Something this time for those of you to whom “summer” means nonstop backyard grilling. “Scrod” was a new word in 1850 when the Practical Cook Book by Mrs. Bliss “of Boston” was published (in Philadelphia). At the time, the term was still being spelled in a variety of ways—such as “scrode,” “schrod,” and “schrode.” While people eventually settled on “scrod” for the spelling, they never did agree once and for all on what scrod actually was. Some said it was a small (that is, young), whole codfish, others that it was a piece cut from the tail of a large cod, still others that it could be cut from the tail of either a haddock or a cod. Mrs. Bliss seems to belong to the first school of thought by specifying a young cod. We don’t know anything about Mrs. Bliss, by the way—not even if she really was a Bostonian—except that she wrote one terrific cookbook. We’ve included a generous selection of her recipes in our historic collection Northern Hospitality, and every one of them—from broiled chicken to blueberry pie to raspberry pudding—is simply scrumptious. But in our opinion the best of them all is this one for roasted scrod:

“Scrode or Young Cod, Roasted”

by Mrs. Bliss, from Practical Cook Book (1850)

Procure a fat scrode, and require the fishmonger to open and dress it; sprinkle a little salt and pepper upon it; spread it out flat and fasten it to a board, stand the board up before a brisk fire, that the fish may roast; when browned on one side, unfasten it from the board, and by means of a tin sheet, turn it on to a gridiron, that the other side may be browned. Be careful not to break the fish in transferring it from the board to the gridiron. Dish it, pour a spoonful of melted butter over it, and serve hot.

Haddock may be cooked in the same way, and is considered more delicate than cod.

Ingredients

1 haddock or cod, gutted, cleaned, and head removed, about 3 lbs.
Salt and pepper to taste
Cedar or other hardwood planks
1 tablespoon olive oil
Melted butter, about ¼ cup

How We Made It

We used the type of fish mentioned in the second paragraph of Mrs. Bliss's recipe—a haddock weighing 3 lbs. (sans its head), which had been cleaned and gutted. These days, you have to place a special order to obtain a firm, fresh, all-but-whole beauty like this from your “fishmonger,” and it’s probably best to place the order well ahead of time. Since we hadn’t planned ahead, we had to have our Headless Haddock sent by overnight delivery from Legal Seafoods in Boston.

The fish didn't arrive opened, as Mrs. Bliss recommends. It was in need of butterflying—that is, breaking its quite substantial ribcage so that it would lie flat. This took some doing by the stronger of the two of us, with our largest knife, but it was finally accomplished, and the opened fish was ready for its minimal dressing with "a little salt and pepper."

Now for the fun part. Mrs. Bliss’s instructions to “fasten it to a board,” and “stand the board up before a brisk fire, that the fish may roast” are written for someone living in a house designed and equipped for open-hearth cookery. That’s not our house, and it probably isn’t yours either. As with many of the historic New England recipes that we’ve made, we had to figure out an adaptation that looked like it would have the best chance of producing a result approximating the historical original as closely as possible. It seemed to us that a simple charcoal grill (our modern version of Mrs. Bliss’s “gridiron”) and cedar planks of the type most often used nowadays with salmon would do the trick. The only complication was how to turn our haddock over after it was done on the first or skin side. We developed a plan involving a pizza tin, a cookie sheet, and a pair of spatulas.

But we get ahead of ourselves. Our planks required soaking for an hour in cold water before they could be used (to retard their burning on the grill). To ease the process of removing the fish when cooked, we brushed one side of the planks lightly with olive oil.

Now we were ready for our Headless Haddock roast. As grilling proceeded, we soon abandoned our scheme for a Rube-Goldberg fish flip. The delicate flesh was obviously going to fall apart under any such maneuver. Mrs. Bliss understood our dilemma, warning to "be careful not to break the fish in transferring it from the board to the gridiron." Fortunately, a splayed-out three-pound haddock is thin enough so that the hot coals were cooking it thoroughly without turning it directly onto the grill. The scents of the steaming cedar planks and the roasting fish soon began inducing yowls of anticipation not only from our little Pomeranian, Jenny, but even from the massive Lab who lives next door.