The fish boil is an extraordinary outdoor-cooking ritual unique to the slim peninsula of Door County, Wisconsin, that juts into Lake Michigan east of Menominee and north of Sturgeon Bay. Whitefish steaks and red potatoes are gathered in separate nets to cook in a big iron cauldron over crackling hard-wood. Once the water hits a rolling boil, the potatoes go into the pot, along with pounds of salt. At the twenty-minute mark, the fish is added to the cauldron along with still more salt. As the meal cooks, onlookers gather around the fire drinking beer or cider. Accordion music, played by the boil master between his chores, is customary. When he decrees the food nearly done, he tells everyone to stand back and tosses a pint of kerosene straight into the fire. Flames burst up, engulfing the cook pot and instantly jacking up the heat. In the flash of the blaze, the heavily salted water boils over and splashes down onto the inferno, nearly dowsing it. The big bang that signals the end of a fish boil isn’t only for dramatic effect: It ensures the taste of the whitefish. A ratio of one pound of salt for every two gallons of water in the pot creates a buoyancy that makes ingredients want to float. As the fish cooks in a net, its oils rise and hover at the surface. The volcanic upsurge at the moment of the boil-over forces oils and impurities to cascade out over the edge of the pot, leaving nothing in the boiling water but clean-flavored fish steaks and potatoes.
Boilover: Pyrotechnical shock and awe in Door County, Wisconsin.
Ingrained as the fish boil tradition is in Door County life, no one knows for sure when or how it began. Most people believe it was started by Scandinavian-ancestored fishermen. “Their boats were equipped with potbellied stoves,” reflected Andy Coulson, proprietor of Fish Creek’s White Gull Inn, which is famous for its dramatic fish boils. “All they needed to stock on board was salt and potatoes. Or maybe the fish boil began with bonfires on the beach when they came ashore to clean their catch.” Coulson pointed out that for the old-time fishermen, as well as for crowds of contemporary visitors who come north to enjoy the cool breezes that waft in off Lake Michigan every summer, one big appeal of the fish boil is the camaraderie it inspires among large groups of people. The bonfire and boil-over bring strangers together in an ebullient mix of awe and hunger. “As a meal for six, it is inefficient,” Coulson observed. “But for a dozen or more, it’s a thing of beauty. This is Door County’s answer to the all-American barbecue.”