You will LOVE this free drawing, my friends…read on!

Also in the Tampa Tribune

Buying fish at the supermarket is one of those things that make me nervous. First off, the only thing I can ever afford is farm-raised tilapia from who-knows-where and whatever the fishmonger has on sale. Secondly, cooking fish is finickier than chipmunk in heat – 60 seconds is all that separates a moist, tender fillet from a dry, tough, overcooked rain jacket. Do I risk $16.99/lb for a grouper or $24.99/lb for monkfish? If the fish isn’t sushi-grade, is it ok to cook medium-rare? What if the recipe I found in the cookbook sucks and I end up with an inedible dinner? What if I misjudge my timing?

The poor fishmonger watches as I stand in front of the glass case, wringing my hands, calculating the price/risk index for each fish on display. Most days, I’ll opt for nice hunk of salmon, as my pocketbook is comfortable with the ratio of $9.99 per pound x high-fat content that it almost impossible to overcook.

A couple of weeks ago, a company called Kona Blue, overnighted to me a few pounds of a fish called kampachi to try. It’s Hawaiian yellowtail, sustainably raised off the coast of Hawaii at their farms. Like salmon, it’s chock full of Omega 3 oils, so it’s succulent, firm and rich. The best part is that it’s raised in a clean, controlled setting and it’s sushi-grade.

The kampachi fillets were one of the most beautiful, moist fish I’ve ever cooked at home. The true test was that I even accidentally overcooked the fish, because the moment the timer went off, something called, “sibling rivalry” screamed from the other room and demanded my immediate attention.

The price/risk ratio? Well, it’s expensive if you mail order from Kona Blue. $17.00/lb for fillets plus $35 for FedEx. Ouch. But some of the best restaurants in town and a handful of markets carry the fish. Here is a partial list of retailers and restaurants.

Tampa & Sarasota Readers: Tampa, FL restaurants are not listed there, but you can find Kona Kampachi at Roy’s, Bern’s, Sidebern’s, Mise en Place, Lakeland Yacht Club, Grand Hyatt Tampa and the Tampa Yacht Club. I just visited Whole Foods in Sarasota and they LOVE Kona Kampachi. Call or visit them and tell Ryan the fish manager that you want him to order! They have it sometimes, but the more people who ask, the more available the fish will be!

It’s certainly a fish that I’d beg or bribe my local fishmonger to carry.

Free Kampachi Drawing

But, my dear friends, I’ve got a surprise for you. Kona Blue has graciously given me some prizes to give away – packages of super-fresh Kona Blue Kampachi overnighted to 3 randomly chosen lucky winners. The fish is packed with tons of ice packs, and will arrive on your doorstep fresh as ever. I don’t know how much they are sending to you, but I have a feeling it will be more than your entire family can eat in one sitting.

Oh, and since it’s sushi-grade, you can eat it like sashimi with some soy and wasabi.

All you have to do is comment below! Accepting entries until Saturday morning after my morning coffee lunchtime…whenever that will be. Oh, and for my international friends, I don’t think Kona Blue can ship overnight internationally, but enter anyways, and if you win, I’ll personally ship you something nice….a box full of Steamy Kitchen goodies. Maybe some wonderful American spices, sauces, gadgets, books? Dunno yet, but I’ll send something extra special.

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Caption me! What the hell am I saying???

(no, your screen isn’t dirty - I had to snag that off my TV by taking a pic of the video. The smudges? I was watching Anthony Bourdain on TV and was either practicing kissing him like a lovestruck teen or trying the new scratch ‘n sniff feature on his show)

The station called me Monday morning as I was rounding the kidlets up to go to school. “We need a chef to come on air this morning! Can you do it?”

Good thing I had my Wonder Woman cape in my purse.

and good thing I had ingredients in my freezer and pantry for Firecracker Shrimp. Otherwise, I might have been forced to cook Spam ‘n leftover fish scramble with a stale Cheetos crust and frozen raspberry puree.

Video here - just click on the “Featured Video” link.

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from the Steamy Kitchen Tampa Tribune column

Part of being a good parent is teaching your kids how to eat well, you know, the whole balanced meal and limiting junk thing. Yes, I know my responsibilities well. But seriously, most kids these days register only 3 taste sensations: sweet, salty and gross. As a lover of all things delicious, the concept of “eating well” is just not enough. I want my kids to experience the goofy giddiness that follows a spoonful of the most decadent, smooth, rich chocolate pudding. Twirl with delight as they pop a sugar-snap pea open and discover bright green jewels inside. Oh, but it doesn’t end there….

Ever since Andrew and Nathan passed the smushed food stage, I began teaching them the concept of the “best part” of a dish.

They say that in ancient China when kidnapping children was common, the kidnappers could tell whether a kid was royalty or not just by presenting a steamed whole fish. If the kid went straight for the “best part,” or the cheeks, then bingo! He was the real deal…

Ok, so not that I think my tots are royalty or anything, but if ever we are invited to Oprah’s house and my kids go straight for the fish eyeballs just to see how far they could catapult them, I’d be mortified.

Instead, I’ve taught them to savor the tender, fatty collar of a ribeye steak, the baby heart of a romaine, the crisp-chewy-but-not-burnt edge of a brownie, the crunchy, browned rice at the bottom of the pot, and the pillowy mound of bread right at the center of the loaf.

However, this has all backfired on me. Previously, all 20 glorious square inches of golden, crispy skin of a perfectly roasted chicken was mine, all mine. Now, I have to split it with them. Let’s do the math. 20 square inches divided by 3, minus begging for more of Mommy’s share, equals SO NOT FAIR.

I’m sure you see my dilemma now. Teaching the kids about the love of food means I get less of the good stuff. But pretending to the kids that oh-my-goodness–that-overcooked-liver -is-delicious while I sneak the juicy nugget of chicken meat right above the thigh, is not quite the right thing to do.

I have no answer, my friends, but just to roast the biggest, baddest chicken with maximum surface area and smother it with a sweet, sticky sweet plum sauce so that the entire bird becomes the “best part.”

Roasted Chicken with Sweet Plum Sauce

Sweet plum sauce is found in the Asian section of your supermarket. It’s the same sweet, slightly tart, jam-like sauce that some Chinese restaurants give you to dip your fried egg rolls in. The sauce is wonderful paired with pork chops, seared duck breast or a simple grilled fish. You can roast any size bird, just increase your roasting time for larger birds.

Serves 4

4-lb whole chicken
1/4 cup sweet plum sauce
1 head of garlic, halved
1 lemon, quartered
salt & pepper
3 tbl butter, softened
kitchen twine
1/4 cup sweet plum sauce to serve at table

Rinse chicken and cut away extra fat. Pat dry with paper towels inside and out. Place in shallow baking dish and rub softened butter all over chicken, tucking just a bit under the skin of breast. Season generously with salt and pepper outside and inside cavity. Stuff with garlic and lemon. Tie legs of the chicken together, slather sweet plum sauce all over chicken. Set breast side down. Let sit 30 minutes at room temperature. Preheat oven to 450F. Roast chicken 20 minutes. Turn breast side up, lower temperature to 375F and return to oven. Continue to roast another 60-70 minutes, brushing with additional sweet plum sauce towards the end. You may have to loosely tent with tin foil if skin is approaching maximum crispiness (i.e. don’t burn the skin.) Chicken is done when juices run clear as knife tip is inserted into chicken thigh. Thickest part of thigh without touching bone should register 170F. Let chicken rest 10 minutes before carving. Serve with a side of sweet plum sauce for dipping.

You haven’t experienced wild until you’ve lived in the heart of Hollywood. My little duplex was squished in between movie-star wannabes, the homeless pushing shopping carts piled 8-ft high with trash treasures and gold-chained pimps proclaiming to the world, “GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! Right over here!”

The location was by choice and I had a very good reason for living 2 blocks from the golden sidewalk stars. It was called, “just so I can say that I did.” I know. I was young. But seriously, where else can I shimmy into CFM boots, don an electric pink wig and just blend in without getting mistaken for $25? When the sun sets and street-level neon gas flows, Hollywood is pure freedom of expression.

After a night of clubbing 2 blocks south, my friends and I would walk 3 blocks east to a small, rinky-dink Vietnamese noodle shop to fill up on pho. Asian girly posters littered the walls and the same bad karaoke DVD played over and over. Thank goodness the steaming, hot, intoxicating bowl of pho drowned out the awful Chinglish rendition of, “Baby Got Back.” That soup was un-pho-king believable.

I don’t know what secret family recipe they followed, but after all these years, I finally mastered that bowl of chicken pho in my home kitchen, boots not required.

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