Presenting (Mostly Because We Can’t Wait For Summer) The Blackfish Stone Harbor Menu

Good grief, Chip Roman. You’re on this blog more than Miley Cyrus is The Soup. (It’s Chip!) Still, on a day like today, the Margate sea hags seem so close we can smell their Panama Jack and Marlboro Reds, and it makes us happy to mull over what we’ll order at Blackfish at the shore, recently relocated from Avalon to Stone Harbor in the old Henny’s spot on 9628 Third Ave. We’ll be starting with the cute-as-a-button Cape May salts—you know their story, right?—then follow up with the foie gras terrine (real Sicilian pistachios?! Yes!) For entrees, it’s a toss-up between the rib-eye and the dourade. We have a sweet spot for sweet Jersey corn. Come correct, Chip, and make summer ’09 one to savor.

Gazpacho, crushed avocado, opal basil

House Smoked Scottish Salmon, crispy potatoes, deep fried egg, crème fraiche

Tuna Tartar, spicy kimchee, micro greens

Baby Arugula Salad, Bulgarian feta, local blueberries, walnut vinaigrette

Jersey Tomatoes, handmade mozzarella, local basil

Hudson Valley Foie Gras Terrine, sour cherry, compressed Anjou pears, Sicilian pistachios

Cape May Salt Oysters, carbonated Meyer lemon, watermelon, pink peppercorn

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Dry Aged Rib Eye, summer vegetables, red wine sauce

Roasted Scottish Salmon, lentil salad, lemongrass emulsion

Dourade Royale, sweet corn, soybeans

“Surf and Turf”, glazed beef short ribs, day boat scallops, parsnip puree, horseradish

Roasted Free-range Chicken, morel mushrooms, white asparagus, ramps

Bouillabaisse (seasonal fish poached in a saffron broth, crusty bread and rouille)

Photo: BuyStoneHarbor

Well G’Day, Mate, Let’s Throw Another Heart And Kidney Brochette On The Barbie!

Europeans do lots of things better than Americans. Off the top of our head: playing socc—err, football, making wine, staying thin in the face of gobs of chocolate and bread. Until last night, we’d never consider putting ‘que in the Continent’s W column. But alas, Ansill’s European BBQ showed us Euro can grill like a motha.

Chef/owner David Ansill is not European, but his wife, Catherine, and his cozy Queen Village spot both are. Dessert-maker Catherine, spinner of the haunting violet ice cream we still think about with stalkerly frequency, is French, while the restaurant takes a looser geographical approach to its small plates, borrowing a bit from Italy, Spain, France and other EU members.

Ansill’s BBQ went down Wednesday night and last night, an orgy that revolved around a whole roasted pig. Each platter contained other assorted meats, vegetables and sauces, all for $35. We got there early to take advantage of the ridiculous buck-a-shuck oysters at happy hour (forgive the gratuitous oyster porn), and 36 salty Wiannos later, we settled in for the BBQ. The picture doesn’t quite do justice to the spiced, papery skin on the chicken, the smokiness of the smile of grilled sausage, the rabbit leg so juicy we eventually figured, fuck it, picked up the bone and started gnawing. Good and greasy, the succulent pig sang with garlic and rosemary, but as delicious as it was, the star was upstaged by the grilled brochette of bacon, lamb heart and veal kidney. It was a smoky totem pole, each tiny treasure crusty outside but soft and tender inside. If there was ever a question of which local chef possesses the deftest hand at offal cookery, it’s just been answered.



It’s rare to find a chef so adroit at cooking meat is just as nimble with vegetables. So it was a surprise that Ansill’s veg were a bit of a let down at the BBQ. The pickled cauliflower and beets were just as tangy and assertive as the ones that often find the way into the regular menu’s antipasto sampler, but the red cabbage streamers and slices of carrot (too crunchy and cut too thick) lacked the aggressive wallop of flavor that typical of the produce served here.

Three sauces rode shotgun: creamy garlic aioli, fresh-fresh-fresh parsley puree and, our fave, the pignoli-speckled agrodolce. In Italian, it means sweet and sour; at Ansill, it means powerfully delicious.

Each BBQ platter was designed to feed two, but going to Ansill and not ordering a few extra plates is like going to Disney World and not riding Space Mountain. Pasta brought plump buttery escargots nestled in a tangle of tender pappardelle simply slicked in extra-virgin with a smattering of chives. It was a special and it was special, while the silky Cognac-splashed steak tartare mounded on grilled slices of baguette smeared with purple mustard made from grape must, is still the best interpretation of this classic we’ve seen anywhere in town. Swoon. And for dessert, Catherine delivered as usual with the bittersweet flourless chocolate “fondant” cake with milk chocolate mousse and a wonderful poached pear infused with cardamom and ginger you could smell a mile away. The sidecar of vanilla ice cream was perfect. Rich, fragrant and smooth. Really, really perfect. But bring back the violet ice cream—please!

Photo: Ansill, blogalicious

Aw, Shucks

Blackfish Avalon's menu got us thinking (salivating) about Cape May salts today, the cute little Delaware Bay oysters that would be instinct if it wasn't for Slow Food USA's intervention. The crux of the northeast oyster industry up until the mid-1900s, the local oyster population was deicamted by a combination of overfishing, pollution, and parasites. Slow Food USA intervened in recent years, adding the Cape May salt to its Ark of Taste and reestablishing low-impact cultivation on the tidal flats of Cape May Courthouse. These little guys are tight, briny, sweet, and delicious. Get 'em at Dock's Oyster House in AC, Dune in Margate (half-price on Thursday), and now at Blackfish Avalon.

Photo: The Nibble