just keep swimming…

…50 years of fish anxiety.

If I had the choice, I swear I would eat fish every day. You know, during the year I lived in Japan, it’s very likely that I did just that. It went way beyond sushi – fish is such a cultural staple that the Japanese consume about 10% of the world’s catch every year. Most days, I ate some variety of fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I felt amazing – I was 25, athletic, and had a fully-functional metabolism. Now, many, many years later, I would love nothing more than to whip up some healthy weeknight dinners with fresh, wild-caught cod or halibut or snapper. But Atlanta is far from the coast, and despite the miracle of modern refrigeration, I’ve been burned too many times to be entirely comfortable. It’s really a shame because it’s in my DNA.

Growing up in Savannah, I spent my summers combing the beach at Tybee, crabbing off my grandparents’ dock, and sailing the Wilmington River. It was idyllic and sun-kissed, but most importantly, it was largely unsupervised. Keeping in mind that a Southern city’s social evolution was at least one generation behind, my childhood looked and felt very much like the 1950s, only with longer telephone cords and that one friend who had an Atari. Cable TV and VCRs were in their infancy, but for about $2 you could have a comfy seat in a cool movie theater with popcorn and a coke. Electronics had not yet gripped our souls, so summer vacation was still mostly spent outside in the sun. For me, that meant the stretch of river from Thunderbolt to Wassaw Sound and any boat I could talk my way onto.

With all that time on the water you’d think today I’d be an accomplished poissonnier. I am not. Crabs, oysters, scallops, and shrimp I get, but the art/science of fishing was never my passion nor does it suit my personality. To me it’s basically golf in a boat, and I’m more of a tennis gal…really basketball, if we are nitpicking, but definitely not golf. So many times I’ve tried to cook fish with a light, sophisticated touch, but my flippant confidence always gets in the way. I can usually bully chicken and beef into submission, but fish requires real patience and far more respect than any of those meats with feets. I have about a 50/50 failure rate, and it’s only that low because of all the foolproof salmon we eat. My more revolting attempts have become family legend: burnt fish, mushy fish, old fish, purple fish, dry fish, slimy fish, and tilapia. I really think it’s time I learn how to do fish, but it’s not that simple.

You might have also noticed that I’ve only mentioned being on the water and not in the water. I have Steven Spielberg to thank for that…and my dad. In 1975, Jaws was released. I was 7 years old – guess who took me to see it? He says I begged and pleaded, so perhaps even then I might have had some persuasive lean. After all, only 6 months earlier I said I wanted black hair like Daddy, so he obliged and I was dyed to match. Mother was less than amused.

To be fair, Jaws was a high-concept blockbuster with masterful suspense and cutting-edge special effects. It generated enough hype that summer to secure its position as the highest-grossing film in history at the time. The media chatter was impossible to avoid, so one evening we left my little sister at home with a babysitter and headed to the Savannah Theater a few squares away. After all, she was only 2 and we wouldn’t want to scare her. The sitter was no random teenager, but sweet Cassie, who had been a nanny for our family in the 30s and subsequently remained a loyal friend. It’s hard to describe her full aura, but a hug from Cassie was like being wrapped in a warm cookie. It was the exact opposite of watching a mangled, shark-bitten torso wash up on Amity Island Beach.

As for Jaws, I made it 49 minutes and 55 seconds until the dude’s head popped out from a hole in the sunken boat. I’m not sure why that particular jump-scare was the final straw, but Daddy sheepishly drove me home, where I collapsed into the arms of our dear Cassie. I can’t confirm that this isn’t a blended memory, but to this day, I swear she had just tuned into the very first broadcast airing of The Sound of Music. And there’s the dichotomy that magnified the depth of my terror that evening. As for my dad, the outing was a clear parenting fail, if not borderline negligence, but you have to hand it to the guy – he tried.

A few of my personality quirks were forged that night. Leading the way was a permanent fear of sharks and a corresponding aversion to swimming. Plus, I lost all interest in sitting exposed in a dark movie theater, and to this day I refuse to watch bloody horror flix, even streamed at home. On the other hand, Christopher Plummer became my lifelong crush and emotional support celebrity. Much later, I also realized that I could usually get my dad to do the most crazy, fun, or offbeat things – not just the typical “dad” activities.

We’ve since buddied up for concerts, dined away our way around Manhattan, tag-teamed on eBay auctions, hit many a Dairy Queen, cooked up elaborate feasts, swapped furniture back and forth, dodged the Napster police, and planned over a dozen European vacations. A few of our grander schemes have worked out and some ideas remain pipe dreams, but the intentionality is always legit. He and I have even conquered a few of life’s more troubling challenges together – two heads are often better than one, especially when those two heads can problem-solve with likeminded clarity and creativity. I think those are the qualities that also define my most meaningful adult friendships.

Which brings us back to fish and how I intend to remedy my phobia: with clarity and creativity. But this only applies to cooking fish – deep water swimming anchors a no-no list that includes parachuting and lasik surgery, and sharks will remain taboo along with snakes, alligators, and grizzly bears. A mild, baked whitefish, however, safely avoids those triggers so that’s where I began.

As I researched recipes, the dreaded algorithm dialed in my Asian food obsession, and Nobu’s Miso Black Cod flooded my feed. I suppose it’s the inspiration, but black cod isn’t even cod at all, it’s sablefish. Instead, I chose regular, pedestrian cod because it’s inexpensive and readily available. It’s ideal for a weeknight recipe and a leery cook who is desperate for a win. As for black rice, this nutty variety originates in Asia and was once reserved for Chinese royalty, hence the term “forbidden.” But it’s rich with antioxidants which may boost heart and eye health, lower blood sugar, and protect against some forms of cancer. Plus, it looks so fancy.

The cod turned out well – not splendid, not sexy, but well. After all, it’s cod. But I attacked the evening with purpose rather than entitlement and coaxed the little fillets with a recipe worth sharing. There was no kitchen dancing and no victory lap – I almost even forgot the photos. But now I’ve put to rest that chapter of my anxiety, or at least I’ve separated it from the events of 1975.

The young father who took his little girl to Jaws turned 85 this July, and I can report he hasn’t really changed much – not sure if that’s a raging compliment or a veiled insult, but it’s true and he still gets into all sorts of mischief. Over the last 50 years, we’ve hashed it all out, and today enjoy vigorous exchanges on art, music, philosophy, religion, cooking, quantum physics, and his latest concern, ancestral guilt. While I shan’t be in line to see Jaws in the theaters for its big golden anniversary, I might know someone who’d go with you if you need company. Just swing by the Dairy Queen on the way home. Happy Birthday, Daddy.

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Miso Cod & Forbidden Rice

Based on Nobu’s Miso Black Cod, I marinated Atlantic cod a few hours for good measure, but I’m unsure it has any real impact on such a flakey, lean fish – the real flavor might come from broiling. Note that white miso, especially brands from Kyoto are far sweeter than red or traditional variations. I’d also watch out for sugar water masquerading as mirin!

Ingredients

• 4 cod fillets, about 4oz each
• ¼ cup sweet white miso
• 2 tbsp sake
• 2 tbsp mirin
• 1 tbsp soy sauce
• 1 tsp sesame oil
• 1.5 cup black rice
• 1½ tsp hondashi granules (optional)
• 3 cups of shrimp stock
• 1 tbsp wasabi powder
• 1 tbsp mirin
• 1 tbsp rice vinegar
• ⅓ cup extra virgin olive oil
• 1 lime, halved
• Crushed nori and sesame seeds for garnish

Method

Whisk the miso, sake, mirin, soy sauce, and sesame oil to create the marinade/glaze.

Pat the fillets very dry and brush with miso marinade. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours.

Rinse the rice thoroughly until it runs very clear. Soak the drained rice in 3-4 cups of water for at least an hour – I did 2. Rinse a final time and combine with 3 cups of fish stock and the hondashi granules, if using. I used a rice cooker, but you can cook on stovetop like regular rice – bring to a boil uncovered, reduce heat to low, cover, and cook for 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 425° convection. Place the fillets on a parchment-lined sheet pan and bake for 10-12 minutes, brushing with more miso glaze halfway through.

Blend the wasabi powder, additional mirin and rice vinegar, and olive oil in a small mini prep to make a decorative essence.

When the baking is done, switch to broil and chain yourself to the oven. You only want to get a slightly crispy brown crust, so about 1-2 minutes will do.

To serve, place the cod on top of a mound of rice and garnish with a seared lime half, crushed nori sheets, and a sprinkle of sesame seeds. Drizzle with the wasabi essence to finish.

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