Listen to the Grease

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There are no customers for bait this morning. A few regular degenerates stop by, looking to sneak in a quick beer with Cuzzin, but they are scared off by Artie’s polished demeanor. It’s a perfect time to catch up.

Bull Gordon, Cuzzin’s father and Artie’s uncle, never set foot in Scotland, but he put on a righteous brogue, drrrragging his “Rrrrs” and complaining fierrrcely about the wrongs heaped upon his people by the bloody British. He owned a kilt that was worn with great ceremony at the annual Fourth of July costume parade at Indian Mound. And he was thrifty.

It was through thrift that he found fortune.

No part of a fish was discarded. The bits of white flesh found their way into “Gordon’s Own Seafood Chowder.” The eyeballs, innards, and skeletons were ground into “Gordon’s Own Miracle Fertilizer” which was stored in galvanized cans in back of the shop until the city came and made him take away the malodorous mess. (They did him a favor, because the stench was keeping away the fish & chips customers as well.)

The 40s became the 50s. The commercial fishing business died off, but the fried foods part of his business prospered. The surrounding area was swelling with Irish refugees from South Boston and Italians from the city’s North End. Both groups were heavily Catholic, and on Fridays a line would form starting around five o’clock for Bull’s fried seafood, which everyone knew was the best around. For several frenzied hours Bull would be battering and frying fish, clams, scallops, potatoes, and onion rings as fast as his frothing fryers could handle them.

Take the tie off, mess up his hair, have sweat dripping off his face, put him in a dirty white apron, and you’ll have a reasonable approximation of Bull Gordon on the job, circa 1952.

He became a virtuoso of the deep fat fryer. He knew the right consistency of the batter. His oil was at the right temperature. He could lift the frying basket, instantly assess, how much more time was needed, give the basket a quick shake, and re-immerse the food for the precise number of seconds. “Listen to the grease, Artie,” was the mantra. “Listen to the grease.” The result, quickly salted and served, was perfection—golden nuggets of bounty from the sea, naked, briny morsels from the North Atlantic, coated with pulverized grain from the heartland, plunged into rendered animal fat, and orchestrated by a maestro.

The seafood wholesale business went away, but the remaining restaurant was the better for it. His entire week’s profit came in the few hours of demand provided by the Catholic church. “God Bless the Pope,” Bull would say as he counted the receipts and the end of his Friday frying frenzy.

Bull knew all the nuances of fried fish–the right recipe for the batter, the precise temperature, everything. But what he really knew was fat. All fish fryers know that food tastes best when cooked in clean oil. Over time the fryers become cesspools of all that has been cooked before. When Bull looked into the cost factors of his business, he was surprised to find that fat, even more than fish, was the highest cost commodity in his business.

He could have done what most small restaurants do and just use the fat longer and longer, until a single piece of fish reveals the entire history of the summer. Or he could have kept the fat fresh, and raised his prices. Instead, he developed a simple pump and filter that cleaned the fat and extended its usable life. Not only did it reduce his operating costs, but it improved the quality and consistency of his fried foods. He called the device the Gordon Filtron, and he protected his design by patenting it.

The take-out fish shop thrived, but Gordon’s Sea Food was about to morph again. The owner of an ice cream stand in nearby Wollaston came to Bull to learn the secrets of his grease. He had just opened a restaurant and wanted to served golden fried clams, just like those that came from Bull’s fryers. People were travelling more, he told Bull. They wanted familiar food in unfamiliar faces. His plan was to open restaurants with instantly recognizable orange roofs all over the country. And his name was Howard Johnson. Bull nodded, and agreed to outfit his fryers with Gordon Filtrons.

A few years later another local entrepreneur approached Bull. His business, a small coffee and donut shop, was only a few miles away. If Bull’s fat filter could improve the flavor of Howard’s fried clams, wouldn’t it work with donuts, too? In not too many years Dunkin’ Donuts were sprouting like weeds up and down the Eastern seaboard. The restaurant was closed down because it made more sense to manufacture Gordon Filtrons than fish & chips. Bull’s small place in fast food history was assured.

Bull Gordon’s Seafood Chowder

To make a fish stock, take all of the clam shells, lobster shells, mussel or oyster shells, even fish bones if you have them and put them into an industrial-sized, stainless soup pot. Add left over bits of seafood—fish, clams, lobster. No fried food and no oily-fleshed fish (mackerel or bluefish). Add whatever you’ve got. It’s not going to kill you.

Cut up two onions and several stocks of celery. Add several Bay leaves. Cover with water and bring to a boil. Boil for at least one half hour. Strain off stock.

Cube ¼ pound of salt pork and render in your soup pot. Peel and cut Maine potatoes into 1 inch slices. Cut onion to approximately the same size. Add both to pot. Stir until well coated. Add water to pot and bring to gentle boil. Cook until potatoes have lost their crunch.

Drain water and replace with fish stock. Bring to poaching temperature. Don’t boil.

This is a dish that can accommodate just about any catch of the day, with the exception of oily fish. Flounder, hake, pollack, cod, haddock, skate are all fine Likewise just about any shellfish (shucked) will work, too. Cod’s cheeks and tongues are particularly good.

Add it all, then let it simmer until seafood is cooked. Add 1 cup cream for every gallon of chowdah. Season with salt, pepper, dry sherry, and fresh green seasonings from the garden. Garnish with chopped parsley.