The Endive Chronicles

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.

To be fair, not all of the places I have tried have been bad. Not far away there is a place with terrible service, but good fish which I could handle until they repeatedly tossed my debit card into fish juice. Out of all of the places I have tried, the one thing I am constantly amazed by is how much previously frozen product is pushed on someone trying hard to find only the freshest local fish. I live only minutes from the Atlantic Ocean, so it shouldn’t be this hard. Friday, I tried yet another in a very long line of fish markets, hopeful that this time would be different. Hopeful that things would be better. They were not. They were in fact worse.

Upon entering fish market ‘X’, I noticed no fishy smell, everything seemed clean and in order. The woman behind the counter was informed and engaging. We even chatted a while about quality, freshness and my ceviche recipe. I took her recommendation for the freshest fish, inspected it and requested over a pound. She only had part of my order up front and went into the back to retrieve more, which in hindsight I should have asked to inspect. I could not see over the counter to observe the boning and cleaning process, but she seemed on top of her game and I was not concerned. I left feeling good about the transaction and vowed to return in a few days time for a salmon to smoke.

When I arrived home, I immediately went to prepare the fish for the ceviche when I made a grim discovery. My fish was mutilated, covered in large bits of skin and sinew and only had part of the bones removed. I grumbled to myself as I tried to salvage my fish, trimming and boning when I discovered there within the depths of my sole what seemed to be a thick vein but, turned out to be a parasitic worm. Breaking my New Years resolution, a string of exclamations and expletives poured from my mouth and my inner germaphobe released. Suddenly childhood stories my mother told about tapeworms and parasites flashed into my head. Soon every old wives tale and parasitic fact I have ever heard was swimming around my head, not unlike that worm almost was.

After the fish had been disposed of and the frenzy of soap and boiling water had subsided (not to mention gagging), I began to think. Finding a fishmonger who really cares to give you the best quality product day in and day out is a beautiful thing. I urge you not to go to just any old fish market, but to find a great place with a purveyor you trust to have only your best culinary interests at heart. As for me, I will go back to the lesser of these evils, being sure to have sanitary wipes handy to clean my debit card.

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