Southwest Tuna Salad

In 1991, when I was 10 years old, I had a profound and clarifying moment in the Krogers on Kenwood Road in Cincinnati, while accompanying my mom on a trip to the store. I got separated from her and spent several minutes gazing into the live lobster tank, saddened by their inevitable demise, wishing I would some day win the lottery and be able to buy all the lobsters and bring them home with me to live in my bathtub.

That day I became a vegetarian. I spent the next several years of middle school heckling the kids eating their baloney sandwiches, muttering" poor little piggy" under my breath, just loud enough for them to hear, and people like my grandpa would pick fights with me and tell me that plants scream when you cook them.

My dad was just getting his store going and marketing his hummus and stuffed grape leaves to the local vegetarian potluck group. I became something of a celebrity in the local vegetarian scene, the cute kid at the Earthsave potlucks and Audubon society lectures. My dad even quoted me a local fundraising cookbook saying "daddy, I don't want to eat anything with a face".

My philosophy on vegetarianism has evolved over time. What started out as a very simple equation [animals = cute, meat = animals, food ≠ animals] grew into a genuine and politicized concern about animal rights and welfare [I think I joined PETA in the 8th grade], into a growing concern for the environment and social justice, one in which I found a community of support in college. Throughout the years, as I've done more organizing work, I've come to believe that my dietary decisions mean very little in the grand scheme of things.

It is only in the last 8 months that I started occasionally eating fish. It wasn't any ceremonial decision; it happened slowly. someone offered me a tuna fish sandwich at an airport and I was like, it sure beats $8 panini, why the hell not. Despite the fact that it is mostly illogical, seeing as how fish have faces and all, pescetarianism was starting to feel like a good fit to me.

I rarely cook with fish, but cans of tuna have saved my lunch on several occasions. I'm still pretty squeamish when it comes to eating anything too fleshy. In fact, the last time I made fish, Ann had to cut it for me, while I stood cringing behind her crying "ew barf eww eww gross". But the cans of tuna require little in the way of "dealing", are cheap, healthy and non-perishable, and can be used creatively in so many different things.

This tuna salad is mayo free, and as such will stand up to the 100 degree temperatures so typical of....June [?!?]. Lime+Cilantro+Chili+Corn+Tomato. I don't know what else to call it except "southwest" which makes it sound like some dumb thing at T.G.I. Fridays, but whatever. It tasted good!

Southwest Tuna Salad

3 cans chunch light tuna, drained and pressed with a paper towel
1 can corn
1 tomato, chopped
1 bunch chopped scallions
1 bunch finely chopped cilantro
2 cloves garlic, smashed
hot pepper of your choice [I used Birdseye chilies]
juice of 1 lime
touch of olive oil
lotsa sea salt

There isn't much too this...just mix all the ingredients and enjoy on a wrap, bun or with crackers.


p.s. hope you like my new look!

Salmon with veggie couscous and harrissa sauce

Tuesday afternoon lunches are starting to become a fixture as I adjust to my new part-time work schedule. I think they might be my new favorite meal.

Ann and I have about an hour of overlap at home, and I usually manage to carve out about 45 minutes for a decent lunch in between running to meetings and franticly checking off things from my to-do list. Its a perfect chance for Ann and I to catch up about our weekend gossip, and presents a fun challenge to be efficient and concise in both our cooking and story-telling. Its a good thing, because Ann has the tendency to week-long stories with multiple tangents, and I have the tendency to overcook things.



This week's lunch was nothing short of glam. It took 20 minutes to cook and 3 minutes to eat. And ironically enough, despite its elegant facade, came together out of sheer economic necessity. Poor Ann is so broke she can't pay attention, and had eaten nothing more than pasta and rice with butter for a week straight. She was in serious need of protein, and when she asked if she could cook up the two salmon steaks I had scored for free from my part time catering gig, I didn't have the heart to ask her to save them for a special occasion. Tuesday afternoon would just have to be a good enough reason.





The sauce is one that I've been wanting to try. It's vaguely Egyptian, the base of which my aunt taught me as a fantastic topping to mjeddera. I two-upped her version with sundried tomatoes and harissa, a Moraccan spice paste.



Ann, ever the culinary school student, plated it like this for the picture. 2.2 seconds after a satisfactory shot had been taken, I was back at the sauce pan, dousing my fish with a few more tablespoons. The vinegar-y tang brought the whole thing together marvelously, I dare say that it was exciting to eat because of it.

For the couscous, we first sauteed two green peppers and half an onion until they were soft-ish, then toasted the grain for a hot minute with the veggies. We covered it with enough water that the that it rose to one and a half knuckles above the layer of couscous [Lebanese weights and measures] and steamed until it ran out of water, or the pot started to burn, whichever came first.

Cooking the salmon was as easy as a little salt, pepper, garlic and olive oil. Ann said it was overcooked, but I didn't notice. Its such a recent thing, this eating fish business, so I have no point of reference to judge what is good or bad.

The sauce was an afterthought, built off of my desire to include sun-dried tomatoes in some fashion. I chopped a few dried tomatoes and heated them with some vinegar, mashed garlic, harissa from a tube, and tomato paste. In my mind, it was the star of the show.