Walking past my favorite fish shop, I glanced over and noticed a rosy symbol of spring glimmering in the chipped ice: Shad roe. The roe comes as two lobes attached in the center by a thin membrane; each is called a set. As I ordered two sets, Steve, the fishmonger, asked how I cooked them. Sautéed in butter or bacon fat, I explained, with a squeeze of lemon. Steve was hesitant. He’s had shad roe cooked that way, he said, and he still hated it. To him and so many other people, shad roe is fishy and muddy and not very good. But I love the stuff. In fact, I love it for those very reasons. It’s fishy and muddy, except I describe fishy as rich and muddy as earthy. Growing up, my mother used to make shad roe for breakfast. I realize now that it might be one of the most difficult tastes to acquire.
So this morning in the test kitchen, I cooked one of those sets of roe in the traditional way, with butter, lemon, and a little parsley. I called in some coworkers, and we ate breakfast. Those who like shad roe loved it. Those who don’t described it, unsurprisingly, as fishy and muddy. I was left feeling torn. Do I begin a quest to introduce the wonders of shad roe to the non-believers, or do I keep my mouth shut and keep that tasty stuff for my own self?
I’m choosing the latter. If you don’t like shad roe, click here.
But if you do love the shad and her roe, it’s gonna be a great year. As of now, the fish are running in North Carolina; soon they’ll be up to Maryland, then Pennsylvania, where you can see them for yourself at Bethlehem’s Shad Festival. Shad is a fine freshwater fish; not only is the roe delicious, but the flesh is meaty and pleasantly flaky (you just have to get past the bones). It’s often served smoked. In Bethlehem, a modest $10 will buy you a local dinner of spring’s best: shad, watercress, and mint tea. The supplies of roe are limited, but with $18 and some luck, you can be one of the few who get to partake of the earthy, delicious eggs.
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