Tilapia has a lot to recommend it: it’s cheap, grows fast, can be sustainably farmed, and is low in mercury. Probably the only thing not to love about tilapia is its flavor. Not that it’s actively offensive, just that even in terms of white-fleshed fish tilapia is pretty bland.

That blandness can be remedied with ingredients with serious flavor: fish sauce, ginger, chiles, lime juice and herbs. All these are found in larb, the Laotian meat salad that also happens to be the perfect antidote to a long and dreary winter.

My recipe, from Cooking from the Heart: The Hmong Kitchen in America by Sami Scripter and Sheng Yang, lists a number of herbs you can choose from: mint, cilantro, Vietnamese coriander, culantro, rice paddy herb, Thai basil, Chinese boxthorn. Tragically our co-op doesn’t carry most of those, so I limited my larb to mint, cilantro, and Thai basil — in spite of the authors’ insistence that authentic larb must contain culantro — but it was still delicious.

The word larb for me is associated with raw meat, particularly raw beef. That’s not necessarily the case — larb can be made with cooked or raw meat — but if the idea of raw beef gives you pause, making the salad with raw fish might be a little easier. Just think of it as a south-Asian ceviche.

Tilapia Larb

Adapted from Cooking from the Heart: The Hmong Kitchen in America

• ¾# Tilapia filets
• Juice of two limes
• 2 T minced ginger
• 1 stalk lemon grass, tough parts removed, minced
• 1 hot chili pepper, minced
• 1/3 cup chopped mint
• 1/3 cup chopped cilantro
• 1/3 cup Thai basil
• ½ bunch green onions, chopped
• 1 T fish sauce
• 1 t salt
• 1/4 c toasted rice flour

Chop the tilapia into fine pieces. Toss with lime juice and leave to sit until fish turns opaque. Squeeze off excess lime juice and place tilapia in a large bowl.

Add the rest of the ingredients to the bowl and toss. Serve with lettuce leaves for scooping.

A note on toasted rice flour: I made this by toasting some rice in a skillet until it was tan and then grinding it in my spice grinder. Unfortunately, I didn’t grind it fine enough, and the rice left unsettling crunchy granules throughout the salad. If you’re going to include it, make sure you grind the rice fully to the consistency of flour. You could also leave it out — the salad wouldn’t be authentic, but I think it would taste fine.

As a relative newbie in the world of cocktails, I find them totally mysterious. How is it that pouring apparently random amounts of ingredients that are often quite challenging to drink on their own transform in the shaker into a magical elixir? When I am cooking, at least, I have some confidence in my ability to play with ratios and substitute ingredients to manipulate flavor; mixing a cocktail, on the other hand, is an exercise in total blind recipe faith for me. Measure, mix, pour, pray. Unhappy with my cocktail impotence, I added “understanding cocktail anatomy” to my long-term life and blog to-do list.

As it turns out Esquire magazine has beaten me to the punch. Their reductionist cocktail recipe allows anyone to mix up a reliably drinkable invention using a simple ratio: 3 parts liquor, 1 part liqueur, 1 part Aperol and 1 part citrus juice.

Any time someone claims to have discovered a foolproof recipe, it is my duty to attempt to break it, so for my first Esquire cocktail I broke out the most shameful contents of our liquor cabinet: 1½ oz Sauza Gold tequila, ½ oz Southern Comfort, ½ oz Aperol and ½ oz lime juice. Between the SoCo and the tequila, I wasn’t expecting much from this. But I was pleasantly surprised. While the cheap tequila’s familiar sting was present, it only lingered ethereally over the cocktail, rather than entirely defining it like the cheap tequila cocktails I invented in college. The drink was more or less as promised: smooth and not too sweet. Kind of boring, but not offensive.

Another iteration using 100 Proof Wild Turkey, Benedictine and lemon juice mixed with Aperol turned out the same way: not terribly interesting, but pretty good. Definitely drinkable.

This is not my favorite cocktail recipe. I’ve had way more fun and discovered far more interesting flavors and drinks in Ted Haigh’s Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails, which I’ve only scratched the surface of. But when it’s just too much to run out for that obscure new ingredient — or if it’s Sunday in this backwards state — it’s nice to know there’s a cocktail I can mix up with what I’ve got on hand, even if it’s SoCo.

March greeted us in the New York Times with a series of recipes for what to do with cube steak. I found the article inspiring. Cheap?! 3-recipes-in-one!? WOW! Tom, on the other hand, responded, “Do you know what cube steak is? Why yes, sort-of, I did. For I had read about it in the article! Tenderized portions of the cow that may not otherwise be so appetizing are made into cube steak, aptly named after the cube-shaped metal hammers that pound said beef into submission.

I found what was to be OUR cube steak the day after reading the article at our local Rainbow grocer or, as we like to call it (after the in-store brand), Roundy’s. And! It was on sale. When I proudly proclaimed that I’d purchased 2 pounds of beef for $6, Tom replied again unmoved, “Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that?” I settled on one of the three recipes, this one for Bistec de Palomilla. I’ll let you be the judge:

The lime was definitely the best part after a day spent marinating in the fridge. As for the cube steak itself? I’m not sure I’d revisit it. Unlike other readers, I don’t have fond childhood memories of the stuff, and at my command it ended up a bit tough when it reached the table. The rice? Excellent!

I’m not Catholic, nor did I grow up Catholic, but ever since I started working for the Catholic Church I’ve noticed oddchanges in my behavior. Like saying “God Bless you” to people in contexts not involving sneezing. Also as a result of work, I am well aware that yesterday was the first friday of Lent; that means no meat. So in observance of Catholic laws of abstinence, I decided to make some fish. Thai-curried cod, to be exact.

Anybody who knows me probably finds this odd for two reasons; the first addressed above in reference to my not being Catholic. But the second, more substantial cause for surprise and amazement is that for most of my life, in addition to avoiding eggs, I have refused to let the flesh of fish pass through my lips (with a few exceptions). As of a year or two ago I decided it was time to grow up and start eating our friends from the sea and stream. Not having eaten much fish, though, I still don’t have much of a taste for it, so it’s rare that I get the urge to make it. And when I do get the urge I am at a disadvantage from inexperience cooking fish. Poorly cooked fish does not breed desire to eat fish.

The most important factor in my enjoyment of fish is not overcooking it. Overcooked beef is a waste but not the end of the world, overcooked chicken gets dry but can still be eaten, but overcooked fish is disgusting. Once it starts to get on the medium side of medium rare the mealy texture is unbearable and all those bad fish flavors of my childhood nightmares start to come out. Too raw is not a problem, in fact, nigirizushi is probably my favorite way to eat fish. So when I am making fish I am vigilant with my paring knife, looking for the point when the flesh just begins to lose its translucent sheen. Notice the level of opacity of the bite on the left, and the overall texture, on the right.

The cod was very mild so this dish was mostly about the curry, which was very good, if a little rich since it was mostly coconut milk; I woke up the next morning feeling a little polluted. That might also have had to do with the (copious amounts of) Michigan wine this was beautifully paired with: Good Harbor Fishtown White.

Since this is a “recipe” post, here’s a recipe:

• 1/2# cod filet
• flour
• oil
• salt
• pepper
• 2 cloves of garlic, minced
• 2 t ginger, minced
• 2 t red curry paste
• 1/2 t brown sugar
• 1 c coconut milk
• 1 1/2 T lime juice
• 2 t fish sauce
• 3 T water
• 2 t minced cilantro

Heat some oil in a saucepan until it shimmers. Take off heat and add garlic, ginger, curry paste and sugar and stir till fragrant. Add coconut milk, lime juice, fish sauce and water then bring to a boil. Reduce to one cup. Off heat stir in cilantro and season with salt and pepper, then lid to keep warm.

Divide the cod filets into a couple of pieces of equal thickness. Salt and pepper the pieces, then coat with flour. Heat oil in a non-stick skillet until shimmering, then add the cod. Cook without touching it for 2-3 minutes, then flip. Cook for about 1-2 minutes more, making sure to check carefully after the first minute for the moment when the fish is perfectly cooked.

Cod on plate. Sauce on cod. Rice on side.