Haddock Goujons and Rosemary Frites
Haddock Goujons and Rosemary Frites, The Saison.
To the untrained eye, a goujon is merely a strip of fish: dredged, fried, and arranged on a plate in careful disarray.
But within this slender breadcrumbed fragment lies a quiet history of transformation: of how the humblest cut can be made elegant, how refinement can wear the cloak of ease.
The word goujon comes to us from French, where it once referred to a small freshwater fish—the gudgeon—caught in shallow streams and eaten crisp. But over time the term shifted from species to preparation, and today refers more generally to delicate, finger-length strips of white fish, breaded and fried with fastidious restraint. In the grand lexicon of French cuisine, goujons live somewhere between haute and humble: too casual for silver service, too precise for the deep fryer.
What distinguishes a goujon is not merely size or seasoning, but attitude. Unlike the rugged fish stick, which wears its practicality on its sleeve, the goujon is self-aware. It invites refinement. It asks for aioli instead of tartar, a chilled glass of white instead of a bottle of malt vinegar. In this sense, it is a culinary sleight of hand—taking something plebeian (offcuts, trimmings, the tail end of a fillet) and rendering it delicate.
There is also a kind of mischief in it. In the bistros of Paris, goujons appear in stainless-steel cones lined with paper, a gesture toward informality that barely conceals their perfection. They are served to children, yes, but also to adults who know the pleasure of hot oil and lemon. They are, in their way, democratic: a French expression of the global love affair with crispness.
And yet the goujon’s charm is not solely textural. It is temporal. A good goujon must be eaten immediately—no lingering, no photography. The breading cools, the fish stiffens, the oil turns. Its pleasures are brief, and in that brevity lies the thrill. It reminds us that elegance, like heat, dissipates quickly.
To make goujons at home is to flirt with that same ephemerality. It is not difficult, but it is exacting: the oil must be hot but not vicious, the breading even but unheavy, the fish dry but not desiccated. It is a dish that rewards presence—of mind, of hand, of timing.
Perhaps that is its real allure. In a world of slow braises and calculated ferments, the goujon offers something else: immediacy, lightness, a sense of care without drama. It asks nothing of you except that you pay attention. And maybe, in the golden quiet of a kitchen, that’s enough.
Haddock Goujons and Rosemary Frites, The Saison.
Ingredients
2 haddock fillets
1 cup of flour
2 cups of panko bread crumbs
2 large eggs, whisked
2 medium-large russet potatoes
1 tablespoon rosemary, minced
Salt, pepper, and olive oil
Directions
Preheat the oven to 170 degrees.
Place the flour, panko bread crumbs, and the whisked eggs each into separate bowls.
Season the haddock fillets with salt and pepper and then cut each into six pieces. Dredge each piece in flour, egg, and then the bread crumbs. Set aside on a plate.
Heat olive oil over medium heat in a large pan. Add enough that the oil reaches a height of 1/4-inch in the pan. When hot, add the goujons and fry until golden, about 3-4 minutes on each side.
While the goujons are frying, scrub the potatoes and cut into 1/2-inch thick sticks.
Remove the goujons from the pan, place on a baking sheet, and keep warm in the oven until the frites are done.
Add the potatoes to the pan and pan-fry until crispy, turning as necessary, for about 10 - 12 minutes.
Transfer the frites to a bowl and toss with salt, pepper, and the rosemary.
Remove the gouchons from the oven and plate them alongisde the frites.
Serves 2