LIFE SPRINGS FORTH

WITH TALK OF FISH, DANDELIONS, RHUBARB, AND MORE

A milestone arrived with a bump last week: May 14 marked six months since Tashi died. It seems like no time at all has passed since November 14, and also an eternity. The May new moon came two days later. It’s traditionally and symbolically the start of the growing season.

These two sides of our lived experience coexist: the death of those we mourn and the expectation of new life and growth. How do we manage to hold conflicting thoughts at the same time? How do we live in incompatible realities simultaneously? It’s contradictory and extraordinary. And sometimes it takes a huge effort of will.

At one moment I can feel a familiar spring thrill as I pick my first rhubarb of the year from the small clump in my back garden, and then in the next minute suddenly feel walloped and aching as I flash on images of Tashi as a child in the same garden.

the greening back garden, two days ago

Life cycles, moon cycles, seasonal changes in the garden: all these help me remember that new growth keeps coming even as petals fall from the apple tree and the compost pile rots. I can regret the fading tulips and apple blossom as I rejoice at the buds on the columbine. I’m impatient for the lilies of the valley to bloom and scent the air, (they’re now two weeks late) and for my wisteria to be draped in trailing blooms.

view north toward the city, from partway along the spit

A bike ride yesterday, on the sunny warm holiday Monday (Victoria Day in Canada), was a reviving tonic. We pedalled down to the lake and out the long spit of Tommy Thompson Park, with its lively assorted bird life and views of the city back across the water. We stood at the point looking out at the lake and noticed small brown-headed black birds poked around in the grass and dirt; we learned later they were cowbirds. As we cycled back, a cormorant, black and prehistoric-looking, flew over us with a long piece of grass straw trailing from its beak. Red-wing blackbirds perched decoratively on tall rushes. There was movement everywhere, and bird voices, screeching, trilling, honking. On the grass slope beside a large pond alive with the chant of spring frogs were sleeping swans, their rounded glowing-white shapes like alabaster sheep.

crabapple tree still blooming; its petals by the lilies of the valley (not yet in bloom!)

KITCHEN EXPLORATIONS: with talk of haddock, halibut, dandelions, onions…

I’ve been cooking fish more frequently these days, once or twice a week, and loving it. My only rule is to make sure it’s not over-cooked (err on the side of under-done is how I think of it). I have two fish stories to tell you. Both of them also involve dandelions, for ‘tis the season!

Last week I took two haddock fillets out of the freezer. What to do with them? I’d bought several new onions, round and white and crisp, at the farmer’s market, as well as a sheaf of cultivated dandelion leaves. Once the haddock was fully thawed, I sliced an onion, chopped some ginger, and washed and chopped the dandelion.

sliced fresh onion, with ginger

I started olive oil in the cast-iron skillet, and when it was hot, tossed in mustard seed. Once it started popping I lowered the heat and added nigella seed and the minced ginger. I lowered the heat a little more and added the onion. I stirred it as it softened quickly. In went the chopped dandelion, with a splash of fish sauce and a sprinkle of salt. Once the greens had wilted, I pushed them aside a little and laid the haddock fillets onto the pan. They cooked for about a minute on each side, with the lid on, and they were done. I served them in a bit of a jumble with the dandelion and onion, with a wedge of lemon alongside. The onion’s sweetness worked beautifully with the dandelion, a combination to remember.

haddock cooked with dandelion and fresh onion

The other fish story, from yesterday evening, is about cooking halibut, such a wonderful fish. I’ve cooked halibut in a cast-iron skillet in a couple of different ways, including simmering it in a light diluted-miso liquid. This week, inspired by Nancy Jenkins recent Substack post about Raie au beurre noir (Skate in Brown butter), I finished the halibut in a quick brown butter sauce.

I’d started by spreading some shio koji on top of each of the two pieces. Half an hour later I heated a drizzle of olive oil in a cast-iron skillet over medium heat and added a pinch each of mustard seeds, nigella, cumin, and turmeric powder. Once the mustard seed had popped I lowered the heat a little and tossed in a handful of chopped garlic chives from the garden. They wilted quickly, helped by a small splash of fish sauce and a sprinkle of salt. Then onto them went my two halibut fillets. I put on the lid and let them cook skin side down for a couple of minutes, then flipped them over, put the lid back on, and let them cook another two minutes. Flipped back, they had a final minute or so of cooking with the lid on. I lifted them out onto a wide plate, then added about 3 tablespoons of butter to the pan. As it melted slowly I stirred in a generous splash of apple cider vinegar. Following Nancy’s suggestion in her recipe, I scraped the bottom to make sure the sauce had picked up any bits left by the halibut. The sauce thickened and started to darken a little in colour as I stirred it occasionally, for about two minutes (Nancy warns against letting it get too dark). Then I poured it over the fillets.

the halibut, sauced and ready to serve

I love the finish and the flavour this simple sauce gave the fish. Alongside it we had freshly cooked local asparagus along with small potatoes boiled in salted water, then peeled and lightly crushed/flattened. A neighbour had given me some dandelions pulled from his place in the country. After I’d chopped chopped off the earth-caked roots and given the leaves a thorough washing in at least four changes of water, (the dirt clings unless you swish them around vigorously in a basin of water), they were ready to be chopped and then cooked in olive oil with a little garlic and cumin, plus salt and fish sauce. Once they’d wilted I added them to the potatoes. I topped them with chopped sorrel and mint from the garden plus a sprinkling of salt and a drizzle of olive oil.

halibut, dandelion-dressed potatoes, asparagus, eaten out in the garden in soft warm air; spring rejoicing

I should add that for the most wonderful fish explorations by others, if you have an opportunity, head to Mhel, a restaurant on Havelock near Bloor.

and on the subject of rhubarb, here’s my first handful of rhubarb from the garden, chopped, and then cooked, sweetened with a little maple syrup, and ready to be eaten (I ate it all).