Roasted Trout with Lemon & Rosemary

My first (and maybe my last?) fishing pole was a Mickey Mouse fishing pole.

With a conviction to teach his daughter where food came from, my dad took me fishing when I was young. I remember catching a fish just once, but remember at least several meals while camping that my dad had caught on a hook.

In Colorado our fishing access is limited to creeks and reservoirs (there are a few lakes, but they are tiny, some would call them ponds). It seems it is always trout, though I really know nothing about fishing, so I could be wrong. But what I know is that many a meal was served to me as a kid, where a whole trout was seasoned and roasted. I struggled to learned how to separate the meat from the bones in one fell swoop, usually picking them out one by one. 

I know that seeing the whole fish is off putting to some— I don’t blame you. But to me, it’s part of the experience. It says something about that dish; makes it feel “more,” like maybe your dad caught the fish himself.

Fresh, trout can have a quite mild flavor. It’s meat is flakey and delicate, and pairs well with a spritz of lemon, a side of potatoes, and fresh herbs. 

It feels like a hallmark of summer to me: a sign that the creeks are gushing and full of life, a part of camping season, and best enjoyed with other fresh summer finds, like rosemary. 

Roasted Trout with Lemon & Rosemary

Published June 26, 2018 by Caitlin Sherwood

Yields: 2-4   |    Active Time: 45 minutes

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Ingredients:

2 whole trout, dedressed 

1 lemon, sliced

1/4 teaspoon ground pepper

2 springs rosemary 

2 tablespoons avocado oil

3 cups diced red potatoes

2 cloves garlic, minced

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 400°F. Toss diced potatoes and minced garlic in olive oil. Spread out on a sheet pan, and sprinkle with half of the salt and pepper. Then, bake for 30 minutes, until potatoes are just starting to turn golden on the outside.
2. Meanwhile, season each fish with the remaining salt & pepper. Then, place half of the lemon slices and 1 sprig of rosemary in the cavity of each fish. If desired, tie the fish closed with twine.
3. After the potatoes have cooked for 30 minutes, push them to either side of the baking sheet to make room for the fish. Place each fish on the pan, and return pan to oven for 20 minutes, or until meat is opaque and easily flakes when pricked with a fork. Potatoes should also be tender all the way through when pricked with a fork. Serve hot.

Spring Sauté with New Potatoes, Peas, Leeks & Artichokes

Really, any excuse to eat artichokes is valid in my book, at any time of year. In the winter and early spring, this means making do with canned or marinated artichokes. I say "making do" because the alternative is fresh, but marinated artichokes aren’t necessary lesser than their fresh counterpart. Just different.

So while artichokes aren't ready to be harvested yet, the canned variety still feels perfect in this moment. Leeks, with a mellow onion flavor, get caramelized in the bottom of the pan until they're sweet. Young potatoes and peas add a light starchiness to this dish -- making it satisfying on soggy spring days (it has been raining here all week) or warm ones.

Hope you enjoy! 

Spring Sauté with New Potatoes, Peas, Leeks & Artichokes

Published May 24, 2018 by Caitlin Sherwood

Serves: 4   |    Total Time: 20 minutes

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Ingredients:

• 1 tablespoon butter or coconut oil
• 1 leek, roots and dark green pieces removed, and washed well
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 cup diced young potatoes
• 1 cup fresh or frozen english peas
• 1 cup canned artichoke hearts, halved or quartered, drained
• Salt & ground black pepper to taste

Directions:

1. Heat butter/oil in a medium sized skillet over medium heat.
2. Slice leek into thin rounds, and add to pan. Sauté until leeks are softened.
3. Add minced garlic, diced potatoes, and peas to the pan, and cover. Cook, stirring every 3-4 minutes, until potatoes are softened through.
4. Add artichoke hearts and cook for 2 minutes more, until artichokes are warmed through. Season to taste with salt & pepper and serve hot.

Creamy Chana Masala

Longtime readers of this blog are familiar with my stories from Northern India, a trip I made when I was sixteen (you can read about how the trip inspired my Indian Carrot Pudding recipe, or this Slow Cooker Kashmiri Braised Lamb). This year (2018) is exactly a decade after that trip, but moments from that adventure are stamped vividly forever in my memory: stepping in cow dung on the overwhelming and noisy streets of New Delhi; playing on the shores of the Chandrabhaga River, snapping pictures of the rocks and sand as if there was something special about sand in India versus Colorado; eating dinner on the rooftop of a hotel in Udaipur on New Years Eve, lights glimmering against the river below; knocking on a small door in an alleyway, with a little sign next to it that said “cooking school;” and many more.

There is something about our brains at sixteen years old: they are pliable, receptive, and ready to learn. They are forming and reforming and reinforcing with every visual we take in. I was the perfect age for that trip. Open, ready, receiving. And my mind did just that. It formed connections that would never be broken, a passion for an older world, where roads are made of laid stone and brightly colored buildings are crammed together. A craving for chapati and mounds of spices and Chana Masala.

When we passed through that small door in the alley, a short woman ushered us into her home. She got out paper and a pen, and asked what we would like to learn to cook. She made notes, and suggestions, and then told us when to come back for our lesson. 

Boldly I remember the simplicity of her kitchen. People talk about having a “minimalist kitchen” these days, but this was on a whole different level. The walls, the floor, the shelves, the cooking surface (the counter, if it could be called that), were all made of the same grey-ish stone material, solid and a bit bleak. A window behind us, with no glass pane, looked down on the street. There just enough room for the four of us: the teacher, my dad, myself, and our teacher's little daughter who must’ve been no more than three or four years old. She sat perched on the cooking surface in the corner, making flat bread.

Chana Masala is one of the dishes we learned to make that day. It's simple, if you know what to do.

This recipe is a bit different from the one we learned to make in India. For one, the grocery stores here in the United States have nothing on the markets of India when it comes to finding curry blends. But also, I've added coconut milk to the mix, which makes it nice and creamy. Coconut and curry go together so well, I highly recommend giving it a spin. 

Either way, Chana Masala (which means “Spiced Chickpeas” in Hindi) is a one-pot wonder, and packs a boat load of flavor in. If you can make a stir fry, you can make Chana Masala! It’s also completely plant-based, so if that’s your thing, turn on the burner now!

Creamy Chana Masala

Published May 3, 2018 by Caitlin Sherwood

Serves: 4   |    Total Time: 30 minutes

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Ingredients:

• 2 tablespoon coconut oil or ghee
• 2 onions, diced
• 7 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 inch ginger, minced
• 1 serrano chili, minced
• 1 14-ounce can crushed tomatoes
• 1/2 cup water
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon ground curry powder
• 1/4 teaspoon ground coriander
• 2 14-ounce cans chickpeas, drained
• 1 cup full-fat canned coconut milk
• 1 teaspoon lime juice
• Fresh cilantro for serving

Directions:

1. Heat oil over medium heat in a large skillet until it glistens. Add diced onion, garlic, and ginger to the pan, and sauté until onion is transparent. Add minced serrano chili, crushed tomatoes and water, and bring to a simmer.
2. Add cumin, salt, curry powder, coriander, and water to the pan, and stir. Then, add the chickpeas and coconut milk. Place lid on pan and simmer for 5 minutes, stirring once or twice, until chickpeas are warmed through and coconut milk is melted in.
3. Finish by stirring in the lime juice and topping with cilantro. Serve hot over rice, cauliflower rice, etc.