Smokin' It Up

No, not like that. I admit to having plenty of weeds in my garden, but none of that particular weed.

No, the smoking I refer to is of the fish kind. Specifically, trout. Remember when A. went fishing on the charter boat and came home with a lot of trout fillets? Well, after using the captain's extremely successful method of grilling the fillets for a couple of meals, we still had several pounds of fillets left. So A. chucked them into the freezer to be used at a later date.

That date came on Friday, when A. decided we should take some trout fillets out to grill for dinner. So he went freezer diving and surfaced with a bag containing a whole hell of a lot of trout fillets frozen into one solid ball.

A ball of fish, yes. Appetizing. And so handy.

The ball-like nature of the fish meant that it all had to be defrosted at once to get off even one fillet. Which meant we once again had several pounds of fillets, and this time, we couldn't just put them back into the freezer and figure out what to do with them later.

Enter the Little Chief smoker.

This particular smoker came to us by way of the MiL's friend, who had been in possession of this smoker for about twenty years and had used it exactly twice. It was still in the box. It still had almost all the original wood chips. It still had the instruction booklet. So when she said she was obviously never going to use it again and asked if we thought we might want to have it, we were all, "HELL YES. Send that bad boy over!"

Not in so many words, however.

We've had this smoker sitting on our front porch for a couple of months now. Not because we were using it on our front porch, but because that's where it landed when we unloaded it from the truck. So when we were faced with these four pounds or so of defrosted and perishable trout fillets, we decided it was time to hear the Little Chief's war cry.

I'm sorry. That was terrible.

ANYWAY.

A. brined the fish overnight in a brine recommended by the instruction booklet. It was just salt, sugar, and water. After taking the trout out of the brine yesterday morning, rinsing it off, and letting it dry, A. slapped the fillets on the smoker's racks and loaded the smoker. Then he plugged it in, poured some of the wood chips (a mixture of hickory and alder that was actually more like shavings) into the little pan that goes on the heating element, and let it go. He-refilled the pan a couple of times in the seven hours the fish was in there, but other than that, there was absolutely no work necessary on his part.

When he announced the fish was done, I ran into the kitchen to boil up some pasta for pesto. We had fish the night before, you see, a couple of fillets we pried off the semi-defrosted ball and grilled. I don't actually really like fish all that much. And I really don't like smoke-flavored things*. The MiL had said she thought there was only a thirty percent likelihood that I would like smoked trout. Based on those two dislikes of mine, I thought she was probably right. So I made the pasta so I wouldn't have to eat the trout. Because I am a pessimist.

I bet you can guess I ate my words. And the trout.

It was DELICIOUS. Like bacon, only fish. Next time (because OH YES, there WILL be a next time) A. might reduce the salt a little bit, but it was really, really good even as it was. It was a perfect complement to the pasta, as a matter of fact. Everyone in the family, including Cubby, enjoyed it.

So now I have about three pounds of smoked trout to experiment with in the kitchen. This, my poppets, is just how we live.

* After this experience, I'm guessing the key word in that is "flavored." As in, imitation smoke flavoring is nasty and overpowering and I hate it. But real smoke? YES, PLEASE.