On this day of overripe roses and mandatory intimacy, I appreciate the simplest of dinners, my fave from my wife of six months: baked salmon. She takes a fillet and seasons it with salt and pepper, and dabs on some hoisin, teriyaki or even BBQ sauce. Pops it in the oven for 20 minutes while the man hands over a glass of Chardonnay and composes a salad with avocado and pistachios, chatting about the drama of the day.
The savory oiliness and meatiness of the salmon flesh is so satisfying and hard to top with other frutti di mare, now that shark and swordfish are on the verboten list. I brought home ling cod one day (I live in the Richmond) and it was way more delicate than I remembered. Any suggestions?
I kind of know that we'll beat bird flu so we'll always have roasters, but will we succeed in wrecking the ocean so that in our lifetime we'll no longer have wild seafood? Meanwhile, an economy of scale delivers fresh fillets almost everywhere to be fetishized. On blogs and such.
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