Grandma cooked some tilapia last week and raved about it. She had first bought it in Mazatlan, and Dad had tried it in Saipan where it was fished in lagoons.
So—I bought some. It was firm and nice. I looked in my first fish cookbook: “I avoid this fish and you should, too.” The new white Joy of Cooking: “Poor quality fish.” Not very encouraging, so I did what any rational cook would do in the circumstances, and made a really hot green curry with it. We enjoyed it, although I had the sensation of looking over my shoulder at the likes of Elizabeth David and Irma Rombauer while I ate it. It was as firm as many Mexican snappers and groupers, and did not have the muddy taste I’d been warned of. I’ll experiment again. It’s only about $6 per pound while our beloved swordfish and halibut swim ever higher.
We had dinner at Grandma’s tonight. She made scalloped oysters and Italian scalloped potatoes with garlic, tomato, and onion. I made sweet and sour leeks and lemon curd bars. The lemon bars are somewhat like last week’s Classic Lemon Bars, but with a thicker pie-like lemon custard layer. You can find them in the new Joy of Cooking.
I was feeling sorry about your not being able to cook this week because of your hellish work schedule, and musing about why it’s so important. First, it’s a positive use of energy, the polar opposite of sitting in front of the television eating a doughnut or a frozen dinner, which is negative piled upon negative. We have to eat, so why not make it an adventure, healthy, intellectually satisfying? For me it’s such an important creative outlet. I absolutely get a buzz from making the best possible meal with what I have on hand. And don’t forget Grandma’s maxim: “Cooking is a way to show someone that you love them.”
I think of tilapia as the tofu of the sea. We eat it from time to time because we can't get much good seafood here, and it can be quite decent if you add flavor to it.
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