From Quohogs to Coho: How to Make Salmon Chowder (Patreon)

Pacific Northwest fish meets New England bones.

Salmon chowder wasn’t part of my childhood.

I was born in New England and grew up between New York and Boston, where the streets are paved with oyster crackers, where the taps flow with hot ocean milk, and where the heavens open up to rain down the slick, salty, supple innards or freshly-shucked quahogs with some degree of regularity. It's chowder-town, and I love chowder. Growin up, clam chowder was, of course, the classic (here's my recipe). Cod chowder showed up regularly. Lobster chowder made cameo appearances when someone else was paying.

But salmon chowder? Not really. Salmon isn’t an Atlantic fish, and historically, chowder grew up in coastal towns cooking what the water gave them.

Now I live in the Pacific Northwest, where the water gives us lots of good, affordable salmon. It ends up on my cutting board often enough that it feels completely natural to take the chowder techniques I learned in New England and apply them to the salmon here.

The bones of the dish are the same ones I learned early in my career, back when I was working lunch service at No. 9 Park in Boston and got handed the task of turning fish scraps into something that could be served as a lunch special. That version started with a carefully built fumet made from heads and bones, layered with salt pork and aromatics, enriched with cream reduced separately so it would bind perfectly, and finished with fennel, celery, potatoes, and chunks of fish added at the last moment in order to keep it tender and moist.

It was rich and elegant... and completely impractical for weeknight home cooking.

At home, chowder should be a one-pot operation. It should feel sturdy and forgiving. It should rely more on sound structure than on finesse. Here's how I make chowder at home.

The Chowder Blueprint

Luckily, the structure of chowder hasn’t changed much in a few hundred years: You start with a salted pork product—traditionally salt pork or beef, though bacon or pancetta works—add some aromatic vegetables, finish with seafood stock, then add in your your seafood. Where the oldest recipes for chowder call for thickening with hard tack-style biscuits dissolved into the stock, modern recipes use dairy thickened with a flour-based roux, and potatoes to add hearty texture. The only vestige of the traditional biscuit-thickened chowders is the addition of oyster crackers to the finished soup.

When starting with salt pork, there’s a little trick here that can help: start the pork with a splash of water. The water evaporates as the pork heats, gently jumpstarting the rendering process so by the time the pot is dry, the fat is flowing and the pork can brown cleanly instead of scorching.

Once the pork has rendered, in go onions and celery. Not to brown (chowder is meant to stay pale) but just to soften and turn aromatic. A couple tablespoons of flour follow. This is always a point of contention. Some like their chowder extra-thick (this seems particularly common here in the Seattle area). Others will insist chowder should thicken only from potatoes and dairy and whatever crackers get crumbled into it at the table. I’ve done it that way. It works. But it also makes it easier for the fat and milk to separate, leaving you with a slightly greasy-looking surface and curdled milk texture.

I honestly like my chowder a variety of textures (I draw the line at Elmer's Glue-level thick), but usually I'll split the difference: A small amount of flour acts as insurance to prevent the chowder from splitting. Just enough to help everything emulsify and stay cohesive.

After the flour goes in, then comes what I call the “fish juice.” In a restaurant kitchen, that might mean a carefully simmered stock from fish heads and bones, which is wonderful if you have the scraps and the time. At home, bottled clam juice is the way to go. It’s one of the few supermarket shortcuts that actually delivers what it promises: clean, briny seafood depth without stabilizers, sweeteners, or mystery flavors. Stir that in, add milk (sometimes I swap in a bit of half-and-half for extra richness), along with diced Yukon Gold potatoes, a bay leaf, and a thyme sprig or two, then let it simmer until the potatoes are fully tender but still intact.

Once the potatoes are tender, you can adjust the seasoning and thickness. A splash more milk or cream if it's too thick, and plenty of salt and pepper (dairy tends to dull flavors—cream-based soups require a little more seasoning than brothy ones).

Only when the base is fully cooked do I finally add the salmon. I cut it into generous chunks so it doesn’t overcook and simmer it just for a few minutes so that it stays silky and moist. I also like to stir in a small amount of smoked salmon towards the end. Not enough to make the soup taste smoky — just enough to deepen it slightly. This is a trick I learned from Jodi Adams, the chef at Rialto in Cambridge who made a wonderful chowder with fresh and smoked cod decades ago.A squeeze of lemon and a handful of chopped dill brighten everything and keep the richness from feeling heavy.

In strict New England tradition, the garnish would stop at oyster crackers and maybe a dash of hot sauce. I do both of those. But I also add herbs. I’ve made peace with the fact that this may cost me my regional credentials.

What I love about this version is that it feels rooted in history without being precious about it. The method is centuries old: pork, aromatics, starch, seafood, dairy. The fish just happens to reflect where I live now.

It's also wicked good.*

*I've been told by my PNW-native colleagues Lena and Erin that there is no Seattle equivalent of the Boston term "wicked." Do you all have any thoughts on that?

Recipe: Salmon Chowder

Yield: 4 to 6 servingsActive time: About 20 minutesTotal time: About 40–45 minutes

Note: the cream/vegetable base can be made up to a few days in advance and stored in the fridge. Reheat it to a simmer before adding the fresh and smoked salmon and continuing with step 4.

Ingredients

4 to 8 ounces (115–225g) salt pork, bacon, or pancetta, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

2 tablespoons (30ml) water

1 medium onion, finely chopped (about 8 ounces / 225g)

2 large ribs celery, finely chopped (about 6 ounces / 170g)

1-2 sprigs fresh thyme

Kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Small pinch MSG (optional)

2 tablespoons (20g) all-purpose flour

1 cup (235ml) bottled clam juice

1 quart (900ml) whole milk(Optional: substitute 1–2 cups with half-and-half for a richer chowder)

1 pound (450g) Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes

1 bay leaf

3/4 to 1 pound (350–450g) salmon, skinless, cut into 3/4- to 1-inch chunks

2–3 ounces smoked salmon, torn into small pieces (optional but recommended)

Minced fresh dill (or parsley or chives)

1–2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice, to taste

Hot sauce

Oyster crackers or saltines

Directions

Combine the pork and water in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the water has evaporated and the pork begins to brown and crisp in spots, about 8 minutes.

Add onion, celery, and thyme sprigs. Season lightly with salt (the pork is already salty), plenty of black pepper, and a small pinch of MSG if using. Cook until softened but not browned, about 4 to 5 minutes.

Stir in the flour and cook just until no raw flour remains, about 1 minute. Stir in the clam juice and cook, stirring constantly, until thickened. Add milk and half-and-half. Add potatoes and bay leaf and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the potatoes are fully tender but not falling apart, about 15 minutes. Adjust thickness with additional milk or half-and-half if necessary. (See note)

Add the salmon and simmer gently until just cooked through, about 3 minutes. Turn off the heat and stir in smoked salmon, lemon juice, and fresh herbs. Remove bay leaf and thyme sprig. Taste and adjust with more salt, pepper, and lemon. Serve immediately with hot sauce and oyster crackers.