Baked Stripped Bass

Wild stripped bass (Roccus saxatilis) is an abundant, coastal fish common to our area. “It is a delicate, fine, fat, fast fish, having a bone in his head which contains a saucerfull of marrow sweet and good, pleasant to the pallat and wholesome to the stomach . . .” as published in Woods, New England Prospect in 1634. If I cannot catch a striper myself I can usually find one or two at our local fishmonger who saves them for good customers.

The Method

Into the cavity of a five or six pound cleaned and scaled whole stripped bass stuff a bunch of fresh herbs. Use Thyme, tarragon, fennel or even parsley after sprinkling in a fair amount of kosher salt and fresh ground pepper. Place the fish on a large buttered baking pan. Over the fish pour four or five ounces of melted butter. Bake in a moderate oven until the flesh flakes when you poke a fork into it.

Serve with rice pilaf, baby carrots braised in butter and brown sugar and a fresh mesclun greens salad.

The History

Tony the Barber taught me about stripped bass. As strange as it seems to see these words in writing, I have been going to the same barber for half my life. Twenty-five years ago, after a particularly bad experience at the local barber school (times were not always so flush), I wandered into the barbershop next door. With no appointment and no referral I had to first make my way past the suspicions of the three, scissor-wielding Sicilians. After appropriate introductions and assurances that I was from the neighborhood, one of them agreed to take me.

I count few people as close friends. Tony the barber is one. When he was a young man, Tony emigrated from Italy. Raised in a small fishing village near Mt. Etna, he carries with him a love for the sea and fishing. I have yet to have a haircut when Tony does not tell me about either his latest catch, his plans for a fishing trip, a recipe for fish or a tale about a spectacular battle between him and…a fish.

And as any useless man would attest, one’s relationship with his barber is important. For a time when I was searching for some perceived truth I saw a therapist. His office was close to Tony’s barbershop and some mornings, after therapy, I would go to Tony’s for a haircut. About nine months into the therapy I came to the realization that the source of the truth I was chasing was just as likely to be gleaned from a Sicilian with a barber’s license hanging near the chair than from the guy with an M.D. hanging among the fine art in his office. Besides, I always looked better when I left Tony’s.