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Kick His Ass Sea Bass!

Issue Date: Tuesday, Feb. 21, 2006

My little feets are cold. This rainy, cold stuff is crazy, especially since it was 85 degrees last week. Texas is the ultimate schizophrenic when it comes to weather. “Hi, I’m Texas… I am a Rubenesque state and I have coastlines and mountains and desserts… I’m HOT… no wait… I’m Cold! I’m rainy… and droughty… woo. Have some ice suck-ah! Hmmm, I’m feeling a little warmish. Are you going to eat that Twinkie?”

That’s right. I made Texas a fat, PMS’ing flighty bitch who wants your Twinkie. Do not tempt me, I’ll do it again.

So, yeah… the massive amounts of comments and emails that I received following yesterday’s post have almost completely filled up the eleventy gigs that I had set aside for it in my Inbox. I’ll get to the questions and emails and comments as soon as I can dig my way out.

Also… the sarcasm? Can you smell it?

And… The reason for this post… to knock down the place holder yesterday’s entry turned out to be. And uh… yeah, about that baby. I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that. It was never my intention to make you cry. Please forgive me?

From now on, nothing but stories.

Actually, I have one for you about what happened last night.

Noooo, it isn’t a plaintive wail begging for people search through the archives and help me tie up lose ends.

I promise.

Let me walk you through the evening sweetness. I will be gentle, really.

Here is a little bit of back story, not much, just a little bit… so I can give a recipe. Over the weekend Mister and I had a blast. We ran some errands, went to the mall (for M*A*C studio fix for me and to pick up our alterations – more on the alterations later) and then decided to be foodies for a day.

We have several places to shop in the immediate area but we chose Central Market for their incredible selections of… well, everything really. We were planning on making raisin/walnut muffins for our breakfast and wanted to use all organic produce and products like soy flour and whole wheat stuff and all things that speak to my hippy side like the cool breeze across a meadow in bloom.

We also decided to get a nice piece of fish that wasn’t all… fishy to have for dinner. So we picked a nice chunk (mmmm doesn’t that sound appetizing? A CHUNK of fish!) of Chilean Sea Bass to bake. I was talking to one of those foodie guys that have on the professional apron and the professional Garth Brooks microphone to ask to him about preparing our chunk o’ fish. He was very condescending and rude, but then I tasted the salmon marinated in plum sauce that he was hawking and I quickly shut the fuck up because, Dude. Dude. That? Was awesome. And after I quit licking the little plastic spoon and realized that he was looking at me with a scowl, I asked him about the sea bass.

The guy was all, “The rule for fish is” (and yeah, he spoke in italics like that) “is for you to bake it at 400 degrees for 11 minutes for every inch of thickness.”

Good to know guy, good to know.

So I asked him about a marinade as my eyes darted to the salmon in plum sauce. He was all flippant, waving his little arms around as he spoke. (Did I mention that he was up-lighted? Up-lighted, like with a light below him? As if he was some sort of artifact from Tanzania on display at the MET.) He mentioned several things and then stopped like, “You mere mortal, you are not writing my words of wisdom down? You are not shedding your common blood as to use your cheap leather jacket and a leg of your ugly glasses to write my pearls of wisdom down?!?!” Heh.

I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote the following:
400 degrees
11 minutes per inch
Grape seed oil (as it is tasteless)
Sesame oil

We had them cut the fish in half and the fish guy (not the foodie) told me to leave the bones to give the fish a bit of structure while it was baking. He then went on to tell me that Chilean Sea Bass is the major ingredient of cat food in Chile. “They don’t eat it in Chile, but it has become very upper crust here.”

Dude… Cat food? Thanks, nice way to make a very expensive purchase look like shit on ice.

Mister and I ran screaming from the fish guy and ran smack into the cheese monger. We asked that he select two cheeses for Mister and me and our weird taste range. Me: mild cheeses… will eat stinky cheese, but Good Lord! Not that stinky! Mister: Sharp. Loves Asiago and the like, smoked Gouda a fav… must never be stinky. The cheese monger took those freakishly lowbrow suggestions and picked out the most incredible cheeses. Love him! I may have made out with him a little bit.

We picked up some lovely crackers and some thinly cut German salami, some almond roasted green beans with garlic and some corn … chowder? Stuff… anyway, the green beans and corn were for our sides to go along with the fish. The cheese, crackers and salami was for happy hour… during the baking of the fish and the muffins.

We headed home and started working on our fish. We oiled the tinfoil with grapeseed oil and massaged a little into the sea bass, set the sea bass on its end (skin down), then we marinated it with sesame oil, soy and lemon juice (just a bit) and then put fresh ground white pepper and sea salt on the top and sides. We popped that bad boy into the oven at 400 degrees and set the timer for 22 minutes. If we erred, we wanted to err on the side of not baking (thus drying) the hell out of it.

The aroma that wafted through our house was divine. The fish smelled wonderful, not fishy, just very peanut-y… Asian. And the walnut/raisin/carrot/apple (we got a little carried away with the ingredients) smelled like heaven.

Over all it was a great weekend for food and the like.

So last night Mister and I decided to have the other half of the sea bass. This time we switched out lemon juice for orange juice and poked fine holes in the flesh as to aid in the absorption of the soy, the sesame oil and the orange juice. We added a little more white pepper and sea salt than we did the first time, and boy howdy, that was divine!

The cat was all up under us during the whole cooking session, “I want some. I want some… hey, what about me? Don’t I get some? What about that little piece right there? No? Bitches.”

So if you ever are in the mood for Chilean Sea Bass… follow that recipe. You won’t be sorry.

We finished our meal and cleaned up and I popped in my latest Netflix, Lost in Translation, and Mister went to his office to go work on other stuff (::cough:resumes:cough::). We went to bed pretty late and I was all cranky. I thought a fresh pillow case would soothe me (Ok, ok, Alright! Enough with the Princess and the Pea jokes) so I went to the linen closet, opened the door, found what I needed, shut the door and went back to the bedroom to lie down.

Mister and I had not been in bed for more than five minutes when the cat started up with his, “Hey, hey… hey, where are ya’ll?” Mister was convinced it was because we were talking and laughing softly and we thought that Max could hear us but didn’t know we had gone to bed. So Mister did his low, “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.” To tell Max to shut the hell up already. Max was quiet… for about ten minutes. Then he started in again, “Hellooooo? Are you guys awake? Where are you? What’s going on? I am still pissed that ya’ll didn’t share your fish.”

So Mister got up… naked… grabbed his MagLite™ from the window sill and went to go find out why in the hell the cat would not shut up. He headed downstairs and I could hear him calling for Max, “Max? Hey. Maaaax?” He came back upstairs and shut the door to the bedroom so we wouldn’t hear the cat if he continued to call us. He never found Max downstairs so he couldn’t verify if the cat was just feeling a little talky or if he was trying to tell a cat on the outside to get the hell off of his lawn.

This morning 6:something am came early and I stumbled out of bed to go tinkle. As soon as I left the bathroom I could hear the cat, “Hello. Hi. Yeah, you. Hellooo?” I thought he needed some more food so I headed down the stairs to go to the kitchen to feed him. As I went into the dining room the meowing I had been hearing became fainter as opposed to louder the closer I went to his food dish.

Hmmm, interesting.

So I turned around and headed back up stairs. I called for Max, “KittykittykittykitttEEE?” And I heard him meow. I knew he was upstairs, I just didn’t know where. I looked in the den… no Max. I went to the guest bedroom… and called him again, “Heeere Kittykittykitteeeeeeee.” And I heard this meow that sounded like it was coming from within one of the walls. My first thought was, “Oh shit.” And my second though was, “Turn around and open the linen closet stupid.”

So I turned around and opened the linen closet and out popped this little meowing boy that was so thankful that someone had rescued him. “Rrrrrooooowwww?? Merrrrrrooooow? Meeee? RRRRR::purrrrrrrrr puurrrrrrrrr:: Mrrrrreowww?” He was all dusty because the shoe rack on the bottom of the linen closet has never been used to my knowledge and I realized that he had been trapped in the closet with the one thing he fears above all others… the vacuum cleaner.

I dusted off his butt and scratched his ears and asked him about his night. He mrroowed a bit more and purred a bunch more. He only got a bit hacked off and nipped at me when I started referring to him as R. Kelly.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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