Happy Friday and welcome to a handful of new readers. As anyone else around here will tell you, this weekly dispatch will almost certainly become the highlight of your week1. We’re glad to have you on the ranch.
I had high hopes this week of regaling you with fish tales. While we did indeed get off early last Saturday morning on Aquila, taking in both a beautiful moon set and beautiful sunrise, unfortunately, the Extended Family CWD made better pickle ball players than fishermen and women. Yes, despite catching nearly every species of fish that makes the coast of Long Beach Island home2, we managed to get shut out of the one species we were specifically targeting: fluke3. In fact, we didn’t even have any fish in the cooler until our captain announced the three-minute warning. What a travesty!
Per usual, it was the women who saved the day. With that announcement, Mrs. and the Aunties CWD simultaneously started reeling, screaming, and just like that, we had four good sized bluefish on the boat and promptly in the cooler4.
Now it seems like nobody likes to eat bluefish5. So much so, that I had to assert a little authority to even get the fish back home6. But, given we were having fish tacos come hell or high water7, when we got home, I managed to drop half the fillets into a bath of buttermilk8 and some seasonings, let them soak until dinner, and then fried them up in a simple flour/corn starch breading9.
I’m of the mind that if you make the conscious decision to kill something, you should probably at least make an effort to make use of it in some way shape or form. And, I’m also of the mind, that when prepared correctly, just about anything can taste good. And when that something, prepared correctly, is also just about as fresh as it can get — well, then you’re cooking with dynamite10. Everyone at the table tried a little bluefish, and everyone at the table enjoyed it11. Uncle Steady even went so far as to take the remaining fillets home and made the same meal Sunday night. Classic!
This whole time I was thinking about how, as The Rolling Stones so appropriately pointed out, you can’t always get what you want. We wanted fish tacos with fresh flounder. I wanted to write a post this week about cooking something I caught myself. It wasn’t to be. But, as Mick and the Gang also remind us, if you put a little effort into it, you can still get what you need. Family CWD needed a reminder that it’s good to stay open-minded, and you, the readers, need a recipe for meatball subs12.
So that’s what we’re going to do. Forget fish tacos13, we’re making meatballs!
Let’s get cranking.
In a medium-sized bowl, combine two or so pounds of ground beef, a small onion, salt, pepper, an egg, and some grated part cheese and breadcrumbs. With you hands14, mix the ingredients together just enough so everything starts to stick together15. Shape into golf ball-ish sized balls, and drop them into a hot cast-iron pan with some butter or olive oil. Cook until the bottoms are browned, and then flip and do the same to the other side. Remove the meatballs from the pan and set aside.
Into the still hot pan, either make a quick tomato sauce16 or add some you bought from the store. Drop the meatballs back in the pan, on top of the sauce, and let these simmer for a few minutes. If you’re pressed for time, throw the whole pan in the oven for about twenty minutes; if you’re thinking ahead, you can let these simmer for awhile right in the sauce until they’re nearly dissolving. Either way, once the meatballs are cooked through, remove from heat, top with mozzarella cheese, and pop under the broiler until the cheese is melty. Serve these on toasted rolls with plenty of sauce lathered on top.
So there you have it. Meatballs. If you’d prefer not to eat these as subs, you can serve them (and the sauce) over pasta, polenta, or as a stand-alone meal. They also keep pretty well in the freezer17, so not a bad option to make in bulk when your meat CSA is loaded with ground beef.
With that, I’ll leave you to enjoy your Friday. Last one of the “official” summer18 — this time next week, we’ll have switched over to pumpkins, hay rides, and have broken back out the slow cooker. What a time to be alive!
Culinary/literary hybrid highlight, that is. Unless you subscribe to another cooking newsletter — but I’m willing to bet that if you do, it doesn’t veer as wildly off onto tangents in the footnotes as this one!
In no particular order: Sea bass, sea robin, eel, ribbon fish, shark, blue fish, the bottom of the ocean, the bottom on the boat, some one else’s line, random discarded line, and seaweed.
We did land one fluke early on, but it was about a half inch short of the limit.
As luck would have it, we drifted through a school of bluefish at that very minute.
I heard everything from bluefish is too fishy, to bluefish is too oily, to bluefish tastes terrible. Goodness! You’d think I had said I was going to make raccoon tacos (which, I’m sure when prepared correctly, is delicious).
Under the auspices that I was going to bring the fillets back to CWD Ranch and smoke them.
Turns out, it was a little of both.
Actually, kefir, but same principle.
Outside, oil heated up in a cast-iron pan on the grill, mind you, since “bluefish stink!” Just another reminder why you need cast-iron pans in your kitchen.
Pun!
Or at least that’s what they told me.
I honestly wasn’t sure how the reception for the bluefish would go, so I didn’t take any photos of the preparation. In this fast-paced digital world of CWD, no photos means no recipe. Sorry!
Besides, we did that already.
Or with a wooden spoon, I guess.
You don’t want to over mix the meat, since over handling it causes it to breakdown. If it’s too loose, add some more breadcrumbs.
Or one of the other versions we’ve made before. #RedSauceOnly
Not that we ever have enough left to freeze.
Even though we all know summer really ends on Labor Day.
Loved today's post so much I had to read it again and again. You make slimy bluefish look good, although hopefully next fishing trip will result in a catch you don't have to sell so hard.
Loved the story as much as the recipe. Thank goodness for Mrs. CWD and the Aunties, or you'd have been scheduling a quick raccoon hunt when you got back!