Mussel-Bound

It’s not my custom to contemplate mussels. In fact, I don’t think about them at all, except when I see them on a menu, preferably steamed in a light white-wine broth. So on a recent trip to Nova Scotia I was surprised to find myself fascinated by the private lives of these ancient bivalves.

It began when I boarded the “barge with no name,” the crown jewel of the one-vessel Indian Point Marine Farms fleet, co-owned by Peter Darnell. “We tried to name her,” Darnell said offhandedly, “but it didn’t take.” Wasn’t it tempting fate to ride in an unchristened boat, I wondered. To be on the safe side, I silently baptized her Nova Lox, a tribute to my morning breakfast.

We chugged through the coves that ring Mahone Bay, stopping every so often for the crew to hoist up lines that were so covered with clumps of mussels that they looked like giant telephone cables. I learned from Capt. Mike Watson that the common Mytilus edulis is shamefully indulged at Darnell’s farms, where everything is handed to them on a platter before they end up on one.

First, the mussels are set up in naturally protected, unpolluted coves and inlets. Then over the next two years, they’re continually cleaned, preened and pampered until they’re mature enough to harvest. And extracurricular activities? Well, let’s just say that during his off-hours Darnell traffics in the world’s oldest profession: Several times a year, he oversees the mating of hundreds of thousands of mussels during a wild two weeks of marine cavorting.

But there was only one way to tell whether living this large was paying off. That night I headed to the nearby town of Lunenburg to try its newest and most-talked-about restaurant, Fleur de Sel. Chef Martin Ruiz-Salvador and his wife, Sylvie, the restaurant’s hostess, greeted me warmly. But then we got down to business. I discovered that the Indian Point mussels I was about to eat had beaten me to the restaurant by about two hours. When they arrived at my table, they were tender, yet their sweetness stood up to Ruiz-Salvador’s use of the powerhouse flavors of garlic, basil and oregano.

As I sopped up the broth with a bit of bread, I realized that I’d been seriously underestimating these lovely creatures by using pedestrian white-wine broth. If garlic and basil can’t keep a good mussel down, think of the possibilities: saffron, turmeric, curry. I decided right there, in front of my overflowing bowl of shells, that if Darnell can mollycoddle his mussels all their lives, the least I can do is spoil mine with exotic spices during their last 20 minutes. But I drew the line at matchmaking; I didn’t want to scare the cats.

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Curried Steamed Mussels

Serves 4

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

4 tablespoons minced shallots

1 tablespoon minced garlic

1/2 cup white wine

4 pounds mussels, de-bearded and well-scrubbed

1 1/4 teaspoons curry powder

3/4 cup heavy cream

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice

1/4 cup chopped cilantro

When cleaning the mussels, discard any that feel heavy, have broken shells or don’t close when lightly tapped against the counter.

Melt the butter over medium heat in a large stock pot. Add the shallots and saute until softened, about 3 minutes, stirring often. Add the garlic and saute for 1 minute. Increase the heat to high. Add the white wine and mussels, cover and cook until the mussels open, about 9 to 10 minutes, shaking the pan occasionally. With a slotted spoon, remove the mussels to a bowl, discarding any that didn’t open. Wrap the bowl in a clean tea towel and keep warm.

Add the curry powder and cream to the pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to low, add the lime juice and cook to thicken slightly. Return the mussels to the pot, toss to coat and heat through. Ladle the mussels and broth into warmed bowls and sprinkle with cilantro.

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David Leite last wrote for the magazine about apple tarts.