The Endive Chronicles

When I started my food blog in December, Barbara over at WinosandFoodies invited me to take part in the food blogging event; Hay, Hay, Its Donna Day. I must admit that at the time I was completely ignorant of just whom Donna Hay was and even entertained the notion that fellow C&Zer, Donna and Barbara were just that good of friends. Of course after Barbara filled me in on the details I realised that Donna is a resource specialist and probably is not running an edible empire on the side. So, I decided I needed to research Donna Hay before I participated in an event in her name.

It would seem that I have been living under a rock. A pioneer in modern food styling simplicity, Donna Hay has influenced me for years and I had not a clue. Now, no longer ignorant of the wondrous woman that is Donna Hay I feel ready to submit my entry. Though something tells me my pizza would be a little too busy for her more minimalist taste.

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I would like to start off today by apologizing for the tardiness of this post. I have had a bit of a set back. As some of you may have gathered from the title, I had intended to thrill you with my recipe for Thai Style Ceviche. You may also have noticed that the featured photo is entirely devoid of actual fish, which leads us to today’s post. You see, I went to the fish market, purchased sole and brought it home. That is the moment when this weeks original post went terribly wrong.

First off, I should tell you that for the first two years I lived on this island I needed no fishmonger. Three doors down lived a family of fisherman who, oddly enough, could not stand to eat fish. Every few weeks or so we’d look out the window to see their mop topped children delivering bass, striper, flounder, tuna and clams to the neighborhood. The greatest part about their generous gift was that they were cleaned and filletted so impeccably that only the best fishmongers and chefs could compete. Sadly a year and a half ago they moved to Maryland, leaving me to drift aimlessly in a sea of substandard fish markets.

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I have to confess something to you all; on occasion I can be a food snob. I try not to be that way, but certain foods evoke pictures of peppy servers wearing thirty seven pieces of flare and pushing the latest in dippers, kickers and poppers. Now, I won’t deny that I harbor a secret love for the popper, especially the ones featuring jalapeño and some type of ooey, gooey cheese in the center, but vanity often has kept me from admitting that fact. I mean why the catchy name? I don’t need a kicky name to make my food more fun, and it doesn’t taste better because of it. So why can’t they be referred to by a name with a touch more dignity?

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