In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She's boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and seared more Porterhouse steaks than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles salmon.
I did not grow up eating much fresh fish. My parents were exceptional cooks, but they mostly steered clear of the stuff—perhaps because they were raised in landlocked places, or because they learned to cook in the ’80s, when swordfish carpaccio reigned troublingly supreme. On the rare occasion my dad would fire up the broiler for, say, a hunk of halibut, my mom would run from the room with her pointer finger and thumb clamped firmly around her nostrils, throwing open all the windows as she retreated.
