Sablefish

It was Saturday; bright and breezy with a new flush of cherry blossoms so pink they made me want to giggle. This spring air imbued my palate with a desire for lighter fare and an adventurous spirit. This season, I announced to no one in particular (including the dogs and my morning coffee), I am going to tackle my fear of fish. Perhaps I’d caught a whiff of sea air on the wind this morning—who knows—but I was feeling confident.

To clarify I am not actually afraid of fish as living creatures (unless they’re the type equipped with fangs and a thirst for human blood) but I do shy away from confrontation in the kitchen. My cautious attempts to date have yielded less than satisfactory results: generally dry, bland, or swamped in a too-heavy sauce. And I haven’t taken the time to learn my way around this aquatic world: the myriad species bewilder and the appropriate seasons confound.

So with this fresh resolution in mind I went to the supermarket. The fish case was a rather deflating sight, but among the sad specimens of previously frozen salmon and graying sole I beheld a pile of gleaming fillets, pale flesh and glistening, silver-black skin.

Back at home with my purchase, I rummaged through a heap of books to find a mention of black cod. I learnt a lot: black cod, also known as sablefish or Alaskan cod, bears no relation to its namesake. Instead it is a rich, oily fish native to the Pacific Northwest. Joy of joys, I was also informed that it is very forgiving in the hands of an amateur fish cook. Perfection.

Later that evening I prepared a light meal for my mum and I: sablefish glazed and broiled with balsamic, orange, and ginger (courtesy of the blog Beyond Salmon). This shared the plate with boiled purple potatoes simply dressed in olive oil, and a mixture of garlicky wilted nettles and spinach. Not having the inclination to open a bottle of wine, we contented ourselves with a large Jameson and ginger each a combination that was surprisingly well suited.

The sablefish flaked like a sort of marine croissant—just as luscious and deceptively ethereal on the tongue. It was a pleasing launch into the world fish cookery and good omen for future adventures.