There's no two ways about it, really: there's just something aesthetically pleasing -- hell, morally pleasing -- about cooking a whole damn fish. All credit for this beauty on the plate here belongs to my pals Chitra and Issac, also currently academically marooned in swinging London. The fish was freshly caught sea bass, bought from a monger at the Borough Market.
A minor challenge arose when it became clear that despite having been somewhat deceptively slit down the lengths of their bellies, the fish had not, in fact, been cleaned. Isaac managed to complete the task with inspiration drawn from the ancient folk wisdom of the internet, a dash of raw nerve, and, all things considered, remarkably little profanity. In place of the guts went something much tastier: cilantro, chili, and big chunks of lemongrass, with more cilantro, lime juice, and olive oil poured over the top. The recipe necessarily gets a little imprecise here, since all I can tell you is that it took about 20 minutes or so, in an oven running at 220 Celsius. (For some reason I am cognitively incapable of making any meaningful conversion in my head, as if my loyalty to Herr Doktor Farenheit is somehow hard wired into my neurons. Seriously, I tune the radio to "Magic FM" in the mornings -- despite the fact that their morning guy seems to be the last dude on the planet still giving air time to the Bengals -- because they're the only ones who give the forecast in both Celsius and Fahrenheit. That's how bad I just don't get the Celsius scale.) Once roasted, the fish was served up with a simple salad and lemon rice on the side, making for a meal as cool and elegant as the lines of the Scandinavian furniture in their Islington sublet.
That's the thing about the whole fish -- it's at fancy, but in a strictly-good-times kind of a way. Because when it comes down to it, you've got a goddamn fish just sitting there on your plate. It's now my working theory that this is a sure-fire way to make any meal into a party. Why are these people having so much fun? Are you going to tell me it has nothing at all to do with the the fact that each is about to snack on a sea creature that still more or less entire?
Going then on the theory that whole fish = good times, I'm now consumed with the idea of upping the ante and throwing a dinner party where, instead of everyone getting their own fish, there is simply one single big-ass fish in the middle of the table, from which we all partake. What could possibly be more conducive to good fellowship than that? And how big is my oven, again?
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