Well, get me a cable knit lambswool sweater stiff with sea salt and call me Cap'n. It's fish and greens week here in the Mission suburbs. After a cautious month or two as we figured things out and a hopeful attempt with predictable results of asking a Greek fisherman if red snapper was good for pregnant ladies, it's been nearly ten straight days of fish for Baleen.
Sunday was king of the Pacific night with a wild sockeye over pureed peas, the peas served at room temperature, the sockeye warm from the pan, which Baleen thought wasn't right, that the peas should have been warmer while I liked the peas as they were, just as I mostly like white wine at room temp so I can taste it, while tonight was sole with rice and spinach.
Oh my beans and rice. Sole, the flounder like fella that loves the seafloor, supposedly spends all its time buried in the sand with only its eyes and gills exposed, according to Alan Davidson, while at night, and on very dull days, it's the Summer Olympics. Pity the poor sole, bored to death and ending up on a dinner plate near you, and near me again, hopefully.
Sunday was king of the Pacific night with a wild sockeye over pureed peas, the peas served at room temperature, the sockeye warm from the pan, which Baleen thought wasn't right, that the peas should have been warmer while I liked the peas as they were, just as I mostly like white wine at room temp so I can taste it, while tonight was sole with rice and spinach.
Oh my beans and rice. Sole, the flounder like fella that loves the seafloor, supposedly spends all its time buried in the sand with only its eyes and gills exposed, according to Alan Davidson, while at night, and on very dull days, it's the Summer Olympics. Pity the poor sole, bored to death and ending up on a dinner plate near you, and near me again, hopefully.
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