Meatless Mondays

It's Monday, and the Texan and I are going meatless.

                                                 ****************************************

After reading this article in the latest issue of my UCLA Alumni magazine, I was inspired to go totally meatless a minimum of one day a week. There was only one problem: I knew I had to get the Texan to try it. Otherwise, each Monday I'd be nibbling on tofu and salad greens while he chowed down on a steak, my martyrdom to the planet spilling over onto the table between us. But how was I going to convince a guy to go meatless who owns a t-shirt from a barbecue joint in Texas that says, "Vegetarian: The Indian word for Terrible Hunter"?

I decided to take the direct approach. One evening when I knew we were going out to an area with a large bookstore, I told him I had a proposition for him that involved reading a short article. I figured this would help my cause because a) he is an avid reader, and b) he loves facts. When he finished, I planned to just come out and say that I wanted to do Meatless Mondays and I wanted him to do it with me, please. I sat him on the sofa, handed him the article, and had this conversation:

Me: (silently rehearsing elevator speech)
Texan, finishing article: "You know, we should probably eat less meat. We could do Meatless Mondays or something like that."

Me: (silently) Wait, what?
(out loud) "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. We can stop at the bookstore tonight and look at vegetarian cookbooks."

Texan: (silently) That's EXACTLY how I wanted to spend my evening: perusing tofu and bulgher wheat recipes.
(out loud):  "Great! Let's go!"

As luck would have it, we found not one but two cookbooks we both liked, one of which is appropriately titled The Meat-Free Monday Cookbook and offers three seasonally appropriate meals for each week of the year.

Over dinner that night, we had this conversation:

Texan: "You know, it's really just one day a week. We can totally do it."

Me: "Yeah, and we already eat vegetarian breakfasts, so it's just two more meals that day that have to be veg."

Texan: "But if we like it and find recipes we like, we could make it two nights a week. Or even three."

Me: (silently) The fuck?
(out loud) "That'd be cool. I have to admit, though, I was surprised when you suggested doing Meatless Mondays."

Texan, waving hands evangelist-style: "As I read the article, I was worried you had, like, seen the light and wanted to go totally vegan or something. So that's why I suggested Meatless Mondays before you could say anything: I figured one day a week was better than seven."

Ah, there's my carnivore.

                                                          **************************************

Tonight's meal? Homemade tamales, salad, and maybe some vegan chocolate cake for dessert.

Taco Night

The Texan loves fish tacos. Like, to the point where I wouldn't be surprised if he up and moved to Baja and grew his hair all long and stringy and started wearing board shorts every day.

The first time he suggested we eat them, I wasn't altogether sure I'd like them, much less love them. I admit now that I do love them, but there are three problems with them.

1. Our favorite kind involves fried fish.

2. Fish is loaded with lead.

3. Many popular varieties of fish are overfished, or come from poorly managed fish farms.

On a weekend when the Texan happened to be out of town, my neighbor made fish tacos that offered a compromise to Problem Number 1. She breaded the fish filets in panko-style breadcrumbs, and then baked them in the oven. The breadcrumbs created the textural appeal of fried fish without all the fat and cholesterol. She sliced them into strips to serve, along with cabbage slaw, avocado slices, and lime quarters to squirt on top.

I liked them so much that I made them the next day for my dad, substituting shrimp for the white fish and adding a black bean-corn mixture to the fixings, as well as a little bit of jarred salsa. He seemed to like them, and they were ready in a ridiculously short time.

For a quick dinner before a date at the ballpark this week, I decided to make the fish tacos for the guy who loves them the most. I used shrimp again (I bought the 16-20 size, which I think is a little too big; in the future I'll use the next-smaller size), sauteeing it quickly in a little olive oil, salt and pepper, and a teensy bit of cayenne.

I couldn't remember exactly how my neighbor made the slaw, so I just sliced cabbage very thinly, added some cilantro, and then lemon juice, S & P, and an even teensier bit of cayenne. I think she added either yogurt or sour cream to hers, but I don't use dairy if I can avoid it.

I sauteed some green bell pepper with a bit of onion in some olive oil and S & P, sliced some avocado, and boiled an ear of corn, and put them in individual bowls to be used according to taste. I also had a ripe mango and some peaches just waiting to be used, so I diced those, added some cilantro, onion, lemon juice, S & P, and a teensy bit of cayenne to make a fruit salsa with a little kick.

The fruit salsa adds the perfect amount of moisture to the tacos, without becoming soggy and drippy.

He loved them. What surprised me the most was that he also loved the fruit salsa, because he is not the Number One Fan of either mango or peaches. Granted, I had just found his new favorite chip at Berkeley Bowl -- a blue corn-quinoa-chia-maca salt-free chip -- so he had reason to eat many of them, but he's perfectly happy eating the chips plain so he must have actually, like, liked it. 

                                            
The only way to deal with Problem Number 2 is to eat fish sparingly. This would put a definite cramp in the Texan's Baja style, but while we still live in northern California, this is Just The Way It Is.  And as for Problem Number 3, I screwed up this time around. Not only were the shrimp I bought too big, but they were wild-caught from Mexico, which, according to my Seafood Watch app, is not a well-managed source of seafood. Think tons, literally, of sea turtle and small fish bycatch. Had I bought the smaller ones, I would have purchased US farm-raised shrimp, which is one of the most sustainable options.   See what happens when I get all greedy?

Super Fresh

Sunset magazine meets hip-hop culture. Apparently. An article in their April 2011 issue is called "Super Fresh."

As in, "Yo, man, that's fresh!" Which means cool, hip, totally awesome. Not, just picked from the garden.

At least, that's my interpretation.

While I doubt most hip-hop stars would eat Salmon Sesame Salad, and I can't think of any who would eat my version with tofu instead of salmon, I wanted to make the dish anyway. Wearing my old-skool Pumas, of course.

I left out the crispy wontons that were supposed to get sprinkled on top of the salad, but only because I was hungry and didn't feel like taking the time to make them.  They look pretty, though: puffy from frying and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

The salmon in the recipe gets boiled, basically, which probably works flavor-wise because the dressing is poured over it, and salmon has enough flavor to hold its own in the salad. But because I was using tofu, I knew it needed extra flavor before going in the salad. I had some Very Very Teriyaki marinade, and put that in the pan as I sauteed the tofu pieces. I thought this was the perfect flavor addition to the entire dish, and went well with the spicier Lemongrass-Chile Dressing. And yes, I realize teriyaki is Japanese and sambal badjak is Indonesian. But this hip-hop salad is already a total culture clash, so I figured it worked.

Apples, pears, or Asian pears would also work in the salad.

Salmon Or Tofu Sesame Salad

serves 6 as a main course

adapted from Sunset, April 2011

1 1/2 lb salmon filets OR 1 pack extra-firm tofu, drained and sliced into 2-inch pieces

teriyaki marinade (optional)

Kosher salt

3 oranges, sliced (I cut slices in half)

1 medium head napa cabbage, thinly sliced

1/2 lb snow peas, trimmed and halved

8 green onions, sliced

1/4 C coarsely chopped cilantro

2 avocados, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

12 wonton wrappers

1 egg

2 TBSP sesame seeds

vegetable oil for frying

3 TBSP lime or lemon juice

2 TBSP packed light brown sugar

1 1/4 tsp salt

1 1/4 tsp sambal badjak OR sriracha

2 TBSP minced lemongrass

1 TBSP finely grated fresh ginger

6 TBSP canola oil

1. If using salmon, cook it in a large pot of simmering salted water, covered, until just opaque, about 5 minutes. Lift out and let cool. 

If using tofu and marinade, heat 2 TBSP marinade in pan over medium heat. Cook 5 minutes per side, or until browned crust forms on either side. Set aside.

2. If making wontons, pour enough oil into large pot to come up a half-inch on sides. Heat to 360 degrees. Meanwhile, whisk egg with 1 TBSP water. Brush wontons with egg mixture on both sides and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Fry in small batches until golden and puffy. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt.

3. Make dressing: Whisk dressing ingredients together in small bowl. 

4. Assemble salad: combine cabbage, snow peas, oranges, green onions, and cilantro in a large bowl. Toss with 2/3 of dressing. Divide among plates. Arrange either salmon or tofu pieces and avocado on top of salad. Garnish with additional cilantro and dressing. Serve with wonton chips.

I Heart You

 

The Texan and I celebrated our first Valentine's Day together this year. And while, as one of my friends pointed out roughly 27 times on Facebook, one should not save all gestures of love and affection for February 14th, The Texan planned a lovely surprise for me, so I figured I would cook him something heart-y in return.

 Ages ago, I cut out a recipe for Rosemary Shrimp Scampi Skewers from Cooking Light magazine (February, year unknown). The blurb that accompanies it says, "Rosemary has a long history of being associated with the heart: It has been believed by many to be a love charm, by others to be a token of remembrance and fidelity, and by some to be a potent aphrodisiac." So figuratively, this recipe was perfect for V-Day.

Literally speaking, it was also perfect: The Texan and I had fallen into the highly indulgent but not so healthy habit of eating out a zillion times a week. We agreed that our hearts (not to mention our wallets) would be better off if we cooked at home more. Plus, shrimp are a good source of omega-3 fatty acids, which can help reduce the risk of cardiovascular disease and stroke. Which is of course what everyone is thinking about on Valentine's Day.

Anyway, there just happens to be a rosemary bush in The Texan's backyard, so he snipped off a few sprigs a few minutes before we cooked the shrimp, which had been marinating in white wine, lemon juice, and a bit of olive oil with some spices. He threaded the shrimp onto the now-naked sprigs, which still smelled fantastic despite being totally bare, and because it's February and his girlfriend  would have spent the evening complaining about how cold she was, he fired up the stove top instead of the grill.

As the shrimp cooked in their marinade, I sauteed some asparagus spears in a bit of olive oil and a seasoning that had the words 'Texas', 'cowboy', and 'grill' on the bottle. I know! My eyebrows were raised, too! But it turned out well, and we ate every single piece. The Texan knows his way around a microwave, so he steamed up more veggies to round out the greenness on our plates, and dinner was on the table in under 30 minutes.

You couldn't give a rat's ass about omega-3s, marinades, or spice blends, though. What you are really wondering is, is rosemary actually an aphrodisiac?

I can't tell you that. My dad reads this blog.

Rosemary Shrimp Scampi Skewers

adapted from Cooking Light magazine

NOTE: I made at least double this quantity of marinade, both to cover all the shrimp and to have extra to use in the pan. 

1 TBSP dry white wine

1 tsp fresh lemon juice

1 tsp olive oil

1/8 tsp salt

1/8 tsp pepper

1 garlic clove, minced

3/4 lb shrimp (I used 1 pound of the 26-30 size), peeled and deveined

6-inch rosemary sprigs (number you will need depends on number of shrimp used)

1. Combine first 6 ingredients in a resealable bag or non-reactive bowl. Add shrimp, turning to coat. Marinate in refrigerator for 30 minutes, turning occasionally.

2. Remove leaves from rosemary sprigs, leaving about an inch of leaves at one end. If grilling, rinse/dip sprigs in water to prevent fire.

3. Load 3-4 shrimp onto each rosemary sprig. Carefully load onto preheated grill or saute pan, using marinade if desired. Cook 2-3 minutes per side, or until shrimp is pink and cooked through. 

Do NOT use uncooked marinade on cooked shrimp!

All Threats Will Be Taken Seriously

My dad threatened my brothers and me this year.

His side of the family has been making stuffed calamari on Christmas Eve for as long as any of us can remember. The still-living relatives who know the recipe are four in number: two of his sisters and one brother on the East Coast, and my dad on the West Coast. The still-living relatives who will eat the dish are similarly few in number: one of my sisters-in-law, a few cousins, an old friend of my brother, and I. Even so, my dad's threat to stop making the dish after this year created quite a stir.

Here’s what you have to understand about traditions. They have nothing to do with the finished product. They are really about the stories that get told about them. For example:

(back of hand pressed to forehead) “I worked my fingers to the bone to make this calamari/sauce/appetizer/ravioli for you!” 

          

As the photo clearly indicates, my dad had help this year (and nearly every year I can remember) making the calamari, but it wouldn’t taste the same without his one-sentence guilt trip. And as with all great traditions, this is one that was passed from his parents to him and his siblings, and then to us, and I am certain at least one of my brothers will use it on his children just as soon as they are able to internalize guilt. 

Traditions, though, eventually become forgotten if no evidence of them exists. Stories told and retold help prolong their life, but these are not immortal. My small nieces, nephews, and second cousins simply won't be able to grasp just how fishy the marinara sauce becomes with the squid in it, or how tedious it really is to stuff the calamari, or how whiny the pitch of the voice should become when laying the guilt on nice and thick if they never witness The Stuffing Of The Calamari. All of these, and the conversations they spark (which are nearly identical year after year), are what make Christmas Eve the production it is in my family. 

So when my brother informed me that our father threatened to remove this critical element from the celebration, I devised a 21st century fix: blog about the recipe, and preserve it for the 2.87 people who still want to make it. 

With camera and notepad in hand, I arrived at my brother's house and got to work. Note that cute cupcake aprons are vital to the whole operation. My dad had already done the gross important work of beheading and disemboweling the squid (when imparting guilt, always use words such as 'disemboweling' instead of 'cleaning' for dramatic effect). He had also prepared the stuffing, so all that was left was to stuff the squid,

seal them closed with a toothpick, 

Warn your guests that there are toothpicks in the food BEFORE they eat it.

and cook them in the red sauce that was simmering on the stove.

Except it's never that simple. There's always the running commentary that goes along with any labor-intensive meal preparation. This year, the fatherly lecture was on the size of the calamari: the neck openings were practically microscopic, which made them hard to stuff efficiently, which prompted the obligatory Back In My Day monologue. As in,

"Back in my day, the fishermen would've thrown squid this small right back into the water! Bah! Can you believe it? This is all a result of overfishing, you know. These blasted gigantic fishing operations will just take anything nowadays, won't they? Anything for a profit, I tell you. The whole world is going to hell in a handbasket..."

Yep, plenty of Christmas cheer at our house.

Then there were the lucky few who asked about the origins of the recipe: some of our secret family recipes contain bits of dried fruit, especially raisins, which is a typical North African influence. Our calamari stuffing is no exception, so the inquirers listened attentively at first to the explanation, and before long their eyes glazed over as they were subjected to the Unabridged History Of The Arab Influence On The People Of Southern Italy And The Ancestry Of The DiStasi Family Which Might Be Descended Partly From Albanians.

But in the end, it is these stories of tradition that have such powerful influence over us. Their demise, real or only threatened, can spark reconciliations, my brother eating stuffed calamari for the first time in forty years, or possibly even a sudden interest in migratory patterns of people along the Mediterranean Sea. And of course, there is the next generation of the family that has begun its years-long initiation into the realm of Stuffed Calamari. The tradition may live on after all.

NB: An ongoing debate in our family is on the merits of cooking the calamari in the marinara sauce, as opposed to boiling them and spooning sauce over them. Cooking them in the sauce makes the sauce fishy, which is why the small children pictured above are actually eating pre-fishified sauce that was set aside just for them. The next day, the sauce reeks of fish, making it unappetizing to most of us, while the elders of the family stand around scratching their heads, wondering why no one has eaten the leftover pasta with (fishy) sauce. Cook the squid as you see fit.

Stuffed Calamari

In true Old World style, the amounts are approximate, and each cook adds quantities to his liking. The goal is to achieve a stuffing that is moist but not wet, with a balance of herbs, salt, and sweetness from the fruit and nuts.  

5 pounds fed a crowd of 10 adults, plus extra for me to bring to a friend, plus a few left over for the next day.

5 lbs squid, thawed (if purchased frozen), gutted, and cleaned
3 slices slightly stale wheat bread
1/3 loaf slightly stale sourdough bread (approximately)
1/3 to 1/2 C bread crumbs
handful of raisins (or more, if you like)
handful of pine nuts (or more, if you like)
some parsley, chopped
a little basil, dried
a few cloves of garlic, minced
1/4 C grated parmesan cheese, more or less
2-3 TBSP marinara sauce that the squid will be cooked in
salt and pepper to taste

1. Tear breads into small pieces, and toss in a large mixing bowl. Add bread crumbs and remaining ingredients EXCEPT marinara sauce. Mix well.
2. Add marinara sauce (use a bit more if mixture is very dry). Mix well. 
3. Stuff calamari, leaving enough space at the open end to insert toothpick to close (see photo above). Be careful not to over-stuff squid, as they tend to burst while cooking. 
4. Cooking time depends on quantity of squid in pot, but will generally be between 3-5 minutes after the sauce or water has returned to a boil once squid are added. Squid will turn cream-colored when done. 
5. Drain immediately and serve with marinara sauce, alone or with pasta.

Cheater

Version 4.0/strained

Soup is not my favorite thing. The ratio of broth to good stuff is way too high, and quite frankly that makes me feel as though I'm getting cheated.  I've never understood why people order soup at a restaurant, since they pay top dollar for what amounts to little more than a bowl of water and salt. Besides, soup is prisoner food-- picture any movie set before the last few decades and the prisoners eat nothing but stale bread and a bowl of broth.

But then I found someone else's food blog, called "Culinary Adventures of a New Wife," and the blogger posted a recipe she adapted from a cookbook of Oprah's. Her husband loved it, and it combined two of my favorite flavors (coconut and green curry) so I figured it was worth at least one go-round. It also seemed to be loaded with good stuff, which I reasoned must lower the broth-to-stuff ratio to a non-prisoner level.

The first time I made it, a friend was in town visiting, so I followed the recipe almost exactly, leaving out only the fish sauce and chicken because a) I don't like fish sauce. And with shrimp cooked in the broth, how much more fish flavor does a soup really need? b) chicken and fish sauce are mutually exclusive; c) having both chicken and shrimp in the soup is gluttonous. I thought it turned out pretty well, and my friend claimed to like it, too, though there is the possibility that she was just being polite.

The second time I made it, I used extra-firm tofu instead of either chicken or shrimp. I pan-fried the cubes first in a little of the chili sauce that goes in the soup, so they formed a nice crust. Extra-firm tofu doesn't have that slimy-gummy texture that offends so many people, but even so, the crust was just extra insurance against gumminess. The cubes stood up really well in the soup, staying cube-like and not crumbling to bits as they could have with softer tofu. Plus, tofu absorbs flavors so nicely, so after soaking in the broth for a while, they are perfect. The other advantage to using tofu is it doesn't reek of fish the next day when you eat it for lunch.

As I ate the leftovers, though, I wanted more stuff in the soup. The noodles are one of my favorite stuffs, so I just cooked another bundle and threw them in. And now that I have re-read the recipe for the zillionth time in preparation for posting here, I realize the recipe calls for 2 bundles, which is why I didn't think there were enough noodles with just the one. Well done, me.

I didn't strain the sautéed bits from the broth the second time. I especially liked the cilantro leaves, which I left nearly whole, in the broth, though it was less aesthetically appealing that way, so strain--- or don't-- according to your preference.

I am still surprised by how much I like this soup, and how many equally good variations of it there are. It even fills me up, unlike prisoner soup.

*Note: to make this entirely vegan, substitute vegetable broth for chicken broth and replace chicken/shrimp with tofu. Omit fish sauce.

Thai Coconut-Curry Soup

adapted from "Culinary Adventures of a New Wife", who adapted it from Oprah

4 C chicken or vegetable stock

5 garlic cloves, peeled and cut into chunks

1/2 tsp ground ginger

1 TBSP Thai green curry paste

1/2 tsp ground coriander

1/2 tsp cumin (I used about half this much)

1/2 tsp whole black peppercorns (I just threw in some ground black pepper)

3/4 C loosely packed cilantro leaves (plus more for garnish), chopped

2 rounds vermicelli glass noodles, cooked according to package directions

1 C unsweetened coconut milk (can use light coconut milk, but broth will be a little thinner)

1/2 C chopped green onion

1 C sliced or quartered mushrooms

YOUR CHOICE OF:

1 chicken breast, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

1/2 lb medium shrimp, peeled and de-veined

1 package extra-firm tofu, drained and cut into 1-inch cubes

1/4-3/4 tsp chili-garlic sauce

(recipe also calls for 2 TBSP lime juice and 2 tsp brown sugar, but I used neither. So I guess I didn't follow the recipe quite as closely as I thought...)

1. In a large pot over medium-high heat, combine stock, garlic, ginger, curry paste, coriander, cumin, pepper, and cilantro. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes. 

2. Meanwhile, if using tofu, heat 1 TBSP oil and 1/2 tsp chili-garlic sauce in a medium frying pan over medium heat. Add tofu. Stir occasionally, allowing brown crust to form on all sides (approximately 5-8 minutes). Set aside.

3. Strain broth through a sieve and discard solids. Return broth to pot, adding coconut milk, half the green onions, and shrimp, chicken, or tofu. Return to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until chicken and/or shrimp are fully cooked (about 5-8 minutes). 

4. Add chili-garlic sauce. I add noodles to pot here, but these can be added to individual bowls according to taste, if desired.  Garnish with remaining green onion and cilantro.

Obviously, I don't use 5 cloves of garlic.

I heart miniature cans of coconut milk: none goes to waste.

I heart these, too.

One Fish, Two Fish, Dead Fish, Blue Fish

I'd been meaning to make a Moroccan recipe, Fish Baked with Almond Paste, for a while. The author of the cookbook where I found it tends to present needlessly elaborate recipes that sometimes take days to prepare, but I am starting to think that's what comes of Americans learning the "authentic" way to do something-- a romantic adherence to medieval methods of food preparation.

I don't eat fish very often, for many reasons.   One, it's fishy. Two, oceans are depleted. Three, I'm a woman of childbearing age. Standing at the fish counter trying to remember which fish are practically near extinction and which aren't is usually too overwhelming, especially since waiting my turn at Berkeley Bowl gives me plenty of time to contemplate the global consequences of my own consumption. Well, now there's an app for that. Yep, the Monterey Bay Aquarium's free "Seafood Watch" (category: Lifestyle) gives alternatives to overfished species, and lets you know when your favorite little fishy is relatively safe to eat. 

As it turns out, the striped bass listed as one of the kinds of fish I could use in this recipe is sustainably farmed in the US, and its wild US populations are well-managed too, so I figured it was time to give it a go. Even though the recipe called for a whole fish with tail and head intact, I figured Berkeley Bowl would have a nice tail-free fillet waiting for me.
 

Not ready to deal with the eyeballs.

Apparently not. The smallest of the bunch was two and a half pounds. It was definitely the longest packet I'd ever gotten from the meat counter. And it was the packet I least looked forward to opening. Once I got it home, I procrastinated in every way imaginable, not knowing quite how to deal with a whole fish.

After a phone conversation with my dad that confirmed that indeed, I needed to cut off the head and tail (and that the meat counter people would have done this for me with their super-sharp cleavers), I knew I couldn't put it off any longer, since the real offense would have been letting all that fresh fish go to waste. Forget the authenticity of the Moroccan preparation-- I was stuck in what seems to be a uniquely American dilemma: dealing with the too-vivid reminders that our food was a recently alive and sentient being. We only eat animals that have been skinned, drained, cleaned, ground, and sealed in cellophane.  We don't want to know where it came from or how it died.

Not ready to take the plastic bag off.

I buy whole chickens regularly, and don't really like when a few feathers are still left in the skin. I can't stand when I can tell the chicken has a bruise, since I am quite sure it happened during slaughter and am dismayed to know that the bird was handled roughly enough to bruise (granted, it was also handled roughly enough to die, but aren't there humane standards of slaughter that are intended to prevent unnecessary suffering?). The chickens, though, have been relieved of their heads, feet, and innards, and all that's left for me to do is rinse and roast, or rinse, cut, and freeze.

This fish staring at me had not been relieved of its anything. Its glittery scales kept coming off and landing on the floor. I discovered its mouth opened when I prodded its gills with my knife. I swear I wasn't playing with my food. I was just looking for the right placement of my knife to cut off the head. 

Scale, or contact lens?

Ultimately, I left the head on. I really didn't want to risk mangling the head and having the eyeballs pop out or something, or listen as the mouth gaped open while I cut through the neck. (Plus, I remembered a horrendous story my old veterinarian boss told me once about cutting off a dead Rottweiler's head for mandatory rabies testing...) I created two nice fillets for freezing, but was left with jiggly stomach stuff and a very gape-y head. I spent several minutes trying to disconnect the stomach parts from the throat parts, and really didn't need to see the hole in the fish's mouth from up through its stomach. Yet I found it all so logical and oddly interesting, like a biology class dissection that I never did in p.c. Berkeley.

This was not at all the Moroccan feast I'd planned. I wasn't one hundred percent sure I even wanted to eat the bass anymore. I took my dad's advice and used a few herbs and a few seasonings and a little lemon juice in the baking dish. While the finished product was tasty and my cats LOVED it, I am certain I would rather eat mountains of plain couscous than deconstruct a fish again. Am I guilty of being typically American? Perhaps. But perhaps also the authentic Moroccan method is to have the fishmonger gut the fish, since the recipe mentions not one word about doing it myself.

Moroccan almond mixture on the side, just for kicks.