My mother-in-law is visiting this weekend, which has been fun -- she's very relaxing company, much like her son, so there's none of that stereotypical Monster-In-Law nonsense where she comes in and says, like, "Your hair is looking nice, considering," or, "Your house is much cleaner than I expected," or, "Kevin looks skinny -- does he not like your cooking?" Instead, I love her. She's so warm and nice. I scored in that respect.
And so, since we're taking her out to dinner for Mother's Day, I decided to cook last night. Kevin grilled on her first night here and all I had to do was steam some cauliflower, so this was my turn. For Christmas, Dad made up a little binder of some of his favorite recipes and kitchen tricks -- including three recipes for creamed spinach of varying degrees of difficulty, including "Creamed Spinach: Delicious," which reads solely, "Go to Fleming's [a steakhouse chain they love] and order some." Contained therein is a recipe he calls Smelly London Fog but which we usually refer to by its more literal title, "Cod In Pea Soup." That's what I made.
Now, I know how weird that sounds. The first time I heard about it, I envisioned whole peas and bits of fish floating around in a broth, and I gagged, because a) I don't even like peas, so the entire idea of pea soup -- especially once you slap a piece of fish into it -- sounds like fresh, green hell to me, and b) I generally hate fish, although cod and its ilk are usually fine because they don't taste like what they are. This is more like a fried piece of love in a creamy puree, the kind of meal you need more bread to enjoy because bending down and scraping your tongue against the plate isn't encouraged in polite society. Essentially, the soup is (or can be) so thick and creamy it could almost work as a dip with toasted baguette slices, and you plop a piece of breaded white fish into the middle. I almost wanted to photograph it, but I am no Grant or Carol; however, this was one of the few times where I got the plating just right, as opposed to my usual "Looks Like Crap But Tastes Good" approach to serving food, so I probably should have indulged the whim.
Here's what you do: Bring a pint of chicken stock to a boil and then -- according to my Dad's recipe -- "bung in a packet of frozen peas." When they're tender, take them off the heat and run them through a food processor. I do this in batches, by spooning out the peas bit by bit first, then slowly adding the liquid and letting the Cuisinart whir until it's relatively smooth. My Dad's recipe continues, "Because this will not work, you should then run it through a fine mesh strainer, pressing the mushy bits with the back of a ladel or whatever's handy, just to make sure all the good stuff is squeezed out." I had relative success with my Cuisinart, though. It was smooth enough; I like a bit of texture in this dish, but even so, this was fairly successfully pureed, so I skipped the strainer step and put it all straight back into the pot. Bring that to a boil, and add "as much heavy cream as you fancy" -- for me, maybe half a small carton? -- and an indeterminate amount of sherry (my Dad is apparently the Rachael Ray of our house). I can't even quantify how much I put in; I just poured a little in there, and since "a little salt and pepper wouldn't go amiss," I threw some of that in too and stirred it up, and then kept it simmering until everything else was ready.
I sprinkled some sesame seeds onto the baking sheet that goes with my toaster oven and prepared to toast them -- if you do this step, either do it way in advance or do it right at the end because they only take a minute or a minute and a half. Also, watch them, because they go from blonde to black in almost no time. We went through four tries before they were golden brown. Start small and keep toasting in tiny increments (you could do this in your oven, too, obviously) until you catch them right when they're caramel-colored. It's hard. Kevin had to devote almost all his energies just to completing this step. There was much cursing. If you do multiple
attempts, like we did, remember that the hot pan contributes to them
toasting even faster each successive time. It took us two batches to realize that.
Anyway: I dredged three 5-ounce pieces of halibut (cod or sea bass, or any flaky white fish, would work too and the recipe originally DOES call for cod, but they all are delicious with it) in egg wash, flour, egg wash again, and then breadcrumbs. I heated a bit of oil in a pan that I spritzed with Pam for good measure, then fried the fish for about seven minutes total, with the soup still simmering next to it. To plate, I spooned the soup into a shallow pasta bowl, placed the fish on top of it, sprinkled some toasted sesame seeds, and then added a drizzle of sesame oil because the recipe promised me it would "look like you really know what you're doing."
DELISH. If you're still sitting there feeling skeptical, trust me, I know where you're coming from, but you're wrong. I can't impress upon you how much I hate all the green vegetables that are the best for me (broccoli, peas, etc), and yet this dish is GOOD. It's also really hard to screw up, because you can just add more cream and a drizzle more sesame oil and nobody will notice anything else. But boiling the peas in chicken stock gives them a nice richness of flavor that is far less gross than I imagine when I envision eating a spoonful of them in their regular form. Now, if only someone would discover that cream is magically heart-healthy and not at all fattening, I would eat this all the time.
We also played some Scrabble, went to the Getty, and watched The Departed. I thought it was only okay -- without spoiling it for those who haven't seen it, some of the cat-and-mouse stuff was all right, but I thought the storyline with the girl was kind of dumb, was a bit bored by what I felt was lazy dialogue (it felt like, "When in doubt, use the c-word, or the f-word, or better, BOTH!"), and got distracted by the bits on which the story hangs that involve really unrealistic text-messaging during times of crisis. I mean, I'm pretty sure that Jack Nicholson would NOTICE that the dude in his backseat is shifty-eyed and punching words into his phone when he's not supposed to be. I also thought Jack Nicholson was sort of terrible. I know he was a good actor in his day -- I've seen Chinatown and One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, so I get that Jack Of Yore had skills -- but that doesn't mean I have to like him NOW. It doesn't give him a pass, so I have to admit it: I'm sick of his schtick, and "schtick" is really what it's starting to feel like. He's approaching Pacino levels of intolerable for me. Okay, not QUITE that bad -- I REALLY think Pacino is drastically overrated at this point in his career -- but seriously, I was never able to buy the menace in Nicholson's character because half the time his scenes were so overplayed. And the last shot of the movie was a tiny bit on-the-nose for me. I didn't hate it, definitely didn't love it, don't really need to see it again, and got bored when we hit the two-hour mark and it was still going.
Of course, I freely admit I am not the arbiter of taste when it comes to movies. More and more, I like to be idly amused or emotionally engaged in a weepy way, maybe even both at once, so this kind of film is almost never going to satisfy me completely, although I did WANT to like it. Oh well. So that we have full disclosure, I almost cried at P.S. I Love You when I saw it on a plane -- although I know it's not a good movie either, the soundtrack is great, and all I could do was sit there and think how totally screwed and depressed and inconsolable and inert I would be if anything tragic happens to Kevin. Hence, the tears. But the fact remains I was, at least on some level, more moved by that than I was by The Departed. You may revoke my membership to the human race now, if you like. I guess right now, for whatever reason, I don't dig Films With A Capital F as much as I do regular old movies. So while y'all are partaking in Things Of Quality, I will be watching Center Stage reruns on Oxygen while I slather myself in pea soup.
