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At the end of last December i enjoyed an order of gambas al ajillo (though I halfway remember that the menu said camarones) in Eladio's at Progreso, Yucatan.
The Mexican version deviates significantly from the Spanish. The shrimp are marinated for some time in the sauce, which consists not only of garlic and olive oil, but also a hefty dose of hot peppers. As a result the shrimp turn out reddish, with a coating of hot stuff.
Larisa ordered her favorite, ceviche. We started to complain when a plate of ceviche was served. It seemed small for the price. Turned out it was the complimentary dish served with the drinks. Her order was mountainous and delicious.
Still, I have to admit, the best ceviche I have ever had was in Lima, Peru. The Peruvians claim to have invented it.
(Snagged the photo off the web.)
RNJ
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Yeah Mexicans tend to use Camaròn, I never saw Gambas till I went to Spain. I'm a big fan of cueditos done civiche style. It's a pickled pig skin chopped up in place of the seafood. Scrumdidlumptious!
There used to be a Peruvian/Spanish restaurant on Clement Street in San Francisco, not far from Park Presidio, where my Japanese girlfriend and I would eat paella. I think the name of it was Alejandro's.
One evening we waited for our table at the bar. "What shall we drink?" she asked.
"How about some fino."
"That's dry sherry?"
"Yes."
The bartender produced an opened bottle of Tio Pepe from the fridge and poured. After a sip or two I said three words about the taste.
Later at the table, well into our paella and after a few other conversational topics, she asked, "Richard, how can a wine taste witty?"
"I have no idea. Did you read that somewhere? Or hear some phony wine snob?"
"You said the Tio Pepe tasted witty."
"???" Then the penny dropped. "I said it tasted woody---tasted like wood."
You got fino at a bar in the US??? Not even the two "supposed" Spanish places in LA carry it. I noticed last time I was up in SF they tend to have more european culture. LA is packed with every other corner of the earth but our european food scene out here is pretty sad.
I have a good friend who is from Galcia, he says Paella should have a bit of crispy crunch on the bottom of the rice. Others swear this is bad, and a paella must be like a fluid risotto.
Where so you come down on this? This is very contentious point, can I manage not to use the F word?
At Olga's in Austin paella always had a seafood component, but sometimes some chicken as well. Never any rabbit, no place to buy rabbit in Austin that I knew of. If you wanted rabbit you had to go out and shoot it for yourself.
At Alejandro's in San Francisco it was seafood. One of the signature ingredients was baby octopus. Little bite sized devils that looked almost like fat spiders.
I've had rabbit in paella in Andalucia, as well as chicken and seafood.
Speaking of rabbit, there used to be a great dish at the Restaurant Pedro Romero in Ronda, right across the street from the bull ring with its statue of the famous 18th century matador de toros.. The rabbit was hung until it was a bit gamey, and served in a red wine sauce with a variety of herbs and capers. Boiled, oiled and herbed potatoes and carrots were the sides. Nice with a good Rioja.
The Pedro Romero was very atmospheric, with the heads of famous bulls on the walls, and big photos like one of Manolete with Primo Rivera and Hollywood movie stars of the era.
One cold April evening back in the 1970s I went in by myself. The restaurant had been in the same family for a few generations by then. Two handsome and well dressed young men who looked like brothers were acting as hosts. I was seated at a table in one of the dining rooms, with the comment that I might like it better.
I noticed two attractive women at the next table. They were speaking English, and seemed open to conversation. They turned out to be flight attendants for Pan American Airways. One was American, the other German. The American was enthusiastic about Spain. The German was not. Spain was dirty, rude, inefficient, lawless and corrupt. The roses were not in bloom at the Partal Gardens of the Generalife in Granada. The Alhambra was surrounded by Gypsies who aggressively offered you a flower, demanding money, and so on...
At another adjacent table was an Engllshman and his blonde wife. Over dessert and coffee they joined the conversation. Turned out he was the U.K. Naval Attaché, responsible for relations between the British and Spanish Navies. He and his wife spoke fluent Spanish, and had toured all around the country since their youth. The English couple, the American woman and I enthused at length about Spain, while the German woman persisted in her crankiness.
We ordered more coffee. Soon we were served glasses of Cognac--on the house--and cordially visited by one of the brothers. We went on about the wonders of Spain, while the German woman found fault. Eventually glasses of Cardenal Mendoza appeared, and our hosts stoutly resisted payment for it. We stayed until midnight.
As we left, one of the brothers helped me into my trench coat, patting me on the back and warmly inviting me to return. The Englishman and his wife received the same treatment from the other brother.
The two women were seen arguing heatedly with the waiter over their bill.
These days big busses from the Great Wall of Andalucia along the coast wheel up to the Pedro Romero at lunch time and disgorge mobs of dazed English tourists, who are shoehorned into the place, seated by the dozen at long tables, and fed from a set menu.
Independent travelers are fortunate in not being admitted at all.
ORIGINAL: Leñador Ya'll ever eaten a Carolina reaper? It will change your world, gaurantee you never knew something could exist that hot. Most friends I get drunk enough to try it puke.
Great use of the word "friends". Dinner at Lenny's anyone?
Last time I was in the States I naively bought a load of random stuff from a Mexican store, throw it in a pot and cooked up enough for 4 or 5 days. Big mistake! I swear it was the hottest **** ever cooked on this earth - it turned my insides into a blazing inferno. I seriously thought I was going to die or end up in hospital if I was lucky. I'll spare you the gory details of all the crazy **** I tried in complete and utter desperation to purge that stuff from the system. Pretty funny in hind sight.
ORIGINAL: Dudnote I'll spare you the gory details of all the crazy **** I tried in complete and utter desperation to purge that stuff from the system. Pretty funny in hind sight.
In south Texas chilis grow wild. One variety is variously spelled, and pronounced chili pitín or chili piquín. They are smaller than the tip of your little finger, spherical, bright red when ripe and pretty hot. One use for them is to fill up a small bottle with the little peppers, and pour in white vinegar. After letting it sit for a week or two, the resulting liquid is pretty spicy. My grandfather used to put it on almost everything he ate.
After he retired from the ranch and moved to San Antonio, he had two chili pitín bushes in the flower beds at either side of the front door. One warm Christmas, after dinner the dozen men repaired to the living room for Port and cigars. Before long everyone's eyes were watering, people were coughing and gagging. Thinking it was the smoke, the front door and windows were opened. The smoke cleared out, but the coughing and tears continued. Eventually it was discovered that the kids had been playing in the flower beds, had tracked peppers in the front door and trod them into the rug. The rug had to be rolled up, taken out, and eventually taken to the rug cleaners.
Walking through the brush country on our way to hunting stands my father's brother would pause at a chili pitín bush, pop one or two into his mouth and chew contentedly. They were too hot for me.
On one occasion a guest from the Norhteast asked my uncle what the peppers were. Pranking, he said, "Oh, they're some little sweet berries."
Several minutes later the guest, who had been bringing up the rear, began howling in pain. Upon interrogation we learned he had picked a small handful of peppers, put them all into his mouth at once, and started chewing. Inspection revealed that he had blisters on the insides of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. Embarrassed, my uncle accompanied him back to camp, where his mouth was washed out with about half the supply of canned milk.
The guest bore a grudge against my uncle for years. Can't say I blame him.
A more benign account of chili peppers: The nearest city with a decent hotel to the overgrown village of Paracho is Uruapan, 30 km to the south, over a well paved but seriously daunting mountain road. Beyond decent is the Mansion del Cupatitzio, on the north side of the city. The rooms are plush, the pool and gardens are beautiful, and the breakfast is magnificent. At provincial Mexican prices, it's very good value for the money.
Across the parking lot from the hotel entrance, cantilevered over the spring fed Rio Cupatitzio is a restaurant. I wandered in at lunchtime (2 PM) and found that the specialty was trout from the pristine river flowing below. I ordered trucha empanizada, salad, French fries and beer.
When the trout was served, the waiter placed a square dish on the table without comment. On it were four smaller square dishes, each containing a smooth salsa. I had never had breaded trout with hot sauce, but now was my chance.
The first sauce I tried was yellow. It had the piney flavor of habaneros, spicy enough but without the really stinging heat. Delicious. I tried the rest. All really great. I was happy.
The next day I went back and ordered breaded trout again. Again there were four salsas, all delicious, but all different from the day before. When the waiter asked me how the food was I complimented the salsas.
He pointed to the woman at the cash register, saying she was the owner. The peppers for the salsas came from her garden. She was noted throughout the country as an expert on chilis, and a breeder of her own varieties. She had written a well known book on the subject.
I asked the waiter how many sauces were in the repertoire. He said the standard offering was different salsas every day of the week, a total of 28 kinds, and special salsas for holidays and special occasions.
Wonderful.
RNJ
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In Catalunya, there is the tradition of caracoles a la llauna (or caragols in catalan, or carcolade on the French side of Catalunya). It is basically a snail barbecue, usually reserved for the summer. People get together in fairly large parties, hike up to the mountains somewhere, get a fire going, set up a grill (or often just rocks), slap on loads of snails, cook a few sausages, open up a few bottles of wine and come down the mountain drunk and content. It goes nicely with aioli sauces.
They also cook rabbit in chocolate, though I've never tried it myself. A bit too daunting for my taste.
Caracoles are also a good oppotunity to dress up in traditional garb. It's a good way of scaring away the hikers who may get the impression they've just walked into to a sacrificial ceremony of some cult.
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"Anything you do can be fixed. What you cannot fix is the perfection of a blank page. What you cannot fix is that pristine, unsullied whiteness of a screen or a page with nothing on it—because there’s nothing there to fix."
Interestingly the original Valencian paella used rodent meat, beans and snails added to the rice. As living standards rose, the Valencians switched the rodent meat to rabbit, chicken or duck. The seafood version seems to have developped later. Today, many Valencians don't even consider the mixed paella to be an actual paella, they look down on it the same way some flamenco purists would sneer at flamencofusion/flamenconfusion. So chicken, wabbit or seafood, but never mixed for the traditional paella. Personally I'd come down on the side of crispy rice, but that's just personal preference. But watch out, the issue is so contentious, that in Valencia whenever the topic comes up they end up shouting and throwing tomatoes at each other.
See, I told you we didn't waste produce in the EU
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"Anything you do can be fixed. What you cannot fix is the perfection of a blank page. What you cannot fix is that pristine, unsullied whiteness of a screen or a page with nothing on it—because there’s nothing there to fix."
When I first heard Estrella Morente's alegrias "Coquinas", my Spanish was still pretty bad.
I saw a crude double-entendre in the following verse.
Fueron a coger coquinas Los voluntarios de Cadiz Y a la primera descarga Tiraron las carabinas
It didn't help that the French word "coquines" can be used as a euphemism for "slut" and that well...you all know that "coger" isn't used in the same way on both sides of the Atlantic. I was relieved to find out that the good men of Cadiz were actually out to get seashells...
Though I still have my doubts about Morente's relationship to seafood: The previous verses do say things such as "Lovers from Navarra are good but they don't come cheap" or "come with me, you'll be the captain of my boat, oh virgin of solea". None of my Spanish flamenco friends got the double-entendre, obviously because there isn't one. But I've nonetheless been calling her "la pervertida del mar", as a testimony to how bad my Spanish is. Hopefully it won't catch on, or I might be in serious trouble some day.
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"Anything you do can be fixed. What you cannot fix is the perfection of a blank page. What you cannot fix is that pristine, unsullied whiteness of a screen or a page with nothing on it—because there’s nothing there to fix."
Bhut jolokia-chili, supposedly the strongest breed, is being used to keep away elephants from farms and villages. Unlike other mixtures that are being burned to produce biting smoke, a paste of bhut jolokia-chili smeared on fence poles provides a durable / inexpensive way.
As it appears to be little known yet, while of benefit to both people and elephants, I thought to throw this into the paella, just in case that it may contribute to spreading of the info. -
Back to Andalusia. Never been there, but would sure love to be there now and have some fried sea fish or sea food! For me no sweetwater fish compares to the flavour of saltwater species. Even just the smell of fresh cought sea fish makes me anticipate the dish already.
A sensation not had since years, eventhough the country here has an ocean shore. :O( (The local fishers having only small boats, apparently without fridge / ice on board, so the fish won´t be fresh already in the great heat at the coast. And what arrives here in the end -thousands of miles in land- is some useless frozen limp which has been poured over by some chemical to hide its stench.)
Though I still have my doubts about Morente's relationship to seafood: The previous verses do say things such as "Lovers from Navarra are good but they don't come cheap" or "come with me, you'll be the captain of my boat, oh virgin of solea". None of my Spanish flamenco friends got the double-entendre, obviously because there isn't one. But I've nonetheless been calling her "la pervertida del mar", as a testimony to how bad my Spanish is. Hopefully it won't catch on, or I might be in serious trouble some day.
In Japan, sorry to go there yet again, these kinds of jokes are called 'Old man joke' Oiyaji Jokes. They are bad puns and one liners that often riff off of phonetic homonyms.
For example, I know a guy named Shoji, but shoji is also a noun meaning sliding door. His buddy though he would be clever and point at the shoji door and look at me and say Look it is your friend Shoji -san. Yuck yuck yuck. so funny.
There is a brand if bread that has a picture of the Shinkansen on the package. The Shinkansen is the bullet train. Bread is called Pan in Japanese, a word taken from the Portuguese contact. You see it coming right?
ShinkPannsen.....oh when I told that one it was met with moans and groans. I thought it up, Shinkpansen..... the bullet bread.
ShinkPannsen.....oh when I told that one it was met with moans and groans.
My niece calls those kind of jokes "dad jokes". I guess that says a lot about my brother's sense of humor I think the moaning and groaning is just their inner battle between laughing (because they know it's funny!) and they're unwarranted sense of dignity. In Spain the infamous "la paella, pa' ella" to tell the waiter that Madam is having the platter, not you, is bound to get you at the very least a sigh, and at worst a divorce.
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"Anything you do can be fixed. What you cannot fix is the perfection of a blank page. What you cannot fix is that pristine, unsullied whiteness of a screen or a page with nothing on it—because there’s nothing there to fix."
My niece calls those kind of jokes "dad jokes". I guess that says a lot about my brother's sense of humor I think the moaning and groaning is just their inner battle between laughing (because they know it's funny!) and they're unwarranted sense of dignity. In Spain the infamous "la paella, pa' ella" to tell the waiter that Madam is having the platter, not you, is bound to get you at the very least a sigh, and at worst a divorce.
Dad Jokes indeed.
Japanese are just like Spaniards too, they give nicknames. There are nationally known people with nick names. American don't really do this and I think this is sad. Sumo wrestlers have names just like bullfighters and flamenco artists. Professional names, lots of celebrities have nick names.
In addition to having dad Jokes they give odd off color nicknames like the Spanish. There is an American business man who is very smart, but he gets asked to go on game shows all the and he is famous. They call him Atsu Giri Jason, it means Thick Slice Jason. It is a never ending game of speculation about how he got that name.
I say it is because he got known for liking thick cuts of sashimi, or other meats, but others say it is because he is sarcastic and he "cuts a wide slice off " when he gives guasa. So this is an ongoing game. The pro sumo guys have great names, but I think the sumo stables give them the names as they rise through the minor leagues to the main ring. Sumo is really interesting, but super expensive to sit up close. $900 bucks for a box seat for one night.
Still, I have to admit, the best ceviche I have ever had was in Lima, Peru. The Peruvians claim to have invented it.
And nothing goes with great Peruvian ceviche like a well-made pisco sour. Together, they make one terrific gastronomic combination. I have to say, though, that during my three year assignment at the American Embassy in Santiago, Chile, I grew to love both Chilean ceviche and pisco sours. I could not tell the difference between the best Chilean ceviche and the best Peruvian variety. And although there is a difference in Chilean and Peruvian pisco sours, both are equally delicious, with the Chilean variety having a bit more "lemony" flavor. Both nations claim to have the best, but I suspect that is gastronomic nationalism, and Latin American countries, particularly those in South America, are nothing if not nationalistic, in food as in everything else.
Bill
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And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, With the name of the late deceased, And the epitaph drear, "A fool lies here, Who tried to hustle the East."
Great use of the word "friends". Dinner at Lenny's anyone?
Haha, to be fair, they were told it was the hottest pepper in the world and they're machismo got the best of them AND I'd always eat it if they ate it. I ate three one weekend, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, about 20 minutes after the Sunday pepper I was writhing in pain from stomach cramps (cap cramps they call em) I learned a good lesson lol
quote:
chili piquín
These are one of my favorites, they about as close to wild chilis as a domestic chili gets. A guy I work with grows them and we eat them raw with our lunch. The Salvadorian dudes don't eat spicey so they look at us like we're crazy lol
quote:
Speaking of rabbit, there used to be a great dish at the Restaurant Pedro Romero in Ronda, right across the street from the bull ring with its statue of the famous 18th century matador de toros.. The rabbit was hung until it was a bit gamey, and served in a red wine sauce with a variety of herbs and capers. Boiled, oiled and herbed potatoes and carrots were the sides. Nice with a good Rioja.
That place was still there and accessible to walk ins when I was in Ronda about 4 years ago, ate there 3 times. Indeed had the paella de conejo, morcilla, and rabo de toro. The rabo de toro there was one of the best things I ate in Spain.
Back to Andalusia. Never been there, but would sure love to be there now and have some fried sea fish or sea food! For me no sweetwater fish compares to the flavour of saltwater species. Even just the smell of fresh cought sea fish makes me anticipate the dish already. A sensation not had since years, eventhough the country here has an ocean shore. :O( (The local fishers having only small boats, apparently without fridge / ice on board, so the fish won´t be fresh already in the great heat at the coast. And what arrives here in the end -thousands of miles in land- is some useless frozen limp which has been poured over by some chemical to hide its stench.)
I grew up on the Atlantic coast in Brittany. I didn't realize how good I had it until I moved more inland. Fish that would pass as still very good in Paris were sometimes handed out for free as cat food in Brest (port city)-and it did make the cats happy . Ever since, I've never had fish unless I was in a coastal city, no matter how good the cold chain. I just can't get used to it. And if you're in Andalucia (at the exception of Cadiz and westward), it's basically fresh water fish. I mean the Mediterranean is just a big lake. Got no waves. Lame. Another odd thing of having grown up in Britanny is that I always expect to see German bunkers when I go to the sea. I had so much fun in those things in my youth that it's become ingrained. I don't understand what people do at the beach if there aren't any waves or German bunkers to play in!
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"Anything you do can be fixed. What you cannot fix is the perfection of a blank page. What you cannot fix is that pristine, unsullied whiteness of a screen or a page with nothing on it—because there’s nothing there to fix."
I grew up on the Atlantic coast in Brittany. I didn't realize how good I had it until I moved more inland. Fish that would pass as still very good in Paris were sometimes handed out for free as cat food in Brest (port city)-and it did make the cats happy . Ever since, I've never had fish unless I was in a coastal city, no matter how good the cold chain. I just can't get used to it. And if you're in Andalucia (at the exception of Cadiz and westward), it's basically fresh water fish. I mean the Mediterranean is just a big lake. Got no waves. Lame. Another odd thing of having grown up in Britanny is that I always expect to see German bunkers when I go to the sea. I had so much fun in those things in my youth that it's become ingrained. I don't understand what people do at the beach if there aren't any waves or German bunkers to play in!
Yes. For years we lived in Austin and my parents lived on the coast in Corpus Christi. My father was the best sport fisherman I ever met. During that time I learned that flounder was better than speckled (sea) trout at Quality Seafood in Austin, the best place, and trout was better than flounder at my parents' house.
Live shrimp, fresh off the boat at the coast are slightly sweet. Day old shrimp in Austin, though kept on ice the whole time, have a slight iodine taste. I shell and devein them, boil and then chill them, dip them in red sauce with horseradish or tartar sauce. A salad, sourdough bread with butter and a dry Chardonnay go well with the shrimp.
Fresh off the boat I often eat them with no sauce at all.
Some of the best shrimp I ever had was in Norway. Various ones of my ex-wife's cousins had seaside cottages on the Oslofjord. On Saint John's Day, the longest day of summer, you sat out on the pier all night long and dipped small shrimp out of the water with a long handled net. They went straight into the boiling pot. Sweet and delicious, no need for the mayonnaise or tomato sauce. The home made bread with butter and local beer went down pretty well with the shrimp.
These are one of my favorites, they about as close to wild chilis as a domestic chili gets. A guy I work with grows them and we eat them raw with our lunch. The Salvadorian dudes don't eat spicey so they look at us like we're crazy lol
quote:
Speaking of rabbit, there used to be a great dish at the Restaurant Pedro Romero in Ronda, right across the street from the bull ring with its statue of the famous 18th century matador de toros.. The rabbit was hung until it was a bit gamey, and served in a red wine sauce with a variety of herbs and capers. Boiled, oiled and herbed potatoes and carrots were the sides. Nice with a good Rioja.
That place was still there and accessible to walk ins when I was in Ronda about 4 years ago, ate there 3 times. Indeed had the paella de conejo, morcilla, and rabo de toro. The rabo de toro there was one of the best things I ate in Spain.
It was nine years ago when Larisa and I were turned away at lunch time. Maybe they have repented of their sins.
If you head west from the Real Jardin Botanico, just south of the Prado in Madrid one of the first big restaurants you come to is known for its cocido madrileño. The stew is cooked all at once, but the ingredients are served in stages. At lunch time the place is packed.
Heading further west you come to a few blocks with many smaller restaurants, some with only five or six tables. Last time I had rabo de toro was for supper at one of these. At the next table were three middle aged couples who said they came every Saturday, and advised me to take the signature dish. They also said the house wine, served by the carafe was the thing to drink. Very good advice.
I used to live there, years ago, just a short walk to the water. Too close to town to eat shrimp out of there, though.
My father only bought shrimp from a few of the boats. I never asked him why.
When I was a boy, there was no causeway to South Padre Island down by the Brazos de Santiago, where the Rio Grande meets the Gulf. Nobody lived on the island, the only way to get there was by boat. Typically an expedition would be organized by my father, his brother and cousins, plus boys who were old enough. We would plan to camp for several days or a week. We took water, coffee, beans, corn meal and bacon.
The first task was to sein for grass shrimp in the weeds on the bay side of the island. A long rectangular fine mesh net, attached to sticks on the short sides, was worked by two people wading in the water thigh deep. The shrimp would be used for bait.
Then we got down to fishing in the bay. The prize catch were redfish (spotted sea bass) just the right size to be dredged in corn meal and fried in bacon grease in cast iron skillets over a driftwood fire. Also acceptable were speckled trout. At night we would sometimes go out into the shallows with kerosene lanterns to gig for flounder.
A flounder gig was two sharp steel prongs on the end of a five foot stick. It was illegal for the prongs to have barbs on them, so once you struck the flounder on the white sand bottom you had to reach under it to pick it up. The danger was to mistake a stingray for a flounder, which could have serious repercussions.
If we had no luck fishing we were sometimes reduced to eating shrimp, but we never failed to get them. Beans, bacon, coffee and hushpuppies filled out the diet.
There were feral hogs on the island, domestic pigs which had reverted pretty much to the wild type over a few generations.....but I think I have already told that story.
Live shrimp, fresh off the boat at the coast are slightly sweet. Day old shrimp in Austin, though kept on ice the whole time, have a slight iodine taste. I shell and devein them, boil and then chill them, dip them in red sauce with horseradish or tartar sauce. A salad, sourdough bread with butter and a dry Chardonnay go well with the shrimp.
This thread has taken a slight detour into the realm of seafood. My contribution will be to extol the virtues of giant Tiger Prawns in Southeast Asia, the best of which, in my experience, are found in Malaysia and the Thai island of Phuket. In Malaysia we would buy fresh tiger prawns at the fish market. In Phuket, tiger prawns (and an assortment of other seafood) are at many outdoor restaurants on ice. You just pick out the ones you want and they grill them on the spot. I always ate them bathed in butter and lemon sauce. Exquisitely delicious! Bill
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And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, With the name of the late deceased, And the epitaph drear, "A fool lies here, Who tried to hustle the East."
Some of the Asian markets out here have what they label live "tiger shrimp" in a tank. I don't know their whole story but they ARE the best shrimp I've ever had. They just taste clean, not even a hint of fishyness to them. You just gotta be careful dropping em in the boiling water, they WILL splash boiling hot water in your face! Lol
Catalan rabbit cooked in chocolate, is it like a Mexican mole'? If so be not afraid, go forth and fork it. Fork it anyway, it must be good.
Fresh shrimp right off the boat, I've eaten it a few dozen times. Ebi sashimi is not my favorite, but it can be good. And after the first night, yep you have to cook it, it ain't no good after sunrise.
I am looking forward to my eventual trip home to the US, but I worry about the fish. I have become spoiled on local fish and cooking lore. Like Piwin I look carefully at fish now and I can see myself being a fish snob in the market.
In the US there is an Asian grocery chain called Ranch 99 or something like that. I remember the fish section, in Japan a fish section that looked like that would be an abomination, a cultural travesty. And don't even get me started on how nasty is Tilapia; people in the US think that is a fish. My God how disgusting.
If I can find a place that can simply sell a fresh Yellow tail jack I will be happy, I can cut sashimi. In the US they call everything cut from Yellowtail a Hamachi. I Japanthey count four different kinds of Yellowtail. Hamachi, Buri, Hiramasa and Kampachi.
Kampachi is really Amber Jack,but it has a yellow tail fin and is in the same family. Hamachi is young Yellowtail, and Buri is a yellow tail over about 18" to 24". Hiramasa is a subspecies and looks almost exactly like Hamachi, but it get really big. If a Hiramasa was small it would pass as Hamachi.
Kampachi has a slightly crunchy flesh when cut as sashimi and Buri is softer and supple. Hamachi is like young buri but not as tender, sometimes difficult to tell the apart. The yellowtail is still common in Ca waters so I can get one.
Saba is whole case study in itself, and Katsuo is suer important. Both are plentiful in CA waters so I think I can get it too. My grandparents used to have a 35' Chriscraft fishing boat in San Diego harbor in the 1950 and 60's, they fished for Marlin, Albacore and Yellowtail. Along the way they caught plenty of Rock Basses and Ling Cods, Halibut, Bonita and Mackerel. When my grandfather used to tell me the family fishing stories he said there were some days that the Mackerel schools were so thick you could not get bait under them to get to the Yellowtail, they would grab it. Mackerel was a bad word to them and a nusance fish tat was a pesky by catch bait grabber. He told me Mackerel was unfit to eat and it was oily and stinky. So I grew up in a Sabaless environment because my mom remembered fishing on th ebaot and my grandfather cursing the unholy mackerel.
The Bonito was even lower in this opinion, it was stinky oily fish that took a long time to reel in, because it was a top fighter, but a waste of time as a food fish. And ain't nobody got time for Katsuo when you are trying for Marlin. So he always got this disgusted stressed look when he talked about too many Bonito in the water that day.
As I learned on my own later he was wrong about Saba and Katsuo. And since living in Japanese fishing town I gotten a Post Doctoral level education in Bonito and Mackerel. Saba is wonderful both salted and dried or soaked in rice vinegar, sugar, soy and kelp. And that is only two easy ways to prepare Saba. The vinegar soak is called Sime Saba AKA know to good Jewish mothers as Pickled Mackerel, and the salted dried Saba is grilled. The trick with making a good sime Saba is a pick a fish that has had it neck broken as soon as it was landed in the boat, they call it 'kube ori' neck broken. It kills the fish fast so it does not flop around and inject chemicals of stress into its own flesh. So a good Mackerel in the store and a broken neck, vivid coloration and a clear unclouded eye. I can give you the recipe in detail if you like.
Bonito is a fantastic sashimi fish, but it has to be same day or within 24 hours to really be good. There is a part of the belly you remove, and that is where my grandfather went wrong, he did not know if you cut out a certain flap of belly the stink diminishes. There are a few kinds of Bonito, one og them has pretty substantial teeth, called Hagatsuo, Ha is tooth in Japanese, toothed Katsuo. It is the best for sashimi.
The Katsuo is cleaned, the belly taken out, the fish split in half, the spine removed and the meat of the dorsal side of the fish is skinned and cut into long strip that is roughly pyramidal in cross section shape. That hunk of fish is them seared closed on all three sides and left to cool. The strip is seared closed and raw in side. The strip is them cut into medallions about 3/8" thick. To make Takaki with the medallions you our Ponzu into a shallow plate, cut a red onion into coarse slices, cut a few cloves of garlic into flat slivers and chop some Oba leaf into strips. Put the pieces of katsuo in the ponzu flat in the plate, layer the onion and garlic over it and throw the oba on over that. Then drizzle ponzu on top and tamp gently with your fingers to get the ponzu worked up into the onion.
Let that sit in the refrigerator half the day covered with plastic wrap. Then put it on the table. It is not for everyone, but a sashimi lover who has not had Tataki yet will be delighted. My grandfather was not a sashimi man, it was not a way of eating his generation was comfortable with, unless maybe they happened to be military stationed in Japan after WWII and learned it. Eating raw fish seemed to my grandfather, well UnAmerican. he was stationed in Culver City CA. during the war and he was in the Air Force Motion Picture Unit, he was a set designer and builder, he worked mainly on training films for pilots. How not to get chomped on by sharks of you crash land in the Western Pacific, how to survive if you crash land on a desert island and stuff like that.
When I was a lad of 14 I began surfing with the older guys on the water polo team and we made trips to San Clemente to surf at a beach located in Camp Pendelton Marine Base. A famous, no legendary, spot called 'Trestles' because it is a classic California rock reef right smack in front of a train bridge that fords a lagoon called Trestles lagoon. You have to park out side the base a walk on a path next to the train tracks, or park a mile down at San Onofre beach and walk up beach to get into the water by the bridge. That bridge has been there a long, long time, my grandfather was there 40 some years before me setting up a set to film a pilot training film. They used the lagoon at Trestles to simulate a lagoon on a Japanese occupied Pacific island. He and his team built a wooden replica of the fuselage a tail of Mitsubishi Zero and planted it nose first into the lagoon to look like a Zero crash site. And subconciously this gave the viewers of the film a sense of hope that a symbol like Zero was trashed out and defeated. The commanding officer of the Motion Picture Unit was none other than Ronald Reagan future president of the US to be. My grandfather really liked Reagan because he served under him in the 'Hollywood Air Force'. And since the time they sank the Zero tail into the mud at my surfing beach it has come out through the Freedom of Information Act that Reagan used to screen combat footage as it came in fresh from the front lines of battle. The Motion Picture Unit was the first place the raw footage was seen, and Reagan was in charge of the company that edited the footage for the president, Pentagon generals and for military news reels.
Ronald Reagan literally experienced WWII via film, fresh front line celluloid. He never saw action in person,but he delegated out the making of films about the war to directors under his command who yelled ACTION! on set. My grandfather who became a lover of the area of the California coast bought a boat after the war, fished for good Marlin and Tuna, and he never became the sashimi enthusiast that I became. I loved the tales of Halbut fishing and the pesty Saba, and always looked out at the Coronado Islands when surfed in Baja, what would it have been like to be out there fishing for Buri with my grandfather. A lot of fun I am sure. My other grandfather, my dads dad, he went to Europe and he was trout fisherman. I did go fishing with many, many times and when I was in college and old enough to hear it, he would take me fishing and speak about walking from one end of France to Germany, Italy and back. Well I suppose they rode in truck too. he explaied what happened to him in the Battle of the Bulge and at liberation the prisoners of a Nazi resettlement camp,the ones that were still walking anyway. His stories were difficult to hear, but well told. He said he once stole a chicken and cooked it in his helmet.
Never eat a trout raw, the sashimi is overrated in my humble opinion.
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