Parliamo dei pesci

Good evening. Tonight, I'd like to speak to you about fish. But first, I'd like to take as my text, a restaurant review in New York magazine, titled, "Get Serious: David Burke's Fishtail ..." oh, never mind. It's not really worth your time, since it's about another silly NY restaurant, opened by another silly NY chef, serving more silly rubbish like Monkfish paella, calamari mac and cheese, and so on. My point is simply that the things the author liked were halibut, und zu wieder -- the simple fish.

For Christ's sake, who eats halibut anymore? Dover sole? Monkfish?

Dear friends, I have come back to you from the land of fish, and I bring you the truth: Moi and Sea Trout. Ono sandwiches, for all love! Ahi curry soup! Tanned young pan-Asians who whisper softly, "Our fresh catch of the day is Ono ..."

A fair land, where one drifts gently into Sensui retail seafood outlet and comes away with 3.5 pounds of Ono filet to feed a multitude (all right, nine) of hungry howlie, cut in half, spread with a pesto of fresh ginger, basil, garlic, and shallots, wrapped in foil, and baked for 45 minutes or so.

A place where enough twitching-fresh shrimp can be had in Chinatown to feed the same crew of round-eyes for six dollars and 50 cents, even as the other guests at the hotel dine on bratwurst and beans.

An island (several of 'em, in fact) where fish farms have out-front restaurants to feed you Mahi Mahi and Moi (yes, I said Moi, the legendary fish of great unavailability) and where the most unprepossessing, main-street, touristy places serve an entire snapper, steamed with a ginger/onion sauce for two, to be oh-so-respectfully torn apart with chopsticks, while lesser breeds without the law look on in wonder (or mild disinterest, depending on your perception.)

I wouldn't want to live there, but I loved the food.