine into a large saucepan with a lid and bring to a boil, then toss in the mussels and cook for ten minutes. Transfer cooked mussels and juices into a colander with a bowl underneath to catch all the juices. When the mussels have cooled somewhat, start pulling the meaty mussel bits out of their shells and into a prep bowl. Sieve the remaining mussel juices and pour this smoky pot liquor over the mussels. Set aside, or stash in the fridge; the mussels in their juice will store covered for about a day.
Second stage: other fish. Put the tilapia (and any bits of smoked fish you've found) into another saucepan and pour over the milk. Tuck in the bay leave sand bring - carefully - to a simmer over medium heat. Do not let this boil over; I speak from experience when I tell you there are few stovetop messes less attractive than burnt fishmilk. When the fish is opaque and flakes when you pull at it with a fork, it's done - probably about 10 minutes. Turn off the heat and set aside.
Third stage: make your mash. Peel (yes) and cut the potatoes into chucks, placing them in a large pan of water. Bring the water to a boil and simmer until tender, probably about 20 minutes. Drain these lovely babies. If you have a mixer, this is a nice occasion to break him out. Toss in the potatoes, about a tablespoon of butter, a bit of salt and a bit of the milky haddock juice, and mash.
Fourth stage: make a roux (this is an extremely fun trick that's great for lots of things). Put a deep roasting pan (hello, Hellbelly) over medium heat, and melt the remaining butter in it. When the butter's melted, tip in the four tablespoons of flour and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture begins to brown gently and smell nutty. Slowly, about a half-cup at a time, add all the milk from the haddock pan, stirring as you go to make a smooth white sauce; let this simmer over very low heat for about ten minutes, stirring occasionally.
Last stage: Assembly! Using a fork, break up your cooked tilapia into big juicy chunks. Throw these into the roasting pan with the simmering white sauce, along with the mussels and their juices, and the handful of parsley. Stir this creamy chowder mess and add a little pepper and a few flakes of salt to taste. Remove from heat and let the whole operation cool, then carefully pile on the mashed potatoes, smoothing them to the edges of the pan.
Bake in a 400 degree oven for about an hour or until slightly golden and crusty on top. Serve hot.