Eastside Road, May 30, 2013—WE DON'T EAT enough fish, and that's all there is to it. In some self-justification I point out that we had for years a nearby fishmonger as reliable as they come. Then, fifteen years ago or so, we moved from Berkeley up here to the country, and rather than trouble to find an equally reliable local source — apart from Dave, of course, the fisherman whose salmon we buy almost every Saturday — I prefer to sit around lamenting the distance of Paul Johnson's remarkable shop.
Of course there's always canned fish. Fish is one of the few things I think cans remarkably well, like tomato sauce and, Proserpine save me, spinach. The other day we chanced upon a nice little health-food market, I guess you'd call it, on Ashby Avenue in Berkeley, and I stood admiring its rows of canned tuna, anchovies, and sardines. Just in time I remembered we're already pretty well stocked, and forbore the purchase.
That must have been in Cook's mind too, for tonight she said Let's just have tuna sandwiches and a salad, all right?, and I said Yes of course; one doesn't gainsay Cook. And that's what we did: canned Ortiz thon blanc, mixed with a little mayo and chopped onion, between slices of Acme whole-wheat levain, "grilled" between two hot black iron pans. Guacamole first, to be sure; green salad afterward.
"We'll never do that again!" : Preston of Dry Creek's delicious Grenache blanc, 2010, and I hope they do do it again!