I have never really felt comfortable about fish. I don’t really understand shellfish either. Eating them has not been a problem. What could be better than the skin on an impeccably seared trout fillet or the cold, minerally, briny perfection of a raw oyster on the shell? How about the moreishness of brandade or baccala? Lobster. Tuna. Mackerel. Pickerel. Tilapia. Eels. Shrimp. Jellyfish! I could go on and on. Deeelicious. When it comes to being a savvy fish shopper and cook, though, I feel pretty much like a newly-caught fish who has been tossed carelessly onto on a sunny boat deck: lukewarm, a little suffocated, and flailing helplessly.

My parents are both of Cantonese heritage, which makes my seafood inadequacy more than a little embarrassing. Of course, I can blame them for rearing me in Alberta. A common misconception among my friends is that I should have learned more about fish while I was living in Newfoundland. Salt fish - yes. Other fish - no. Years of anatomy and physiology have also prepared me well to take apart mammalian forms in the kitchen; not fish.

The ways in which fish and shellfish make it to our home tables also seem more opaque than the pathways for meat. In Toronto, it is fairly easy to learn about eating meat sustainably. There’s a decent-sized flap about poultry-rearing practices. Fish is a different story. Only recently, it seems, is the popular consciousness starting to catch up on fish, beyond obsessing about mercury intake.

So I decided that I would put myself on a fish schooling program (sorry, couldn’t resist). I am going to do three things to help myself stop floundering around (sorry, what’s wrong with me this morning) when it comes to fish.

Fish Shop. I usually go to Domenic’s in the St. Lawrence Market for fish. While the provenance of the seafood there isn’t always clear, the product is fresh, and the staff are eager to help. Ask for Aris, if you can. If your Cantonese is good, even better. Aris has managed to dredge up fish-related Cantonese vocabulary skills that I didn’t realize I had. He is from Hong Kong and a former cook, having worked his way through a bakery, various restaurants, and the Excelsior Hotel. He is a fountain of information, from how to pick a lobster, to how to steam a clam, to the recipe for a killer caesar salad dressing from scratch - with anchovies, of course.

Fish Lessons. On Tuesday, I will be taking a boning and filleting class at the LCBO. Knives are included in the price of the class! I’ll report back afterward.

Fish Book. There are several excellent fish books out there (and a few on my shelf), but I am going to start with a study of the The River Cottage Fish Book (Bloomsbury, 2007). I received it for my birthday this year. It is organized along the same lines as Fearnley-Whittingstall’s earlier and very useful River Cottage Meat Book (Hodder & Stoughton, 2004): it is earnest, thorough, encouraging, and mildly authoritarian in its approach to fish education. The book starts off with an introduction on fish as food (aquaculture, how to source fish sustainably), followed by a quick primer on skills for fish preparation, then recipes organized according to cooking method (soups, baking, frying, etc.). I enjoy this approach to ordering the recipes a great deal: it encourages the reader to pursue an in-depth exploration of the science and cooking techniques behind each recipe rather than cherry-picking through. The Fish Book also includes a fantastic field guide to British fish at the end of the book.

(Thanks to Bill for the photo of the Panama pargo!)