Pescado De Casa, or The Case of the Missing Lemon

Well, after talking to someone at the fish counter the other night who asked what I was going to do with that rockfish, the plan was to (finally, some would say) write you about Joyce Goldstein’s wonderful “Rockfish in Indonesian Sauce.” But as luck would have it, I was out of a key ingredient: lemon.  

I did have a Murcott mandarin orange and some spring onions from the market—and a couple of artichokes.  I consulted the online oracles for rockfish and oranges and found a great website called “Galley Pirate.” Their recipes are for sailors and others who find themselves on the open seas. I may not be on the open seas (though I do love the water), but I know a great recipe when I see one. I adapted it to the ingredients on hand and presto!  Dinner.

Rockfish a l’Orange (adapted from Galley Pirates; Serves 2)

1 lb. rockfish (about three pieces)
½ tablespoon butter
1½ teaspoons olive oil
1 tablespoon minced spring onion
½ teaspoon dried tarragon
¼ teaspoon salt
Mixed peppercorns
1 mandarin orange (or navel orange)
¼ cup white wine or water (if using water, add dried orange peel or a spritz of orange oil)
Pinch dried orange peel(optional)
½ teaspoon flour
Tarragon for garnish

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mince the shallots. Juice and zest the mandarin or orange.

In a large skillet, sauté shallots and orange zest in the butter and olive oil. Add the orange juice, water, dried orange peel, dried tarragon, salt and pepper to the pan and sauté for a minute or two longer.

Prepare a serving platter. Wipe a baking dish with oil, add rockfish. Pour the green onion-orange mixture over the fish and place the pan in the oven.

Cook about 20 minutes (test after fifteen minutes; when you can flake the fish easily with a fork, it’s done. Move the rockfish from the baking dish onto the serving platter. Pour the remaining sauce from the baking dish back into the skillet. Sprinkle the flour into the pan and stir until thickened. Add more water if it becomes too thick. Pour the sauce over the fish fillets on the serving platter, top with tarragon, and enjoy!

“What about the artichoke?”

I steamed it. It took 45 minutes, and I am henceforth forswearing large artichokes, outside of restaurants. But the sauce was heaven on those leaves.

©2019 Laynie Tzena.  All Rights Reserved.

Sardines a la Monday, or Don’t Sweat the Small Fish

Once upon a time, I made the mistake of trying to persuade a fellow I was dating to rethink something. Girls, don’t try this at home. Or out. Or in the car.

Important news bulletin; please sit down: Men do not like being told what to do.

Well, no one does, right? But where a woman will tell you--and men, you can attest to this--just exactly what you did in 1992 that so troubled her, men do not do that. They simply go back to that planet they come from.

My friend David, rest in peace, once told me that when he was annoyed at someone and the person would call him to suggest a get-together, “I think, ‘No, I don’t want to have lunch with you. I want to kill you slowly.’ But what I say is, ‘Gosh, I’d love to, but I’m just real busy.’”

Men keep you guessing.

When I dated Prince Food Chain, I didn’t know what I know now. Because now I am old. I am 212 years old, but I am well-preserved because I ate so much herring in my formative years. (Which are still going on. Pass the herring, wouldya?)

The Prince made a point of saying that he didn’t eat small fish because they were eaten by large fish. (Or was it that he didn't eat large fish because they ate small fish? Once you get south of 100 years, memory fades--except for that guy in seventh grade.)

Now, one might think that every self-respecting fish probably had its eye on something smaller when it came to dinner. One might eat chicken, too. He didn't, and he wouldn't--I think it was the bones--though he said he didn't mind if I did. Luckily, bread and wine presented not a single problem. Holy communion, Batman! We were also soulmates when it came to dessert.

“Why are men so strange?” I sometimes ask my brother, as I tell him the latest.

“We feel the same way about you,” he replies.

Other news you can use: Borage flowers showed up at Heirloom Organics at the Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market last week. They look like something from outer space (always a good sign, unless lights are flashing and you are being motioned toward a vehicle--in which case, it's your call). I took one taste and said, “I’m going to use this with fish.” Dave smiled. “Anchovies,” I said, “or maybe sardines.” He said, “I put it on pasta.” That sounds good, too. Hey, I’d eat this pesto off my boyfriend’s arm--as long as the boyfriend in question wasn’t Prince Food Chain. No, the Prince wouldn’t have liked this sandwich at all. So if you see him, don’t mention it.

Sardines a la Monday:

½ can sardines in spring water
2 slices sprouted rye bread

For the pesto:

Handful borage flowers (or use thyme)
1 stalk green garlic
1 stalk green shallot (or use a small shallot and some chives or the green part of a scallion)
Juice and zest of ½ lemon
2 anchovies
Drizzle really good extra virgin olive oil (I used LA)
Healthy sprinkle of fresh-ground black pepper

Pound the green garlic a bit, then chop with green shallot and borage flowers. Add the lemon juice and zest and the anchovies. Blend in the food processor. Drizzle in olive oil, add pepper, and taste.

Spread pesto on one slice of bread, place a couple of sardines on the other, combine, and enjoy. Tonight that sandwich had some great company: asparagus and fresh orange bergamot mint tea.

©2011, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

Tuxedo Under Raincoat, or Listen to Jim: Anthropology for Foodies

I was at the Farmers' Market the other day, eyeing some especially good-looking Lisbon lemons Twin Girls Farms had on offer.

"Do you have any Meyer lemons?" somebody asked.

"Sorry, no," came the reply.

And she passed right over those Lisbons.

Now, I think Meyer lemons are out of this world. Some people have Meyer lemon trees in their very own backyards. Lucky ducks. I have a fruit tree, too, with figs so beautiful they could make you cry, so full you know they will burst any minute. But those figs, like the tree that is their very own display rack, belong to my landlord, and I wouldn't dream of touching them.

Because once upon a time I had a (fill in adjective here) neighbor who was growing something I have blocked out of memory. (I was growing black peppermint and perpendicular carrots* at the time, since you asked, and rosemary that is now approximately the size of those items so popular during the month of December.)

I mentioned to my neighbor, in passing, that I had tasted a strawberry or whatever it was and he should feel free to have some mint and rosemary and perhaps a perpendicular carrot, too, and next thing you know Mr. Wonderful had written in red, on a piece of wood that he had thoughtfully nailed to the garden wall, a note informing me that he had taken something of mine from the garden in restitution, and then I believe he shared with me and whomever else happened to be reading the garden wall at the time some actions he was considering.

Fortunately, our paths never crossed after that because a) he was on another floor; and b) I avoided him like the plague. And then one day he moved to another state and I could go into the backyard again.**

Praise the Lord.

At any rate: I was tempted to ask the nice lady shopping at the Farmers' Market if she had ever heard of oranges or mandarins (which we in New Jersey always called "tangerines," but I digress). Because I wanted to tell her what I realized sometime last year: a lemon--say, one of those fine Lisbon lemons that was languishing right in front of her very eyes) + an orange or an orange relative = (pretty much) 1 Meyer lemon.

I kept my mouth shut.

Reminded me of the times I've been at Whole Foods and they've had one of their fabulous half- or whole salmon sales. We're talking beautiful fish here. And someone comes up to the counter and asks for the $49/lb. salmon filet. And I ask what they're planning to do with the fish.

They are putting a sauce on it.

This is a bit like putting a raincoat on a tuxedo and not removing it for the entire evening. (The raincoat. If you are in the habit of taking off your tuxedo in the middle of the festivities, I cannot help you.)

But as my mother likes to say, "As long as they're happy."

While I am at the fish counter I do (gently) lobby for people to split the half- or whole salmon with me, though. That's a lotta salmon.

And now, back to Pesach.

Maroo-Cashew Charoset:

¼ cup Maroo raisins (or pour boiling water over Thompson raisins and plump for about 10 minutes)
2-3 dates (at least one Medjool and one Deglet, which is a bit dryer)
3 kumquats
2 tablespoons raw cashews
1 blood orange
1 lemon
1 slice ginger root, peeled and minced; or a pinch of ground ginger
Sesame seeds (unless you’re off kitniyot*** this week)

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Plump raisins, if not Maroo. Place cashews on cookie sheet and toast (or dry roast them in a cast iron skillet), then chop. Chop dates into small pieces. Slice kumquats in half and remove seeds, chop without removing rind, and add to dates and raisins. Cut blood orange and lemon in half. (Reserve the unused half of each.) Juice the half-blood orange and half-lemon, then remove the zest from them. Add the toasted cashews and zest to the fruit mixture, along with the fresh or ground ginger. Now add the blood orange and lemon juice, toss, and taste. If needed, juice the remaining blood orange and lemon and add to the charoset. Toast sesame seeds, place atop charoset, and serve.

*There is nothing like growing your own carrots to give you enormous respect for the well-formed versions found at the Farmers' Markets and the store.

**I've had lots of neighbors in the 20-plus years I've lived here. Many have become friends. Some have been memorable: a couple that seemed to be practicing modern dance--until the police came; the woman who audibly enjoyed her boyfriend. But Mr. Wonderful does stand out. Rumor has it he is now in the South. I imagine him living in Flannery O'Connor's old neighborhood.

***What’s “kitniyot”? Among other things, sesame seeds. Honey, you could always look it up, you know.

Wait. What do you mean "Listen to Jim"?

I asked my friend Jim at the Farmers' Market if he thought it was funny when people would tell him their orders each time, week after week, given that they usually ordered the same exact thing.

He said, "You really want to know what I think?"

"Yeah," I said.

Somebody else might have looked around to see if anybody else could hear him. Not Jim. He just smiled and said, "People are weird about food."

©2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

In the Pink

Confession: I once lived in a pink room with a pink and orange shag carpet. True, I was a teenager at the time. And true, it was 19-never mind. Nonetheless, as one of our sages, Dave Barry, has said, "I am not proud of this."

But these days pink--and we're talking a beautiful, deep, rich pink; call it pale red or reddish-orange, if you wish--means just one thing: Salmon!

And there has been some beautiful wild salmon around lately--for $7.99-8.99 a pound. Here's what I've been doing with it:

"Grilled Salmon with Pistachios, Lemon, and Olive Oil"
(from Joyce Goldstein's Back to Square One; adapted to three servings from the original six).

1/4 cup shelled pistachios
1T fresh lemon juice
2-1/2T olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Grated zest of 1/2 orange covered
with 2T orange juice (optional)
2 salmon fillets, about 6 oz. each
Olive oil for brushing the fish
Lemon wedges for garnish

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spread the pistachios on a baking sheet and toast until fragrant, 8-10 min. Let stand until cool enough to handle. Then rub off the skins in a discloth and chop the nuts medium fine in a food processor. Process in the lemon juice, oil, salt and pepper to taste, and orange juice and zest, if using. Set aside. If not using orange juice, you may need a little water to thin the mixture.

Heat the grill or broiler. Brush the salmon fillets with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill or broil until the fish is just cooked through, 3 to 4 minutes each side. (Or bake the fish at 450 degrees for about 8 minutes.) Spoon the pistachio sauce over the fish and serve hot, with lemon wedges.

The book suggests serving this with rice pilaf and asparagus, broccoli, or spinach. I like it with haricots vert (aka French green beans).

Extra salmon? Try this:

"Slammin' Salmon Sammich":

Cold cooked salmon
Carrots, sliced on the diagonal
Mesclun lettuce
Purple onion, thinly sliced (optional**)
Homemade or good quality mayonnaise
Dijon mustard (This is especially good with basil or Creole mustard)

Pinch of freshly-ground mixed peppercorns*

Capers
Acme "Herb Slab" foccacia

Steam the carrots. Slice the foccacia into two pieces and cut each in half through the center. Toast or grill foccacia. Combine three parts mayonnaise with one part mustard, add a pinch of pepper, and spread on the bread. Place the lettuce and onion on the toasted foccacia. Flake the salmon and add to the sandwich, followed by the carrots. Top with capers. Slice in half and serve immediately.

*Yes, I have seen the light as to the merits of different kinds of peppercorns. I still say freshly-ground black pepper is hard to beat. And I still don't love white pepper. I do like the flavor of the mixed peppercorns. And so I will give white pepper another try, in the interest of science and a certain cauliflower recipe.

**Don't you love when recipes say "optional"? As though you have no choice about the other ingredients, but here, well, okay, you can leave out the onion. But as far as changing anything else, you go right ahead but then don't be surprised by that knock at the door.

Having said all that, what do you plan to do about the onion?

©2009-2014 Laynie Tzena.

Time for Soup

Well, after a couple of days of Florida weather (84? In San Francisco?), we're back to normal: cold and clammy. And that can mean only one thing: Soup!

Dear Love at First Bite:

I hope I didn't hear you say "soup." Who on Earth has time to make soup? Where do you find time to do all this cooking? I can barely keep up.

Take-Out Tammy

Dear Tammy:

First things first: No one keeps up. It's a myth.

Second, here is my secret (Close the door.): Extra time is delivered to my house one night a week and also on the weekend.

Don't tell anyone.

It's easy to think there's not enough time these days. I remember talking to a friend about how it was always a struggle to get everything done Friday afternoon to get to temple on time. (Later, I stopped worrying about it and considered it instead a public service: If I ever arrived at temple on time, the rabbi would fall off the bima.)

My friend said gently, "Laynie, I think you need to start earlier."

And so it is with cooking. Most recipes have a few ingredients in them, and those ingredients need to be measured, chopped, diced, minced. And it's later than you expected, and you need to eat something, and the heck with it. Peanut butter or take-out.

So eat the peanut butter or take-out. And then reach for one of the recipes you want to try and pull out the cutting board. Chop. Dice. Mince. And measure. And take some small jars or plastic containers (you can get tiny containers with lids at Costco [just be sure to re-use them] or those little porcelain saucers in Chinatown), measure the amount of each ingredient you need for that recipe, put a date on the containers, and sit them in the refrigerator.

The next day: Presto! All you need to do is assemble and cook the dish, then pat yourself on the back or graciously accept the compliments for your creation.

Which might be this very soup.

"Fish Soup from Tunaco":
(From Barbara Karoff's South American Cooking, I adapted it to three servings from the original six.):

1 lb. bass, cod, snapper, or other firm white fish
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Salt to taste
1 onion, coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil
1-1/2-2 jalapeño or serrano chiles, seeded and chopped
3 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and chopped
2 cups water or stock
1 cup coconut milk
Chopped cilantro

Cut the fish into bite-sized pieces. Sprinkle them with lemon juice and salt and set aside. In a soup pot, sauté the onions in olive oil until they are soft. Add the chilies and tomatoes and cook over low heat for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the water or stock and the fish and simmer gently until the fish is almost done. Take care not to overcook. Add the coconut milk and let the soup come just to the boil. Serve immediately, topped with chopped cilantro.

Time-saving tip: While you're squeezing the lemon for the juice in this recipe, make extra and put the lemon juice in a glass jar with a date on it. It'll be ready for the broccoli-asparagus stem salad or the lentil-chard soup coming up shortly. Same thing for the onion and when you have a recipe that calls for minced garlic. If a restaurant prepared every ingredient from scratch for each dish, the patrons would starve and the joint would go out of business in a New York minute.

©2009, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.