Moon Fish

View from Nico’s restaurant at Pier 38

I love moon fish, or opah, as it is called in Hawaii. Moon fish is meaty and moist and comes out well any way you cook it. I like to bake it, either in fillets for smaller servings or in one large piece for a group, which was how I cooked it for a post-squid-research-cruise party when I lived in Kailua. For 18 years, my husband was part of a cooperative University of Hawaii / Hokkaido University research project that included January-February expeditions aboard a Japanese fisheries training vessel in Hawaiian waters. The year of the moon fish we’d recently moved upstairs into our newly built 600-foot tree-house apartment. We hadn’t yet rented out the downstairs of the house and still had use of its big gas oven, which I needed to cook the seven-pound piece of moon fish for the party. I planned to serve Thai beef salad, steamed rice, the usual guacamole and chips, roasted almonds, crudités, and olives as well, and hoped the moon fish would pull everything together for a casual buffet for 20 people.

First, I slathered the fish with olive oil. Then I dusted it with paprika, cumin, and salt and layered sliced limes across the top. I wrapped the whole thing in foil, put it a roasting pan, and baked it at 375 degrees for 45 minutes. (It probably would’ve taken less time if I hadn't opened the oven door every 15 minutes to check on it). The party was fun, despite standing-room-only space. Everyone enjoyed the moon fish. The captain said it was “sweet and delicious,” while the young ship’s officer, who spoke no English, showed his enthusiasm by joyfully opening a beer bottle with his teeth.

Moon fish is a wonderful main course for a party, but these days I make it more often for just my husband and myself. I buy fillets from Nico’s at Pier 38, a wonderful restaurant / fish market at the ship docks off Nimitz Highway. Here’s a partial look at what was for sale there the day of my last purchase (recipe follows):

For two people you need: one pound of moon fish (in two half-pound fillets or one whole piece), two tablespoons of olive, one-half to one teaspoon each salt, paprika, and cumin, one or two thinly sliced limes, and (optional) a few tablespoons of chopped cilantro.

Coat the fish in with the olive oil and put it in a shallow baking dish. Sprinkle it with salt, paprika, and cumin. Layer the lime slices across the top (squeeze some lime juice over it too if you feel like it) and scatter the optional cilantro over all. Let the fish rest at room temperature for 30 minutes to an hour, then bake it uncovered in a preheated 375-degree oven for 15 to 20 minutes. You can serve almost anything on the side--broccoli, asparagus, green salad, mashed potatoes, rice, whatever you want. Below are a couple photos showing the last moon fish I cooked. (Note: I only wrap the fish in foil if it's  a large piece, like the seven-pound portion for the party above. Also, salmon is wonderful cooked the same way.)

Here’s the moon fish fillet before baking:

And being served with rice salad and cherry tomatoes:

I hope you find this recipe sweet and delicious too! Please use a bottle opener for the beer!

Cheesy Carbonara

It’s been some months since I’ve posted a recipe here. The time now is early February, and it’s raining, as it often does in Honolulu during the winter and early-spring months. The Koolaus are deep green from trade showers that blow over the mountains onto Makiki Heights and (pictured above) into Manoa Valley. The weather feels humid and slightly cool, as it did last March, when mainland friends visited us. Our friends don’t mind rain, so the weather didn’t worry me, but what to feed them did. Over the years "S" has become a lacto-ovo vegetarian, while "M" remains a peanut-butter-grape-jelly / meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.  They're willing to make do, but I wanted to fix something delicious for dinner that we’d all enjoy. I made burgers--beef for three of us, and Portobello mushroom for S--and we ate in restaurants and at a conference dinner. Toward the end of their visit, while leafing through a pasta cookbook from the Italian company Barilla, I hit upon Cheesy Carbonara--al dente spaghetti mixed with a couple fresh eggs, three kinds of cheese (I used Havarti, Butterkase, and a mild cheddar), salt, and pepper. Alongside the carbonara, I served eggplant in tomato sauce and mushrooms sautéed in olive oil and let everyone help themselves.

I hope the Barilla folks will forgive the liberties I took with their beautiful photos and recipes. Cheesy carbonara is an easy, delicious, and wonderfully adaptable meal. Almost any kind of cheese, vegetable, or--for those so inclined--meat or seafood would be good.

The following serves 2-4 people, depending on appetites:

For the eggplant in tomato sauce, you need: one 14-ounce can Italian-style tomatoes, 2 small or 1 medium-large eggplant, 1/3 cup chopped onion, 1 minced garlic clove, 2 to 4 tablespoons olive oil. For the tomato sauce, cook onion and garlic in 1 to 2 tablespoons olive oil for a few minutes, and then add salt and pepper to taste along with the tomatoes. Cook 10 to 15 minutes, until tomatoes break down and form a sauce. Keep warm. Second, cut the eggplant into ½-inch pieces and, in a separate pan, sauté the pieces in 1 to 2 tablespoons olive until tender and lightly browned. Add the eggplant to the tomato sauce and continue to keep warm.

For the mushrooms, you need: 8 ounces fresh mushrooms of your choice (I use Portobello, crimini, button, or a combination), a few tablespoons of fresh chopped herbs (I use rosemary), and 1 to 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Slice the mushrooms ¼-inch wide, sauté in olive oil until tender, and keep warm.

For the carbonara, you need: 4 to 8 ounces dried spaghetti, ¾ to 1 cup grated or diced cheese or cheeses of your choice, and 2 to 3 fresh eggs. Cook the spaghetti until al dente and drain, reserving ½ cup of the cooking water. Return the spaghetti to the pan and immediately stir into it the fresh eggs, cheese, and enough of the cooking water to make a loose sauce. Return the pan to burner and cook another minute or so, stirring all the while to mix the spaghetti and sauce together. Serve in individual pasta bowls with the vegetables and / or meats of in separate platters on the side, or serve family style in a large bowl with the carbonara in the center and the vegetables ranged along the sides (as appears below).

Here are most of the ingredients:

The eggplant cooking, followed by the tomato sauce:

And to serve:

With a sprig of fresh basil or other green herb, that’s it!

Salad of Bitter Lettuces with Avocado and Parmesan

I used to have a community garden at a park near our apartment--a ten-foot-by-ten-foot plot, set in a row of like-sized plots, each bordered and separated from the others by a chain-link fence. It was hot there--the nearby apartment buildings blocked the trade winds--but the mosquitoes, bumblebees and carpenter bees, white butterflies, and hungry birds that frequented the garden didn’t seem to mind. My husband did most of the heavy work--adding soil to what was basically a raised-bed, mixing in EM solution and fish-oil fertilizer, and patching fence holes. I tended to daily chores--planting, watering, weeding, and harvesting. Not that there was an awful lot to harvest. We were able to grow basil, cilantro, Swiss chard, now and then a tomato, rosemary, dill, broccoli (leaves at any rate; somehow no flowering heads developed), and lilikoi. Lilikoi--or passion fruit--was our best crop. Its sturdy green vine covered the fence and fruited wonderfully. For some reason, the birds left the fruit alone. Every year for several years, we gathered about a hundred lilikois. We ate them with yogurt; made pies, salad dressings, and ice-cream toppings with them; and froze what we couldn’t use right away. Aside from the lilikoi, the garden produced enough herbs and edible leaves (young broccoli leaves are particularly good) for a number of dinner salads. One evening I found my husband--not known as a salad lover--leaning over the sink, salad bowl in his hand, picking out and eating the last leaves. “They’re so good,” he said, “and we worked so hard to grow them.”

We no longer have the garden, but we recently joined a community-supported-agriculture group. Our first box came yesterday! It had no lilikois in it, but there were various leafy greens to eat raw and cooked, a few Tahitian limes, and a Hayden mango. Those will make wonderful salads too.

The salad given here is one of our favorites. Any lettuce will do--even a mix of sweet and bitter. The recipe is more a guideline than anything. I sometimes put a fried egg on top; chicken or seafood (or breadcrumbs or toasted nuts) would also be good.

For two people, you need a small head of baby Romaine lettuce; a quarter or half head (depending on the size) of radicchio; two shallots, minced; one avocado, diced and squirted with lemon or lime; and two to three tablespoons of grated Parmesan. Wash the salad leaves, roll them in a clean dishcloth, and place them in the refrigerator while you make the dressing.

Put the minced shallots and diced avocado with lemon into a wide bowl. Mix together two tablespoons of olive oil, one tablespoon of white balsamic vinegar, salt and paprika to taste, a dash of Worcestershire sauce, and a quarter teaspoon of Dijon mustard. Pour the mixture over the shallots and avocado. Add the chilled salad leaves, sprinkle on the grated Parmesan, toss well, and serve, with or without the optional egg.

Here are most of the ingredients for the salad:

The avocado and dressing in progress:

The salad ready to toss:

And with an egg on top: