I’ve never been a real fan of lobster, or of Chardonnay. The lobster dinners I’ve had all rank high in my greatest-meals-of-all time list, but this status is only merited by the excellent company, natural settings, and exceptional wines that have accompanied these meals. I don’t like hot animal guts, squirtiness at dinner, or having to gnaw at spiny sharp things.
And most of the Chardonnay I’ve tasted so far has had something greasy and artificial to it, like banana marshmallow candies, or apricot face scrub. It’s a wine I stopped trying to enjoy, thinking that the good stuff was all out of reach. What I always think of drinking with shellfish is white Bordeaux, or something from the Loire valley. Something lemony and mineral, with a green herbal streak in it.
You’ll say that this is mostly nonsense, that lobster and Chardonnay are some of the best things you can possibly ingest. You’ll suggest the key to enjoying them is getting rid of the hot guts, and finding a Chardonnay without a tuxedoed animal on the label. And you’d be partially right. I did both of these things. There were only claws and a tail on my plate. (The rest was properly enjoyed by our truly omnivorous dog Max.) I also asked for help at the wine store and was pointed to an American Chardonnay that proved to be sublime – plump, mineral and golden.
The real key to appreciating these two noble delicacies was, for me, a mysterious third. For months I’ve been intrigued by the idea of vanilla as a non-dessert ingredient. Mashed parsnips with vanilla was on the test list all winter, along with sea bass in vanilla sauce. I’ve also just read that Tahitian vanilla has a distinct cherry aroma, and imagined it might draw out some hidden red oakiness in the wine.
So we crossed our fingers and made a simple cream sauce with vanilla, wine and shallots. With asparagus and portobello ravioli, in case the rest was a disaster. (Because you really can lose big-time with this sort of gamble. We once spent hours on a crab experiment that was almost inedible.)
But we hit the jackpot with this one. The lobster, vanilla, mushrooms and wine – the flavours and aromas all formed one, lusciously round richness. A deliciously natural combination that makes you wonder why cookbooks aren’t crammed with recipes for things made of lobster and vanilla, or why vanilla beans aren’t on display next to the lobster at the fish market, like the lemons and the dill. No. There will be none of that snappy herbaceousness with lobster in this house anymore. From now on it will only be vanilla and Chardonnay.
VANILLA SAUCE FOR LOBSTER
1 tbsp. unsalted butter
2 shallots, minced
1 vanilla bean, seeds scraped out and pod chopped in half
½ C chicken stock
½ C Chardonnay
½ C heavy cream
Melt butter in small saucepan. Add minced shallots and vanilla seeds and pod and sweat over low heat for 8 minutes. Add liquids, bring to a bare boil, and reduce sauce over medium-low heat until thickened, about 10 minutes. Remove vanilla pod and season with salt and pepper. Try not to eat it all before you start cracking the lobsters.
This is fascinating. Vanilla and lobster… Who’d have thunk it? Sounds strangely mouthwatering.
I wonder, did you end up using the Tahitian vanilla, and is that a dealbreaker or might any vanilla bean do? I’ve never cooked with vanilla before, apart from extract. Look forward to trying this.
The Tahitian vanilla is really the way to go. Regular Bourbon vanilla works well, but has a more unidimensional flavour. If only Tahitian vanilla weren’t so expensive…