How to Make a Seven Fish Feast in Three Easy Lessons

Or How I Learned to Prepare La Vigilia…, My Way

 As lore goes, the Feast of the Seven Fishes – commonly referred to as La Vigilia – began centuries ago in southern Italy and today has grown into a custom celebrated by Italians throughout the world.  Now my parents were Sicilian and so if that isn’t southern Italian I don’t know what is, and eating fish, Catholic or not (of course we were), was standard operating procedure.  For me it didn’t matter, I liked fish, but apparently (one learns this as they grow up) others are not so accepting or, heaven forbid, they don’t cook it the same way and this can lead to trouble or at least the age old question; how do you like your baccala?

Many people have either a limited cooking ability or a narrow list of seafood favorites and you will find those with Seven Fish Feast that includes lobster…, and nothing else.  Of course lobster isn’t a fish, but that isn’t the real issue here anyway.  This issue is really; how many fish can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck fish.  In other words, the art of home maintenance, (read: kitchen acumen) is dying.  Very few these days can do more than take the package out of the freezer and throw it into the microwave.  Lucky for my wife, I am not one of those.  I like to cook, and since at one point in time I was a scientist too, I liked to experiment while I cooked. 

Like most scientific efforts, the experiments are used to write papers, whether they worked or not, and so when it came to a major holiday event, like La Vigilia, well sometimes pragmatic husband overrode mad scientist and so I opted to get help in preparing the wonderful meal that was to include seven.

First there was baccala.  Not much help really needed here; after all it is just salted cod, right?  And everyone knows what to do with salted cod.  I mean heck, there are millions of ways one can prepare salted cod, each as easy as the last style you tried once before, and wrote a paper on the results.   You can put it in a stew or soup, a salad or heck; you can even toss it in a casserole or two.  Most people will soak the dried fish in water for a few days to lose the sea salt, so again, this is easy, you just take out a big pan, fill it with water, through in the salted beast and start soaking.  I usually start this process on the Friday after Thanksgiving.  Then there are those ‘others’, the ones who like it salted, or dry as a bone, we won’t talk about them here. 

Of course there is a dish that I do not think I will ever again see done as well as my mother’s version and that is ‘Pasta con le Sarde’.  Forgive me a moment of fond reflection.  I’m back, and I have to say that was a wonderful dish full of fresh sardines and.., PASTA.  In fact I liked it so much I use it in chapter XXXI (Sardines, Anchovies or Cannolies) in my book By Any Means.  I will not even attempt this dish for it is too hard to cook memories.

Now, even without the sardines the list of fish resources to use in one feast is enormous and that is where help is needed, I mean what if you select, calamari, scungulli, clams, muscles, octopus, eel, shrimp, oh did I mention gefilte fish and lox (we are a mixed marriage after all), and you haven’t even gotten to the main course yet.  How can one prepare all of these treats in a manner that will bring out the best of each and, while multitasking, still have time to press the grapes and ferment the extract for brandy (I’ll get to that in another blog).  For me, this is where I sought help and in so doing I learned how to prepare Sushi, from an expert.

Now, he said he was an expert, and not being trained in the art, and living out in the wilds of New Jersey, how was I to know.  He did work in the Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Thia, Brazilian fast food diner near where I live.  He also renders dead animals for the county in his spare time.  “The trick,” he said, “is to know your Wasabi.” 

I wasn’t really sure which religious denomination Wasabi falls into, I have enough trouble keeping all the holidays my wife and I have melded together in any semblance of order, but not wishing to offend the cook I just nodded my head in the affirmative and the lesson continued.  He then showed me how to cut sirloin and quarter-loins from the stock.  Now, I don’t really know much about fish, but this one must have been flown in from the pacific because it had four legs and a tail, but once we got the flow going the stuff was cut up in a hurry and thrown in the pot.  A few hours later we had baccala stew, or so he told me and this brings us back to the start…, there are millions of ways people will cook baccala to get you to eat it.  Try some, you’ll like it.

With a smile I return to my favorite quote:

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, he is  attempting is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

University Costs 101

Too Much News, Too Little Time

Too much news, too little time.  What to do.  What to do. What to do.  Await the coffee is always accounted for in my daily schedule, can’t really do anything without that, but then with cup in hand, which page do I start on?

Of course the Wikileaky guy is in the news, always is these days, he and the Kardashians make the headlines all the time.  Which one was it on the red carpet again telling the world their wedding cake had dangerous stones on it, and which one is hiding in a bunker in Switzerland?  Hell, I had stones in my kidneys and only the doctors took my picture, and no, I do not have a Swiss army knife.  I digress….  

There is a new virus running around that some fear will be the end of all computer traffic known to man, or just delay the nuclear development in Iran, whichever comes first.  Oh heaven forbid, back to the dark ages we go? 

And then there is that interesting bit about college football.  No, it is not the selection of teams to play in holiday bowl games.  It is that preposterous idea making the rounds that someone in college sports is being paid to make money for the ‘not for profit’ group to which he/she is under contract (or is that enrolled?).

While I ponder all of these extremely important issues of the day the dog sits nearby with her leash in her mouth, staring at me in a manner similar to the wife whenever I have neglected my household chores.

So off we go on this rather brisk morning (read: cold enough to make me put on two pairs of pants) for a jaunt through the neighborhood and as we walk past the intersection separating our cloister from the rest of the world one thing comes to mind.  I forgot “my proper cup of coffee made in a proper copper coffee pot.”  Merde!

For the dog, the colder the better, after all she is a Labrador Retriever.  For me, all I can do is curse the wife for leaving me behind with the animal while she is off at work earning money to keep me fed.  What nerve!

After a half mile or so of vetching to myself I turn to the dog, once her nose is up out of the pile of deer excrement, and ask, “What do you want to talk about?”  The dog chews on that for a while as she finishes her mouthful and as I drag her along to greener pastures I get the idea that she, like most, wants to discuss the Kardashians. 

“Again,” I shout?  “PLEASE!  Of all the headlines that is the one I do not have a twitter on, (I forget if it is Cim or Kloe who doesn't like me) so how the heck can I be up to date?  I mean if Kourtney Kardashian is wearing an outfit bought at the mall I've got to know.  Like, can you believe a Kardash shops at a mall (or is that 'like a Moll')?  But if no one in the paparazzi is there to photograph her, well; did the bear shit or not?  Hard to tell when the question rings philosophical, eh?”

The dog raises her head and sniffs the air around us, letting me know that to air is divine, and to critique, well..., that is common now isn’t it.  Then she licks her lips letting me know that I should have had my cuppa joe.

So to appease her I got off of the Kardash subject and looked around hoping to find a neighbor, or two, outside on such a frigid day who would be happy enough to pet the dog while I stomped my feet, but alas, no one seemed to want to be out on such a morning and this brought me back to wondering how my daughter was doing at college and this of course led to the issues with paying those who play football in college (minor league anyone) and then on to the more important issue; how can an average Joe without his cuppa Joe pay for college itself.  (One sentence, can you believe it?).

If colleges want to work in a ‘non profit’ environment how is it that their rates go up every year even in a down economy where recession is rampant?  How is it that they have placed their product outside the realm of middle class citizens and yet demand payment?  How is it that those who purport themselves to be bastions of intellect and the advancement of the human condition allow for the collapse of the middle class at a rate that exceeds any other threat?  If they are a non profit why is it those who run each and every institution are making, on average, 15 to twenty times the salary of the parents they are driving to the poor house.  That is right, college presidents are making 1MM plus..., are you?  Don’t worry they say, there are loans.  Of course the entire country’s recession is based upon people borrowing money at a rate that exceeds their income potential, but the intelligent ones in the Ivory towers tell you to borrow, borrow, borrow!  We saved money to send our kids to school.  We saved a lot of money for our kids education, roughly twenty times what it took to send us to college way back when.  The totals we saved, saved per child, is more than a years' salary for us.  So it is not like we did not try, but all of this money pays for less than one half of a four year college tuition. 

Now, a large number of universities have rather large endowments.  Why cannot the money in those endowments be placed in the proper investment vehicles that will return a sum of money each year (not for profit) that can be used to cut the tuition rate to allow people to enter college?  Who wants to end their time in college with the stigma of 100,000 dollar plus in loans that will be due.  Of course those wonderful Universities also have that side industry known as college football right? How much money is made each year from the college football program?  Answer that, then tell us you are 'not for profit'.  Oh, by the way, Go Auburn, your guys are above that mess, right?

Isn’t it time for the U.S. to get off the money laundering habit of University tuition and redirect our institutions of higher learning to be more along the lines of those found in Canada and Europe.  Then the government can afford to step back in and help the middle class.

Sometimes its funny and sometimes it hits home too hard to be funny.

In this case, no matter what Jim Gaffigan says, there is no bunny.

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, his attempt is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion about very important human issues.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.

More from Getting Even…Almost

The WikiLeak guy is spraying his scent around again.  Now we all have to do some reading on how government officials don’t tell their fans exactly how business is conducted.  Really, no one knew this?  I threw down the gauntlet to the Widileaky guy already and he has ignored me.  Well what can I do?  It seems that the guy has never, ever worked for a living. 

What he is ‘divulging’ is basically how every business is run, closed door session or not.  So, am I surprised that Hilary is a shrew?  No, not really.  We all knew this.  But if anyone had a modicum of intelligence they read between the lines and know that when an unbalanced state procures nuclear technology everyone had better hide.  Ask the neighbors of N. Korea that. 

Anyway, he set out a load of stuff (read s. h. i….) and well, someone besides the newspaper gang has got to read it.  This will put me in a very select group of individuals…, those who actually read the Wikileaky stuff.  I think the number is up to about ten or so…, worldwide.

Yes I’m a junkie and now I just gotta go check in and read the Leaky Wikis. 

So again, I will just leave you with a page or two of the first book I wrote a few years back.  It is not yet published, but let me know what you think.

The title of the book (this can change) is ‘Getting Even… Almost’ and I’ve pasted in the first few pages Chapter 9.   Remember I pasted a few pages from the first chapter way back in early November.

Have fun.

Saverio

All I want for breakfast is a proper cup of coffee.

Inside the Rubicon on a kitchen countertop a drip-coffee pot, improperly assembled for the morning task, was gamely trying to fulfill its mission.  Francesco, dressed in his bunny slippers and robe, was in dire need of caffeine, but the machine was working too damn slow this morning for his liking.  He had crouched low so that his face was directly in front of the pot itself and watched as a steady but slow stream of light brown liquid dripped, one drop after another, into the waiting pot but the the pre-warmed mug in his hand was already starting to cool off and his back, well that had begun to ache.  He was not happy, and as the heated liquid continued to slowly find its way through the filter into the waiting pot, Francesco descended into morning purgatory, neither fully awake nor asleep.  For an unknown reason he began to hum a song that he hated, but couldn’t get out of his head.

“All I want is a proper cup of coffee, made in a proper copper coffee pot.

I may be off my dot, but I want a …”

“Enough of this shit” he muttered and straightened up.  As he did so, several out-of-alignment vertebrae in his lower back cracked and with nothing to do but wait, Francesco paced up and down the tiled floor.  He occasionally traced a loop around the island counter for variation while the aroma of the coffee that was not yet ready agitated the hell out of him. 

“We have to get a new one of these things.  This one’s too damn slow,” he said as he walked once again to the window and back while looking at his slippers. 

As he circumnavigated the kitchen to keep his mind off his immediate need, Francesco catalogued all of the additions, one by one.  The windows, tile floor, cabinets, countertops, fresh paint, baseboards, trim, refrigerator (not that theirs needed replacing, but he figured a bigger unit would be handy for the business.  After all, a bigger unit is always better, especially when it comes time to brag) and soon maybe the coffee maker.  In rhythm to the cataloging, he practiced deep breathing exercises trying to stay calm.  Unfortunately for Francesco, he was fighting a losing battle, for there was merely one week until the first guests arrived.  Consequently, his insides had really been turning over of late.  “Why the hell did I ever invite those people?  I hate them all, or at least the ones I know!”  His slippers refused to comment. 

The whole house had needed major repairs and they started with the kitchen.  He remembered what a chore it had been getting all the workmen lined up- the plumber, electrician, inspectors and carpenters.  Francesco had had the whole plan in his head and while difficult to explain to others, he thought he’d succeeded laying out the big picture for Rachel.  The strokes of the paintbrush had been layered onto the canvas and then, as a magnanimous gesture of collaboration and teamwork, he stepped aside to let her handle the details.  He was the thinker and she was operations.  It worked well for him that way.  Besides, he needed time to find the extra accoutrements needed to give the business its flair.  There the Internet had been his friend. 

He liked the way the kitchen turned out.  The deep windowsills, in the kitchen and throughout the house were particularly attractive to him.  Here in the kitchen, potted plants occupied the sills.  He moved some of these over and sat for a moment, feeling the sun on his shoulders.  The Mennonites added beautiful cabinetwork that enhanced the incoming light, drawing one’s attention upward, as in a great Cathedral.  They also added built-in shelves and extra cabinets along the wall and in the pantry, which gave the house sufficient storage space, he hoped, for serious entertaining.  The new appliances were set into designated spaces and blended with the counters, giving the room a sense of serenity.  Francesco liked to sit here in the early morning until the sun moved around to the southern face of the house and admire the work.  “If it wasn’t for the need to make a living, I’d be content to sit here and drink coffee all day,” he noted as he rose from the window sill and made his way to the hearth.  Then he added, “that is if I ever get coffee this morning.” 

The original fireplace, with its four-foot hearth, was the centerpiece of the room.  Francesco and Rachel attended many local auctions to find the right iron work for it.  Eventually they found what they were looking for on eBay.  Francesco opened the flue.  Soot fell out, covering his arm and contaminating his coffee mug.  “Damn.”

The property was a dump when they bought it.  “That was why it was so affordable,” Francesco reminded his slippers.  Now, looking back six months, he was pleased with how fast everything came together.  “Did you ever think we’d end up living in Pennsylvania, doing this?”

Francesco tried to remember the exact sequence of events that culminated in their current situation, but that was not easy.  He always assumed a defining event had changed the course of his life, but as he searched for a reason for this moment, each memory linked itself to an earlier event that took him farther and farther back to his earliest childhood.  But that didn’t make sense.  His current condition had to have originated in Canada.  That was when the shit hit the fan.  There was the insomnia, then the stomachaches and then nervousness that kept getting worse and worse until he made the mistake of his life.  He told his supervisor.  All he really wanted were tips on how to manage stress.  When he had asked his boss what the company could do to help him and was told to visit the Human Resources Director.  He did.

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, his attempt is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion about very important human issues.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.