Tag Archives: fish

Dinner, Recipe

Mom, Music, and Memory, plus a Recipe for Hong Kong Style Steamed Cod

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As I have mentioned on several occasions, my memory is shit. However, by expanding my understanding of memory beyond mere recounting of facts, I have been able to embrace new forms of remembrance. For example, by making a meal I associate with comfort, I renew (or reinvent) the feeling of mom’s loving embrace. I may not recall particular conversations, but I can acknowledge that my present needs often determine the way I remember the past, making my relationship with my mother always active, real, and fulfilling. Short of believing in an afterlife, this is not bad!

I’ve been inviting sadness in for tea instead of letting it howl outside my door. With the decade anniversary of my mother’s passing coming up in February, I’ve been resisting my tendency to deny the feelings of despair, self-loathing, and loneliness that often come with my experience of sorrow. Because I’m very unseasoned at this (and much more comfortable with more seemingly active feelings, like anger), I’ve decided to engage a couple of strategies to make this process more palpable: (1) With one of the loves of my life, I am re-reading The Bridge of San Luis Rey, my mother’s favorite book and the source of inspiration for her funeral theme (“love is the only survivor); and (2) I’ve been revisiting my relationship with the piano/keyboard.

piano

Perhaps you know this about me: I’ve long conflated enjoyment with mastery, hobby with obsession, skill with worthiness. As a child entered into many a competition (piano, voice, flute, you name it) and as someone who has clearly internalized the idea that my value as a person only comes through increasing proficiency and validation, I’ve had a hard time approaching activities for “fun.” But recently, I’ve been drawn to the keyboard in my husband’s studio. Not because I want to be as good as I once was, or to impress anyone, but because I have some MAJOR feels when I do. Those emotions are both indescribable and unascribable. Though I’ve only been playing for 20 minutes at a time to relearn pieces I already know I love, I am feeling so much more moved and centered than when I used to practice for three-hours at a time in my youth. It’s possible that when I now play, I remember how my mom used to sit in during all of my lessons to take notes, not about technique, but about phrasing and feeling. Maybe I recall the ways in which my mom would help me visualize sections of Chopin nocturnes by color, to help me sort what it is I wanted to express and articulate. Perhaps I consider the ways in which my mother continues to help me figure out what I want to express and articulate. And, maybe it’s none of these things.

mama2

All I know is that when muscle memory starts to take over, my eyes close, tears arise, and I feel both closer and further from my mother than I ever have. I remember and don’t remember. I feel sad and grateful, cursed and blessed, lonely and loved, rejected and embraced. It’s weird and it’s great. I used to think sadness was simplistic, that it made me passive/useless. But through my mom, music, and memory, I’m finding that this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought. Sadness is both beautiful and complex, and invites an intricate interweaving of active revelations and dormant feelings.

My musician friends and boo may disagree with me here, but I think food and music hold similar possibilities of  emotional, intellectual, and visceral transformation. Nico and I recently watched Paolo Sorrentino’s latest film Youth. It was both fiercely intellectual and emotional, and I felt moved by this particular quote, stated by Michael Caine’s character:

You were right, music is all I understand. Because you don’t need words or experience to understand it. It just is.

I feel this way about food, too. What I sort of love about my new approach to re-membering is that I no longer need to keep it literal. To taste my mom’s tenderness, I don’t need to recreate a dish that she used to make. To remember the way she always supported my expression, I don’t need to play the exact pieces she helped with. Instead, I can open my eyes, ears, mouth, and heart to new things and invite her into new moments, new foods, new music.

For some reason, the meal below (steamed cod with soy/wine sauce + farro) reminds me of my mom’s tough and lecture-y love (“how are you supposed to fight with other people and communities when you can’t even be kind to yourself?”). Sometimes I need that kind of love. Maybe you do, too? 

 

The look of mama's stern and tender love

The look of mama’s stern and tender love

(For the musical rendition of this feeling, I listen to this:

And now, for the recipe.

fish

Hong Kong Style Steamed Cod w/ Soy/Wine Sauce and Fried Garlic
Recipe taken from Annielicious

Ingredients

  • 1 thick slice of Fresh Cod Fish Steak (About 1 inch thick)
  • 2 slices Ginger
  • a dash of pepper

For the Sauce

  • 1 tbsp Light Soy Sauce
  • 1 tsp Rock Sugar (You could use normal sugar if you don’t have rock sugar)
  • 1 tbsp Water
  • 1 tbsp Hsao Xing Wine

For Garnishing

  • 3 bulbs of garlic, finely chopped.
  • 1 tbsp Cooking Oil
  • some spring onions, cut into 1 inch length

Method

  1. Clean fish, pat dry. Place ginger on a steaming dish, place fish on top.
  2. Bring water in the steamer to a boil and steam fish over high heat for 6 minutes.
  3. While the fish is steaming half way, heat sauce ingredient in a pot and bring to a boil.
  4. Remove fish from the steamer, pour away the steaming liquid .
  5. Add a dash of pepper and drizzle sauce over.
  6. Fry chopped garlic with oil in another pan until golden brown. Don’t burnt it.
  7. Pour the hot garlic oil over, garnish with golden brown garlic and spring onions. Serve!

Coming Up…Announcing a 6-week “Diet” for 2016 (that I won’t hate!) and Knowing My Body

Dinner, Recipe

Cooking for One: A Bummer, or an Act of Self-Love? Plus, a Recipe for Fish in a Bag

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Even though I’m an anxious person, cooking for a crowd is one of my most favorite things to do. Sharing a meal with others has always been a significant pleasure in my life, and to be the person to prepare that meal, well, that’s just the goddamn best thing ever. Perhaps, this makes me feel a little closer to my mother, who played a similar(ly gendered) role in our family. Maybe it satiates my ever-present need to be nurturing (admittedly, this is likely a problematic need). Maybe it offers an easy way to receive external validation (ugh, I’m working on that). Whatever the reason, there’s nothing quite like loving my friends and family by cooking for and feeding them.

Cooking for one? Now, there’s a fucking bummer.

A couple of months ago, I was recounting my incredibly competitive and self-deprecating nature to my therapist. These go-to behaviors have served as the pinnacle of my essence for years, where concepts like “productivity” and “proactivity” and “achievement” were the only goals that mattered. I would frequently go through periods of loathing myself for not performing at my highest potential (it’s a mystery how I make that assessment of my potential – it is always suspiciously juuuuuust out of reach), which would motivate me to do better. To be better. For a long time, I believed that this rather extreme strategy of self-betterment was an act of tough love. But, really, it’s not. It makes me internalize and project anger, and provides me with a roundabout way of letting myself off the hook. If I’m my own worst critic, then I can never be hurt or impacted/bettered by the criticisms of others. This is stagnating and isolating.

In any case, this way-of-being has impacted my ability to experience pleasure in activities and hobbies. Though it seems rather obvious that I enjoy cooking, I only take pleasure in it when other people are involved. My therapist asked me whether I ever cook for myself, not just out of necessity, but for the sake of pleasure. I responded by telling him the story of how last time my husband was on tour, I ordered a large, everything pizza, and consumed the whole thing in 30 minutes. Two nights in a row. So,  no. I have never really cooked for the audience of me, and I have never been able to enjoy the fruits of my labor without someone to love beside me.

It makes sense that I am less motivated to cook when I feel a little lonely. But, in my estimation, the biggest problem is that I feel like I don’t deserve my own time and energy. If cooking is an act of love (for me, it most definitely is), then to cook for myself is to love myself. And, blech, who wants to do that? It feels so uncomfortable.

So, in an act of defiance against my own norms, and despite my instinct to shotgun an 18-inch pizza every night of the week, I’m cooking for myself while my husband is gone. Sure, none of the meals so far have reached my self-imposed standards. Obviously, my brain cannot properly adjust to cooking food in smaller quantities, so I have been making way too much of each meal, even factoring in leftovers for lunch. I have a sneaky suspicion that I’m a grandmother, at heart, and therefore feel the need to make too much food in order to feed impromptu guests/loved ones, just in case. Maybe my acute vertigo has left me a little lazy or hazy.

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For example, this bibimguksu w/ chopped ddak bulgogi and a picked egg was not as tangy and delicious as it could have been. It was pretty great, but not amazing.

I could go on and on about everything that has gone wrong, so far. But, I won’t.  I’ll focus on the fact that this has been a strangely and slowly empowering process. I will probably always be hard on myself, but for the first time in my cooking tenure, I’m listening for and to my own joy, my own criticisms.

I cooked and ate a dish new to my repertoire, the other day: Fish in a Bag, with lemon, fennel, olives and white wine sauce. It was nice in appearance, smelled great, tasted good, and taught me about a technique that I hadn’t yet utilized. I decided that I deserved a plate that was pretty, so I worked on the presentation, a little. And, I critiqued it. Perhaps, I was a little hard on myself. I could have seasoned the fish a little more. I probably should have pre-cooked the potatoes, a little less. I accidentally forgot to buy pitted olives, so that element of the dish was annoying to eat. But, I formed my own opinions, and listened to them. To me, this is a small act of self-love, because I often won’t listen to my own thoughts when I am in the presence of brilliant and wonderful people. And, I often am surrounded by brilliant and wonderful people.

In any case, I’m pleased. Small wins are always big. And Audre Lorde reminds me why self-care is so important.

“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” – Audre Lorde

Finally, here is Jamie Oliver’s recipe for Fish in a Bag.

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Fish in a bag with lemon, fennel, olives, and white wine sauce 
Recipe from Jamie Oliver (slightly modified)
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cooking Time: 20-25 minutes
Servings: 1

Ingredients

Instructions 

  1. Bring a small pot of salted water to a boil. While that’s getting ready, create a “bag” out of foil. To do this, take a large piece of aluminum foil (about 14×18 inches), and fold it half. Tightly fold the two sides adjacent to the original folded edge, and leave one side open. Jamie Oliver recommends you brush the edges with egg before you fold them in, to help with sealing, but I found that I didn’t need to do that.
  2. Drop the potatoes into the boiling water and cook for 5 minutes. While they are boiling, place the prepared fennel, lemon, and cherry tomatoes into a bowl. Season with salt and pepper to your liking, add a drizzle of olive oil, and mix gently but thoroughly. Separately, season the halibut fillet to your liking.
  3. Once the potatoes are done, drain them, and add them to the bowl of mixed vegetables. Once everything is mixed, carefully place the contents into the foil bag, place the fillet on top, and sprinkle with some fennel fronds.  Add a splash of white wine, and seal the remaining edge.
  4. In an oven preheated at 400ºF, place the foil bag onto a baking tray and cook for 20-25 minutes, depending on the thickness of your fillet. Once cooked, place the bag on a serving plate and gently pierce to release the steam. Serve to self on a plate.

Coming Up
The Problematization of Authenticity Series: Musings on White Chefs and “Ethnic” Restaurants