Stories

Yesterday, Shannon gave me a karmic, completely unintentional, gift. He got really, really sick.

And though I can think of eight bazillion things I’d rather do than listen to a man whine in bed, it was an opportunity for me to put a little something in the Bank of Caretaking. My surgery is tomorrow and I know I’ll be making quite a few withdrawals over the next couple of weeks. It’s important to be sure your credit is good before you complete a lot of transactions, you know?

In truth, he slept most of the day, so I got to focus my energy into healing from the kitchen – which is basically my favorite thing to do anyway. Winter has finally arrived in New York (it was in the 50’s last week but won’t get out of the 30’s this week) and I’ve had a taste for something spicy and Asian.

Of course I’m as broke as the next girl, but as I was waiting for my car to get serviced, I decided to treat myself for having to suffer two hours in Santa Monica. I called a friend and she suggested Huckleberry. I had only been there one other time and the breakfast was completely fabulous, so I was excited to try it again. But on this last visit, the service was verging just on the brink of truly awful (like surprised that the people in line "actually want to order something" awful) and the ready-made salads (which are even more expensive than they are at Joan's on Third) looked as if they had been sitting out way too long and that they might not have been that great in the first place.

My mocha was still perfect – the way the Europeans and Israelis make coffee – the type of coffee that is getting harder and harder to find in LA. However, my friend ordered an iced coffee (which cost her $4 by the way) and when they brought it out (after a fifteen minute wait) it seemed a little watery. For the price of an entire meal from Trader Joe’s, this starving writer wasn't about to get skimped on her much needed afternoon coffee. She marched back in and demanded (by demanded I mean politely asked) for a less watered down coffee. The baristas confessed that they had run out of iced coffee and simply poured hot coffee over ice. They promptly made her a proper iced coffee and after bringing it out to our table told her that the milk and sugar were inside. Call me lazy, but for $4 a cup I don't want to schlep my own add-ins!

One of the best techniques for cooking firm white-fleshed fish is pan-searing. Cooked for exactly the right amount of time, searing locks in moisture and flavor. As the flesh turns opaque and starts to flake, it is complete. Tilefish is a wonderful fish for searing since it's extra-lean. But it doesn't fall apart like some other white fish, and stays exceptionally moist with a mild flavor. But what an unusual name for a fish? I guess it's their vivid blue-green iridescence and gold spots that make them look like painted tile.

For a complementary side that doesn't overpower the subtly flavored tilefish, I chose to prepare a combination of vegetables with the flavors of Provençe. Sweet onion, fennel, red pepper, and tomatoes along with briny capers are all combined to form a saucy accompaniment.

Have you ever called someone you knew to ask a simple question and before you know it you are having a full-fledged discussion about everything that's wrong with the world.

This happened to me when I phoned someone to ask a simple question about "paint" and in polite conversation asked if they had been enjoying the Olympic Games, as I have.

Oh holy hell.

The person I was speaking with said they absolutely DO NOT watch the Games because the Games are shaped by politics.

Oops, I knew our light-hearted discussion was over at this point.

I guess it's obvious politics and not sport dominate the Olympic events. But if you've ever spoken to someone who feels VERY strongly about this, ummm, look out.

So we had a huge discussion about everything wrong with the Olympics for the past, I don't know 100 years.

I was just calling to ask about some paint colors but instead we went for the gold...