What’s In a Name?

The California scorpionfish.  Sounds quite menacing.. and it should be.  Related to the infamous stonefish, which is deadly to humans, living off our sun drenched coast is its cousin that does indeed pack a doozy of a sting.  I have seen people put their hands down on these well concealed fish, only to scream, or whatever you call it when you exhale massive amounts of bubbles underwater, as the venom surges through their body.  While our scorpionfish is not as worrisome, it is not something I care to experience.  So yesterday while out fishing on the Monte Carlo, I hauled in a few keepers that made their way into my burlap sack.  I have heard wondrful things about the flavor of these fish and was excited to give them a try.

On the boat I had the deckhand filet them for me, except for one that I did myself when I returned home, so the spines were not an issue as I jostled around the kitchen tonight.  Supplies were getting a bit thin on the $5 per day diet, and luckily I had a few things that made this meal just downright lip smacking.  The fish… I kept simple… just some salt and pepper.  But I had a can of white beans and some bacon, so I sort of came up with an idea to serve the fish simply over a bed of white beans, bacon and onion… all things I had in the pantry and fridge.

I fried up the bacon in a cast iron pan and when crispy, put it into another skillet with some of the grease and added half of a diced red onion and sautéed till the onion was turning golden.  I tossed in some garlic and a can of white beans and let that all suck up the bacon grease love!  With the rest of the bacon fat and a bit of butter, I fried the scorpionfish filets till they took on a golden color, which was only a moment in the pan.  The beans needed some tang so I squeezed some lemon juice in and wow.  The fish just popped.

There is something special about catching your own food.  I used to hunt with my father as a boy, and when I lived in Alaska I ate more things from the wild than I did from a feed lot, but as of late I have drifted away from that side of me.  So I had some great satisfaction eating a tasty meal that is as fresh as it gets and caught with my own effort.  Many people shy away from hunting.  Maybe it is because they cant pull ther trigger when bambi is giving them the sad eyes, but a fish is different.  It has a cold stare that never seems to make a personal connection with those people who yank them from the water.  But being a fish biologist I know they are some of the most amazing animals on the planet and they do indeed have a personality that is unique to each and every fish… just in their own cold blooded special way.  So tonight as I reveled in my primeval manliness at being able to provide for my family, food-wise, I paid homage to the last wild food that is commonly plied for our great planet.  Fish!  Thank you ocean!

p.s. as i was baiting up my hook i did kick a burlap sack and sunk two scorpionfish spines into my big toe.  I stood there , semi-freaking out about the explosive pain that was sure to come… sure to come… sure to come.  What?  Nothing but some blood dripping onto the deck.  Well I guess when these guys die they lose their ability to inject poison…or… I am just super tough.  Probably not.

Sand-dabbling in the Pacific

License… Check. Rod… Check.  Gear… Check.  Ahh, waiting at the 22nd St. Pier in San Pedro California for the boat to set sail, yet strangely enough, heading out to catch some fresh seafood off the southern California coast, the waft of fried bacon lures me into the galley to order up a breakfast burrito.  As the boat putts out of the harbor, grease dripping out of the burritos paper wrapping onto the well worn nautical chart table, I believe we are heading for some lipid based destination.  But a simple wipe of the hand makes me realize that I really have no idea where the hell we are heading.  Bryan, the unassuming, yet forward deck-hand, claims that our rigs are totally set up wrong and that we need X, Y and Z to score the big fish.  I pass on his recomendations as I am taking my queues from the salty old guy who is missing a finger and sporting the well worn hat of a fella who has been sinking hooks for 50…60… maybe 70 years.

The boats engine slows and the cattle-like rush to the rail is a good sign that we are here.  I casually watch the regulars select their slices of squid and bait their hooks, pretending to be checking my knots.  Being a fly fisherman, knots are the only thing I seem to be comfortable with today.  The quarry is deep and only familiar to me through my dive mask or 6 inches of acrylic at he aquarium where I work.  So I bait up and cast into the dark blue ocean below, not knowing what to expext.  BANG, I am onto something.  As I crank it up, unsure of what may be at the end, I yank a beautiful sanddab from the sea and onto the deck.  Within seconds, the attentive deck-hand is by my side.  The hook, deep inside the fishes throat is giving me pause.   “you gonna keep it?”… “can I?”… “yes”… “sure”, and the hook is ripped from its body and the fish is slung into sack #11.  The deck-hand is quickly off to the next guy .  I am left standing there, a little overwhelmed by the efficiency of the whole thing.  All I wanted to do was reach into the bag and give the fish a look.  Maybe pay homage to the life I just made my own.  But no, I am strait back to the rail with the primeval juices flowing.  An hour later I am four fatty sanddabs and two keeper scorpionfish the better, with a solid 10 fish returned to the sea as they did not meet California DF&G size requirements.  This is something that not everyone on the boat seemed to give much thought… or action.

Cigaret butts over the side, an empty can of soda cast into the waves.  “What the fuck is he doing?” I asked Brenton, my buddy to my right.  We figured that even though we were defenders of the ocean, now is not the time to piss off the 300+lb black man with gold chains that weigh more than me, who just committed the environmental infraction.  After all, we are on a boat in the middle of an ocean that would of suited Jimmy Hoffa for his late night “drops”.  But the reason we were here was to try our luck at getting a piece of some of the last wild food our planet has to offer.  I was struck by the diversity of the fisherpeople, not in terms of skin color, but of the types of people on deck.  Crusty old timers, an asian couple, young women, well dressed homeboys, guys inked all over… and us.  All trying to get a bit of wild earth in our bellies that night.  Cool… except for the can and the butts.

As I raced back up the Harbor Freeway with a bag of fresh fish, I strained my brain for things I could do with my catch.  What was on hand at home?  It was a long day and I was in no mood to stroll the aisles of some store for the one or two things that may of been needed for a recipe i concocted.  So home I went.  Feet up and chilling.  Then dinner time hit, and I had to do something with the fish.  After all I did just extract a slice of life from the very ocean I devote my life to, and I should eat some that night.  So I prepped the sanddabs and cranked out a beurre blanc.  Yay for butter!!

Whooooooo, That was good.  The fish was alive just hours ago.  I was the one that made its life abruptly end, and as I slipped the flesh from the fine bones and ate, I realized something wonderful.  As mush as I preach sustainable seafood, people were on that boat, not for fun, but for sustenance.  There was fresh fish on a number of tables tonight, mine one of them.  As we take things from our planet we must always realize where it comes from.  That is what makes us appreciate it and give it respect.  Tonight, the sanddab that tugged at the end of my line, was now giving my wife and I a beautiful dinner.  So for that… THANKYOU!

A Fish to Save the World

What fish is low on the food chain, able to survive in a wide range of aquatic habitats, is easy to farm and is a major protein source for developing countries?  Tilapia, or Izumidai, if you find yourself posted up at a sushi bar.  Tilapia is not a specific fish, but a large group of fishes in the cichlid family that originated from Africa.  These herbivorous freshwater fishes are perfect candidates for aquaculture as they grow rapidly to a large size on a plant based diet, reproduce easily and can live in dense groups. 

Yet, these very same attributes that make them a great fish for aquaculture also allow them to spread rapidly through ecosystems where they are introduced, often by accident.  In the United States, tilapia are farmed in closed ponds that eliminate the problem of escapement and leakage of pollution into the environment.  But this fish is heavily farmed in Southeast Asia where the regulations are far less strict.  Many of the ponds allow for escapement into the surrounding environment and also for the discharge of their effluent.  So when purchasing tilapia, or any farmed fish, often the region in which it is raised can make or break its level of sustainability.

Aquaculture may prove to be the panacea for our protein addiction, but only when it is performed in a sustainable way.  In many parts of the world, primarily in developing nations, entire coastal ecosystems are being poisoned by poorly run aquaculture that does not feed the local population, but is exported to the herds of westerners from North America and Europe who scarf down the all you can eat seafood buffet.  So next time you order farmed seafood, make sure you know where it is coming from.  To learn more about the specific farmed seafood you are looking to prepare, check out www.seafoodwatch.org and take control of your actions.

Check out the recipe in the pages section to the left.