Steamed fish
Our Chief Texas Correspondent used to upbraid me for reducing the number of my foodie Idleposts. The fact he has not been doing this lately is an indication that he was exaggerating their number in the past, or, perhaps, that he doesn’t read me anymore. (He was always difficult.) So I call out to him, as I used to telephone my mother, whenever I had eaten a substantial salad. For it is a sign of great virtue.
Strange to say, I actually enjoy what the Catholic Church prescribes for Fridays, and do not suffer as a good Protestant might. Fish, for instance; indeed, all kinds of seafarers that are not usually described as fish, such as octopus, squid, and the variety of marine mollusca. It is at this front that I am in agreement with our “auld allies,” the Portuguese.
My mama was from Cape Breton, and was raised on white fishes, especially haddock, cod, and halibut. Not only white people eat these fishes, however, but also non-white — the Chinese, for example, and other coloured people. Verily, fishmongers themselves come in all sorts and hues.
One of my most useful purchases was an Asiatic bamboo steamer, of the kind that is balanced atop a pan of boiling water. Indeed, since becoming the equivalent of a bachelor again, it has starred in culinary conquests. With the help of a dishcloth, one may steam basmati rice, even sticky rice, or short-grain arborio, should that be your propensity. Things like veggies can be gratuitously tossed in, and in a few minutes, lunch is ready.
“My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” This saying of Christ’s is brought home to me every Friday. Even the cleaning up afterwards is undemanding.