"Fish tacos," Connie offered when I was talking about which recipes to feature for this column. "That's a good representative of this era of your cooking. There was the casserole era, then the age of the crock pot, then the farm share time, then now."
But, I thought, what is "now?" How is this moment different from the rest? How has my cooking developed and why?
Fish tacos aren't anything I ever had when I was young. Growing up, my brother and I begged to have the super-American Old El Paso taco of ground beef, shredded iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and orange cheese. We got them—sometimes—but I got the feeling that they were just way too "foreign" for my mother and, I now have to agree, not all that tasty. She would indulge us on occasion and we'd get to crunch into neon yellow shells, craning our necks outward hoping this action would somehow prevent the small bits of hamburger from bouncing onto the plate. The tacos would totally fall apart and I imagine we kept asking for them partly because so little of it actually made it into our mouths.
I wasn't introduced to the fish taco until about five years ago in California, I think. Then, I started seeing it on the menu at hipper pubs, at nicer Mexican restaurants. I remember being initially intrigued by the move from hamburger to tilapia, from iceberg to cabbage, from tomatoes to jalepenos, from orange cheese to queso fresco. It was so simple, yet completely revolutionizing. I moved away from my usual burrito and ordered them over and over again until one day I realized, "Hey, I can make these at home!"
And so I did. I thought about the fish tacos I liked best, about the fact that I preferred fish that was pan fried to deep fried, about the way that sour cream could be easily dressed up. I considered what might go into a slaw to replace the iceberg lettuce, about how one might engage with a flour, rather than corn shell. I thought about the dish not only in terms of overall taste and presentation, but in terms of its components, its individual ingredients. Then, I realized, I had moved from thinking about cooking as a way of feeding people to thinking about cooking as a form of art.
I began cooking because I felt I needed to significantly contribute to the care and maintenance of the household ( see "chicken divan" if you haven't read it already ) but I still cook today because, truth be told, I love it. Ten years after making casseroles—a version of one-pot cooking—I do not shy away from the multiple-component meal. Multiple-component cooking is cooking that requires desire and delight on the part of the chef. Multiple-ingredient cooking mandates time and attention to not only what goes into a dish, but who will eventually eat it.
You don't need a great deal of skill to make fish tacos, but they do require time and patience. Fish tacos compel you to pay attention when the fish is frying, that you understand how to keep it warm without drying it out, that you can adeptly assemble and get to the table before it gets cold. Fish tacos insist that you like what you're doing, that you enjoy cooking. If you don't, I promise your fish will be over or under cooked, your shells will be greasy, your slaw too sour or spicy. In short, they will suck.
Fish tacos represent my era of cooking consciousness, when I realized I actually liked what I was doing, when I decided I was pretty good at this. Certainly, I cook for others, but now I acknowledge that I cook for myself, too. I do not claim any particular genius in the kitchen, but I do acknowledge the joy in being there. I invite you to grab a margarita, make some fish tacos and join me.
Fish tacos:
For the fish:
2 lbs of tilapia filets
1 cup of semolina flour
1 tsp ground ancho pepper
½ tsp oregano
1 tsp powdered garlic
1 tsp salt
½ cup of canola oil
For the slaw topping:
Juice of one lime
1 tsp honey or agave nectar
1 TBS cider vinegar
½ cup shredded/finely cut cabbage
½ cup shredded/finely cut jicama
1 jalapeño—minced
¼ cup finely chopped cilantro
1 onion minced
For the sauce:
1 cup sour cream
2 TBS finely chopped cilantro
Juice of one lime
Your choice of taco shells—makes 10-12 tacos of average size
8 oz. crumbled queso fresco cheese
For the fish:
1 ) If the fish is frozen, completely thaw and then pat dry with paper towel.
2 ) Preheat your oven to about 200 degrees.
3 ) Heat the ½ cup of oil on the stove over medium heat to the point where a drop of water sizzles in the oil when flicked in it.
4 ) Dredge each piece of fish in a mixture of all of the dry ingredients listed above under "For the fish."
5 ) Place as many pieces of fish as will comfortable fit into your frying pan.
6 ) Fry on one side for about four minutes; flip and fry on the reverse for about three minutes.
7 ) Remove from pan and place onto paper towel lining an oven-safe dish.
8 ) Place into oven to keep warm as you finish frying all of the fish.
For the slaw topping:
1 ) Whisk together all liquid ingredients.
2 ) Pour over chopped, solid ingredients.
3 ) Mix thoroughly.
4 ) Ought to be prepared before you begin frying the fish, up to a day ahead
For the sauce:
1 ) Mix together sour cream, cilantro and the lime juice.
When you assemble the tacos, make a decision about whether you're going to allow your guests to build their own tacos, or whether you'll just build them for them. I usually use flour taco shells; sometimes I fry them in oil, and sometimes I just heat them in the oven. I will break the fish into two- to three-inch pieces and fill the taco from end to end with fish—a little less than halfway. I usually just ask folks what they'd like on their tacos and build for them, since I'm quick. If you're anxious, I suggest providing the tacos in a buffet line and allow guests to top the tacos themselves. In addition to the slaw, sauce and cheese, I would provide diced tomato and avocado as topping options.
