I AM NOT GOOD AT FLY-FISHING. At first I thought it was a matter of skill; as any angler will tell you (and tell you), a good deal of experience is necessary to master casting the line and determining precisely where and how to drop the fly. (And don’t get them started on what kind of fly.) But I tried! I stood on the rocky banks of Holy Ghost Creek in the Pecos Mountains, sent out a glorious cast, and … snagged my fly in a ponderosa pine, then in a patch of sweet mint. I repositioned and relaxed. I breathed in and then out. I tried and tried, then I pouted and stomped and, eventually, cried. I blamed myself. I blamed my reluctant instructor (i.e., my fiancé). Most of all, I blamed the fish.
Later, I learned it isn’t about my lack of skill at all. I’m temperamentally unsuited to fly-fishing. It took me years to realize, but for most of its practitioners, this sport is about doing something in an intentionally difficult way, meeting the challenge of out-smarting a battle-hardened lower vertebrate while experiencing hours of glorious solitude aside or amid a mountain stream. Me? I am intensely social and perpetually hungry. Until recently, I used “catch-and-release” exclusively to describe my dating strategy.
This is unfortunate, because New Mexico has prime-quality trout-fishing streams, and an extraordinary number of them are on public land, accessible to all for only the cost of a license (go to wildlife.state.nm.us/fishing for details). To bolster a fisher’s chances, the state last year raised and stocked more than four million rainbow and Río Grande cutthroat trout. That’s part of the reason why Field and Stream magazine recently pronounced northern New Mexico “one of the region’s most underappreciated and highly productive fisheries.” Guides, outfitters, and cabins abound in havens like Taos, Chama, and Jémez Springs. Annually, the state issues about 305,000 fishing licenses, and fly-fishing enthusiasts pump $268 million into the economy.
Legendary guide Taylor Streit, founder of the Taos Fly Shop (see “Old Man River"), says this is a stellar year, thanks to a higher-than-normal snowpack. “Fishing after the runoff is generally the best of the season,” he says, but he expects the good times to last into August, when shallow streams sometimes spoil anglers’ dreams.
HONESTLY, TROUT ALL LOOK the same to me as they undulate beneath the surface, stubbornly not taking my fly, but I’ve learned that New Mexico has two distinctive native species that are highly sought after: the Río Grande cutthroat and the Gila trout.
The cutthroat, our official state fish, is a lovely creature, painted with a flaming gold belly, slashed with red at the throat, and stippled with black beauty marks across the tail and spine. The state has been stocking more of them in northern New Mexico, from the Jémez River watershed to the Río Chama and Río Grande. Although some waters are catch-and-release only, many places allow up to two cutthroats for a fine dinner. Still, many fly-fishermen prefer chicken and beef. But I love to eat trout! And I have the perfect little fish spatula to cook it with! I just can’t catch one to save my life.
William Penner is an Albuquerque environmental consultant who spends more than 50 days of the year fly-fishing. Although he says he never eats Río Grande cutthroat, once a year or so he’ll cook a couple of browns or rainbows on a riverbank, seasoning them with garlic, olive oil, lemon, salt, and pepper, then wrapping them in foil and tucking the packet into the embers of a campfire.
New Mexico’s other native, the Gila trout, is an iridescent fish with a coppery gold belly, delicate speckles, and a yellow slash below the jaw. After decades of endangered status, little Gilas are again swimming in tributaries of the Gila River, mostly in the Gila and Aldo Leopold wilderness areas. The recovery is going well enough that the state has expanded fishing to new waters this year. In some places you can keep two of them.
Non-native brown trout thrive in the Río Grande Gorge near Taos, and though they may not be as pretty or as challenging as the native species, they are delicious—and with a bag limit of five per day, browns have great potential for the dinner table.
Most often, though, that dinner table is a lap in a folding chair on the grass. For generations, trout have been a great treat for outdoorsmen and communities along the waters, but fish has never been a primary protein in New Mexico, where beef, pork, and lamb most often take center plate.
Many high-end restaurants serve trout with New Mexico flavoring, and many grocery stores carry it, but what you get is farm-raised trout from out of state. This is true across the country, as states have prohibited the commercial sale of wild fish and game as part of conservation efforts.
“I know that farm-raised fish are getting a bad rap lately but I have yet to hear one bad thing about farm-raised rainbow trout,” says Lane Warner, who is an enthusiastic angler as well as executive chef at Santa Fe’s La Fonda on the Plaza. “Of course, wild trout would be a bit tastier, and knowing that you caught them just makes it even sweeter,” he says, but buying farm-raised fish means you can eat trout any day of the week.
Although it’s increasingly popular, fly-fishing isn’t the only way to land (or not) a local trout in your frying pan. Those of us who are fly-challenged can pull trout with any old rod and reel at Albuquerque’s Tingley Beach, which is stocked with rainbow trout, as are Abiquiú, Fenton, Heron, Navajo, and other lakes. You know, the kind of lakes where you might set up a big camp with a bunch of friends, drink cold beer, catch and keep fat, lazy fish to fry in bacon fat. That’s the kind of fishing that suits me.
If you’ve ever rolled a trout in cornmeal and thrown it in a hot pan, you know it’s hard to improve on tradition. But we found four chefs who have managed to do it, starting with familiar ideas and pushing them to scrumptious new heights.
This dish is a perfect example of the “regional and organic home cooking” promised by this tiny restaurant nestled in an old chapel on the west side of Taos. Chef Meyer is a passionate omnivore obsessed with sustainable agriculture, local meats, and foraged ingredients.
Combine the butter and zest with a pinch of salt and set it aside.
Mix all ingredients through piñons and let batter rest 30 minutes.
Beat two egg whites until stiff, fold into batter.
Fry fritters, 2 tablespoons batter per fritter, in grapeseed or canola oil until crispy and cooked through, approximately 6 minutes.
Combine all ingredients in a food processor and puree until very smooth.
Mix with whisk until all ingredients are incorporated. Heat in small saucepan just before serving, about 5 minutes, until just simmering and slightly thickened.
Open each piece of fish and nestle, skin side down, on a softened cornhusk.
Salt fish and place on a hot grill, husk side down.
Grill on medium high for 5 minutes.
Lower heat, add 1 tablespoon lime compound butter to each fish and finish another five minutes, until butter is melted and trout is just heated through.
Serve with the chipotle crème over the fish, alongside hot quinoa fritters topped with cilantro salsa.
Cooks at Pasqual’s smoke fresh trout every day over alderwood, and the hash is available every day from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. At dinner, try the Smoked Trout Salad with Horseradish Dressing.
Put all ingredients into a blender and pulse until liquefied. Adjust seasoning as needed. Transfer to a bowl.
Fill a very large pot with enough water to cover the potatoes. Bring water to a boil, then carefully add the potatoes. Cook for 20 minutes over bubbling water. They are done when a fork just slightly slips in the potato—do not overcook or the potatoes will crumble and will not make good, long hash shapes.
Drain the potatoes and let cool completely—as long as 3 or 4 hours. Or cook a day ahead and refrigerate.
Use a box grater to shred the potatoes into a large bowl and add the chives, cheese, and seasonings. Use your hands to gently toss them together.
Heat a 7-inch nonstick sauté pan and add a quarter of the butter, tipping the pan to cover the surface.
Add a quarter of the potato mixture and pat down to form a pancake. Cook for 4–5 minutes until golden. Flip the pancake over and cook another 3–4 minutes. Slip the pancake onto an ovenproof plate and place in an oven preheated to 200° to keep warm.
Repeat until all 4 pancakes are made. Place a sheet of parchment paper between cakes if you are going to stack them in the warming oven.
Poach the eggs in enough water to cover. Cook until they are opaque but still runny inside.
While the eggs cook, quickly and gently heat the trout in the nonstick skillet over medium heat just to heat through.
Place the poached eggs on the warm potato pancakes. Gently dab the top of the eggs to remove any cooking water so that the salsa will not slide off when spooned over the eggs.
Surround with the warmed trout. Put a generous tablespoonful of salsa across each egg. Garnish with finely chopped cilantro, parsley, or chives. Serve with more tomatillo salsa on the side.