Bisque is something of a beautiful liar, which is probably why I adore it so much. Sashaying smooth and hearty, a well-tended bisque transcends the homely profile of its constituent parts to become a most toothsome morsel on par with any of the bistro all-stars. But like so many sexy beasts, its graceful appearance camouflages a truly desperate, brutal and violent past. Screaming crustaceans. Crunching skeletons. Sharp whirling blades. Gelatinous magma. These are the steps along the way, classically, to one of the titans of polite cuisine. And what with high-priced lobster and a boiling column of tornadic puree, the opportunity for calamity and ruin has always followed closely those daring enough to attempt this most noble of soups. Tonight, I offer a small adjustment that I hope will make bisque, so deserving of affection, a bit easier to dance with at home. Instead of lobster, shrimp or crayfish bisque (classics, all), I announce instead: clam bisque.
Clams rarely appear in bisque, a scene dominated instead by shrimp and lobster. There may be industrial reasons. After all, if you owned a restaurant that served shrimp cocktails and surf 'n turf entrees on Saturday night, then you might wonder if you could make a buck or two (or 13) at Sunday brunch with all those unsightly shells you had to trash in the name of a pristine primetime plate. It follows that, classically, shrimp and lobster bisques metabolize kitchen waste. The base of bisque is the flavor extracted from pounds of shrimp or lobster shells that would otherwise be discarded. Then, one adds a few whole pieces (that is, shell-on) of the crustacean, purees the whole deal, strains it through cheesecloth, and brings it back up to temperature with a touch of cream. Only then is shrimp or lobster bisque served to a gleeful diner with studs of the eponymous seafood.
There are at least two obvious problems with this method for the at-home chef. First, who'd ever pay for a whole lobster with bisque in mind? You're probably not swimming in lobster at home, which means you've gotta buy fresh ones destined for bisque. Such would be counter to the spirit of things, for, clearly, lobster bisque grew out of the need to somehow make saleable "stiffs" (recently deceased lobs). Restaurateurs would never dream of droppin' a high-dollar lobster in soup, so why should you? Second, unless you have an industrial-grade food processor, you might have some trouble pureeing whole lobster, shell 'n all. Traditionally, mind you, the whole shebang gets ground up. So, I'd say that the restaurant method is fine--for them. But I've got a cheaper, easier, more sensible method for the rest of us.
Use clams! Sure, you won't be able to steep their shells for flavor extraction as per traditional bisque protocol, but your soup will be blessed with the wonderful flavor of the clam liquor that accrues in the shells. This will more than compensate for skipping the usual shell steeping step, and render an otherwise unwieldy preparation much simpler. And clams are almost always cheaper than lobster, and sometimes cheaper than shrimp. The following is sort of based on a recipe for shrimp bisque in The Professional Chef.
Start by sautéing chopped shallot and carrot in butter until the shallots are blonde-brown. Then add a chopped clove or two of garlic, and continue sautéing for a minute or so on medium heat. Once the garlic gets some color, add in some tomato paste--a few good spoonfuls. Stir that up and, as with the demi and stock, allow the vegetables to turn a rusty brown color as the tomato paste cooks. Deglaze with enough cognac/brandy to put a good coat on the bottom of the pan. Once the cognac has mostly reduced down, throw a few handfuls of flour over the veggies to make a simple roux. Stir the thick, pasty result over medium heat for a minute or two.
Now deglaze with fish stock and add the clams (along with their all-important liquor). For four portions, I used a quart of fish stock and one pound (before shucking) of clams. Check this page if you need a few pointers on clam shucking. Add fresh herbs at this point, too, if you feel like it. Season and reseason with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil and then adjust the heat so that you just have a slow, even and relatively gentle simmer. Allow the bisque to simmer like so for about 30 minutes. Then cool until lukewarm-ish.
Transfer the (at least mostly) cooled bisque to a food processor or blender. Get the lid on there. Good. I mean real good. Put your big paw on it, too. You do not want bisque going everywhere when you flick the switch. Puree until smooth.
Put the pureed bisque back in the pan on the stove. Whisk in some cream--perhaps a half-pint 'er so for four portions? I dunno, I guess I used a little less than a half-pint. Anyway, it doesn't take that much. Bring the bisque up to temperature slowly, on low heat, while whisking occasionally. If it's not thick enough, whisk in a simple uncooked roux (made from mixing equal parts oil and flour) until you get 'er where you want 'er.
If you'd like a handsome escort for your bisque, you might consider an olive tapenade spread over a toasted baguette. The tapenade can be made in a food processor or by hand. In either event, start with black olives, capers and sardines. Chop--either with a trusty shank or in the food processor. Mix that with olive oil, fresh chopped herbs (sage is great) and fresh cracked pepper. Hold back on the salt--sardines are usually salty, as are capers and sometimes olives, too. Finish 'er off with some fresh lime juice, and mix it up caveman style. Then spread over the baguette.
Clams casino: it ain't much, but it's good. Really it's just clams with bacon. But I suppose the marketing powers that be figured foregrounding a gamble would do their brand best. And so we have it: Clams Casino on top of the deck tonight. 
