I love a man who cooks. Well, I love anyone who cooks! But there is something special about a man. I guess that's sexist. Sigh. Trying to span the gender divide. But.
Anyway, it was an ironic, as well as iconic, meal, centered, as it was, around bluefish. You can't give bluefish away in Block Island. That's pretty much all anyone catches, and, as you may know, few fishermen eat their catch—it's about the chase. To make it even more peculiar, David ordered the fish from Citarella's, a store down the street from me in New York. It was overnighted to him in West Plains, Mo. And as he said, "I bet we're the only people eating bluefish in Thomasville." At a guess, we were also the only people who have even heard of bluefish. Around here it's catfish, bass and trout. The end.
We actually began with Pacific sanddab, a flounderlike fish, only better! Simply sauteed and served with Cherokee Purple heirloom tomatoes. Then came the bluefish, grilled and served over Yukon Gold mashed potatoes, with magic sauce and organic ambrosia beans from Mary's farm (too bad Frank wasn't here). A gala time in T'ville.
PS David, sorry about the pic!
3 comments:
I'll live down the pic. Nobody said cooks need to be photogenic! Well, except to female tv chefs not named Julia Child.
I understand from Frank that you don't season your ambrosia beans. I believe him. I have advised him to take his own spices to add to Zabar's oilve oil which I know he has--a supply from you that may go back years--if he is invited for dinner other than hotdogs.
As for David's cooking, Frank says he joins you in praise. Frank remembers David serving him fresh clams also flown in overnight on his 40th birthday. I hadn't realized what old farts they both are.
Finishing off the beans now
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