Category — Advice & DIY

I’m probably not terribly unique in that I know how good fish is for me and yet I don’t eat nearly enough of it. Which is to say I usually fail to consider seafood when contemplating what to make for dinner. It somehow doesn’t register as a versatile protein with which I can get creative, which is silly considering how many excellent seafood options there are to be had. I think what it comes down to is my own limitations in thinking up what to do with it.

I can say without a doubt that the two sea dwellers I’ve made at home most frequently over the years would be shrimp and salmon. While either can be prepared numerous ways, it’s easy to get stuck in a rut and to lose interest after too much of the same. And yet I’ve steamed clams and mussels, basted crab legs, and seared scallops. I’ve grilled trout, broiled tuna, and fried halibut. I’m not inexperienced with seafood at home, I just haven’t felt comfortable enough with it to incorporate it fully into a weekly meal.

Enter Good Fish.

While working on this incredible cookbook, I found myself wanting to try all of the recipes. Every single one sounded amazing, and I even had the pleasure of tasting a few of the dishes when attending a photo shoot. (This former scallop-hater started singing a different tune after reluctantly accepting a bite of the Scallop Crudo.)

Now I frequently refer to the cookbook for ideas, and more than that, I refer to it for reassurance. Author Becky Selengut doesn’t give me the chance to doubt my ability to pick out the best piece of fish (the information is right at my fingertips), and she encourages me to get outside my comfort zone and give something different a place at my table. She’s even created a series of videos for preparation techniques that are hard to explain in writing. On top of that, I can feel good about eating the seafood featured in the book because they are all sustainable choices. There is no excuse for being ignorant anymore.

Check out Becky’s seafood technique videos at http://www.goodfishbook.com/gfb/index.asp

And so it was with confidence and excitement that I made my first trip to Mutual Fish to purchase a fillet of black cod—a fish I had yet to try. If Becky says it’s so rich that it could be substituted by a stick of butter, then it has to be pretty incredible, right?

I was not disappointed. The flesh was soft, moist, fatty, and smooth. It was definitely buttery, and yet the flavor was so subtle (not at all fishy) that the meat really acted as more of a base for the other ingredients. If you haven’t tried it yourself, I highly recommend running home to do so immediately.

I fully intend to make every black cod dish in the book, and I won’t stop there. The mouthwatering recipes and glorious photographs have given me just the inspiration I need to make good fish (old standbys and newcomers alike) welcome in my kitchen on a more regular basis.

Roasted Black Cod with Bok Choy and Soy Caramel Sauce

Serves 4

5 ounces red cabbage, thinly sliced (about 2 cups)
2 large bulbs bok choy, halved
2 small tomatoes, halved
Salt
4 green onions, white and green parts cut into 3-inch lengths
4 teaspoons toasted sesame oil
4 teaspoons seasoned rice wine vinegar
4 slices lime
1 serrano chile, sliced (optional)
1 pound black cod fillet or steaks, cut into 4 equal portions
1/2 cup Soy Caramel Sauce*
4 cups cooked rice

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Line a sheet pan with aluminum foil.

You’re going to make 4 separate piles on the foil. Each pile will get 1/2 cup cabbage, a bok choy half, a tomato half sprinkled with a little salt, and a quarter of the green onions. Drizzle each pile with 1 teaspoon sesame oil and 1 teaspoon rice wine vinegar. Top with a lime slice and sprinkle with some chile pieces. Roast the vegetables in the oven for 20 minutes, or until they are soft and lightly browned around the edges. Keep the oven on.

Remove the pan from the oven, place one piece of black cod, skin side down, on each pile, and drizzle 1 tablespoon soy caramel sauce on each piece of fish. Roast for another 8 to 10 minutes or until a press of the finger reveals a sliding away, ever so gently, of the fish into the beginning of individual flakes. Serve with the rice and remaining soy caramel sauce.

Pairing: An Oregon pinot gris, such as Eyrie Vineyards 2007, Willamette Valley, or a Savennières from the Loire Valley in France.

*Soy Caramel Sauce is referenced in a couple of recipes in Good Fish and pairs well with any number of dishes. Pick up a copy of the book to get the recipe!

While fulfilling my science requirements at Western Washington University, I enrolled in Environmental Science 101. It was in a massive lecture-style classroom that was filled with at least 300 bodies. The professor was a young(ish) man who wore cargo pants and Merrell hiking shoes as a uniform of sorts—a far cry from the tweeds of a college professor cliché, but up in Bellingham it just seemed right. Every day before class our professor played Pearl Jam or Led Zeppelin while we took our seats. Although it was crowded and often stuffy in that lecture hall, the content made the class feel intimate, and it is one of the courses that has left the strongest impression on me, even nine years after it concluded.

I found it easy to care about the topics in the class—overpopulation, pollution, deforestation—but what really hit home for me was learning about overfishing. When I learned about trawling (which consists of pulling a fishing net behind a boat along the ocean floor and often destroying sensitive habitats, upsetting the reproduction of a species, and unintentionally killing accidentally caught fish or “bycatch”), I was deeply alarmed. When I learned about surface long-lining (dragging lines with hooks along the top of the ocean, catching and killing unintended species such as turtles and birds), I was heartbroken. How, with as much access to technology and resources as we have, was a more conscientious method not implemented, and what could I do about it? It has been nine years since I took Environmental Studies 101, but the distaste lingered, so when I learned that Sasquatch Books was planning to publish Becky Selengut’s Good Fish, I was over the moon.

Overfishing is a topic with growing momentum. Documentary films and TV series, such as The End of the Line, The Cove, and the UK’s Big Fish Fight, as well as numerous websites are bringing more universal awareness to overfishing. But this does not mean that we need to stop eating fish altogether; after all, we know fish is tasty and full of the nutrients we need. But it has never been more important for people to start eating the right kind of fish or, if you will, the good fish.

There are so many simple things we can do, and Selengut is here to school the masses: purchase wild-caught salmon instead of farmed, avoid fish caught in Southeast Asia, ask your grocery store butcher or fish monger where their fish comes from. You can rest easy and eat well knowing you did your part. With Good Fish as my textbook, I now know which fish to buy, where to buy it, and how to cook it.

One of my all-time favorite quotes is from a fairly ridiculous movie, but I find that I can apply it almost any situation: “You can’t change the world, but you can make a dent.” I still consider many of the things we discussed in that crowded and often stuffy lecture hall almost a decade ago, and I make them part of my daily practice. I hope many of my fellow students do as well, and I believe that if we all pitch in, we can make a pretty damn big dent.

When I was a little girl, I thought there was nothing more elegant than a pair of French-braid pigtails. I was unbelievably jealous of any girl sporting a pair. By the age of 11, I’d had enough; it was time to take action. I was determined to teach myself how to French-braid my hair even if it killed me.

Needless to say, my first solo attempt did not go so well. I didn’t seem to have enough fingers, and felt my determination begin to slip. That was when my dad, bless his heart, came to my rescue. As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, passing different strands of hair to my dad, I knew this was a first for both of us. Soon enough, our collective four hands were an awkward maze of fingers and hair, with my tresses sticking out in every direction (and anyone who knows me knows I have arguably the thickest head of hair on the face of the planet). The end of our adventure resulted in, while not perfection, a fully functional pair of French-braided pigtails. PHEW! Since that fateful day in front of the mirror, I have become a French-braid aficionado, perfecting the art of weaving my hair, but like so many things (changing a busted headlight, going to college, investing for the future, etc.), I could never have done it without the support and patience of my dad.

Behold my mad skills

I know it mustn’t have been a cakewalk for my dad. After all, it must have been much easier to connect with my brother—they had baseball, erector sets, and fishing trips to bond over. How’s a girl with no patience and a tutu to compete with fishing trips? It would have been so easy to let a difference of gender build a bridge between us, but thanks to many out-loud readings of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, dollhouse-building sessions, and impromptu Disney-song recitals, we found a way to bond that exists to this day.

For all those new dads out there, don’t be intimidated by the thought of having a girl. There is now a resource to introduce you to the mysterious world of little girls. Tea Parties for Dads: A Crash Course in Daughters for New Fathers cracks open the world of the little lady in your life, exposing the secret of what is so fascinating about all things pink, playing dress-up, mermaids, and yes, even hair styles. Tea Parties for Dads even includes helpful activity recommendations to make you the apple of your princess’s eye. Here is one of my favorites:

Making a strong connection with my father at a young age laid a foundation for a close relationship as an adult, and while I may no longer be a little girl, I know I am still his Punkin, and he is still my Papa Bear. Thank you for always making the effort, Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

When it comes to fashion, I am a bit of a sissy. I do not lead the pack and revel in my bold style decisions. I do not wear plants on my head like Sarah Jessica Parker, hobo-chic body sacks like Mary Kate and Ashley, or full swan costumes like Bjork (though I admire any woman who can ruffle feathers). Rather, I adopt the safe, mainstream trends that, on a good day, earn me a sidewalk compliment, and, on a bad day, go generally unnoticed.

For this reason, I am thrilled to have a fashion book on our list this fall. Closet Confidential: Style Secrets Learned the Hard Way is the gift book of the season, penned by Daddy Likey blogger Winona Dimeo-Ediger. In her guide for the fashion wary, Winona shares fifty style lessons that are refreshingly accessible (for those of you who prefer your plants in a garden) and more addictive than peanut M&M’S. This is just a sampling of my favorites.

STYLE LESSON #2: The constitution guarantees freedom of speech, press, religion, petition, assembly, and to wear any style of jeans we want, so try something new–you might be pleasantly surprised.

Boot cut jeans (aka Jeanus versatilus) are the most frequently occurring articles my wardrobe, which I credit to both their extreme versatility and my unsubstantiated fear of jeans that aren’t boot cut. I realize this makes me–to use Winona’s words–a complete “style snore.” So, last month, I finally summoned some retail bravery and headed to T.J. Maxx with plans to avoid familiar denim territory. Two trips to the dressing room and three unflattering try-ons later, I emerged with my first pair of skinny jeans (aka Extreme intimidatus). Despite the blue sparkles on the back pockets that were probably intended for pre-teen fashionistas, they were exactly what I didn’t know I’d wanted all along.

STYLE LESSON #21: Fill your purse with the necessities. You get to define “necessities.”

Closet Confidential offers a chart that displays purses of all sizes: from the teeny “evening mini bag” to the colossal “Brontosaurus.” My current bag definitely falls more into the prehistoric category. On any given day, my “necessities” include:

–A bagged lunch that will inevitably be forgotten upon my arrival to work.
–Reading material. I like variety: a novel about genetically altered prep school kids and a copy of Closet Confidential is a good combination for the bus.
–Knock-off Chanel sunglasses (fondly referred to as “Ohnels” by my husband for the intersecting O’s that, in the right light, almost resemble Chanel’s intersecting C’s).
–A coin purse shaped like a cat’s head.
–96 pens.

While friends occasionally make fun of me for my excess baggage, Winona informs me that “purses large enough to hide a murder victim have come into style in a big way.” Which is great news for me and my cat head coin purse.

STYLE LESSON #27: If you live, have lived, or ever plan to live north of the Mason-Dixon Line, you might want to consider one of those giant quilted jackets that look like a queen-size down comforter with sleeves.

I attended college in Ann Arbor, Michigan, along with 30,000 other freezing undergrads. In my five-mile walk to class–what felt like five miles anyway since my eyelids were frozen open–I quickly learned that if I was going to survive, I would need a puffy coat, fashion be damned. Along with bulk quantities of Easy Mac, the Gap down comforter coat I bought that year was, without a doubt, the best purchase I made in college. (As evidence of my purchase, I have a stack of photos from 2001 displaying my inability to put my arms at my sides). Like umbrellas for Seattleites, industrial coats for Midwesterners are essential. Sometimes there really are more important things than looking cute on the way to class. Like circulation. And being able to blink when you want to.

Tell us: What are the most valuable style lessons you’ve learned?

Growing up on a small Vermont homestead, I was often put to work harvesting and preserving the seasonal bounty. We had a two-acre garden and miles of wild fruits and berries to sustain our family of six. I helped fill five-gallon buckets with blueberries and wheelbarrows with cucumbers, and took hikes through the woods with my dad to find hidden apple trees. After the harvest, I would help my mom fill row after row of mason jar with tomatoes, dilly beans, raspberry jam, apple butter, and cucumbers, just to name a few. Months later, with our home covered in snow, we’d fill our bellies with the fruits of our labor.

Though I no longer live in the country, I’m often reminded of that life when the plum trees of Seattle are overflowing with fruit. A few weeks ago, a friend and I biked to the house of a neighbor, who had more plums then he knew what to do with, and picked about twelve pounds worth. We then sat around chatting while we pitted the plums, cooked, and filled jars with sweet, velvety plum jam.

If you know where to look and what to pick, a country life can be found, even in a bustling metropolis.

Here’s a recipe for plum jelly from Canning & Preserving Your Own Harvest, a handy offshoot of The Encyclopedia of Country Living.

Plum Jelly

Most old neighborhoods seem to have at least one ancient plum tree, buzzing with yellow jackets and laden with fruit that goes unpicked. Don a protective long-sleeved shirt and brave the wasps for the makings of this beautiful jewel-toned jelly. Different varieties of plums will yield slightly different results as their natural pectin levels vary. Damson plums are very tart with acidic skins and are much higher in pectin than other plums, for example.

Season: Mid- to late summer
Yield: 6 cups
Store: Cool, dark pantry

4 pounds Italian prune plums, halved and pitted (at least
1/4 of which should be barely ripe)
2 cups water
3 to 4 cups sugar
3 to 5 tablespoons lemon juice
Place the plums and water in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Simmer until the fruit is very soft, 15 to 20 minutes.

Transfer the fruit to a dampened jelly bag or cheesecloth-lined colander suspended over a bowl. Drain for several hours to fully extract the juices. The yield will be about 4 cups. Do not press on the fruit, squeeze the bag, or try to hurry the process in any way—if you do, you will cloud what should be a rosy-golden, crystal-clear juice.

Measure the strained juice into a preserving pan and add 1 cup of sugar for every cup of plum juice; taste, adding lemon juice to make the fruit pleasantly tart.

Heat the mixture over medium-high heat to bring it rapidly to a boil, stirring constantly until the sugar dissolves. Cook the jam until it reaches 220°F on a kitchen thermometer. Remove from heat.

Carefully ladle the hot jelly into hot, sterilized half-pint jars, allowing 1/4 inch headspace. Use a water-bath canning technique and process for 10 minutes.