Peanut butter and mackerel
I’ve made many mistakes in my life, enough that I’ve seriously considered just writing out all the things I’ve done that I profoundly regret, am deeply embarrassed by, and/or present themselves as recurring intrusive thoughts, always abandoning the idea because I’d want to read the results even less than anyone else would. Among these mistakes is making a large quantity of soba noodles in peanut sauce and crispy tofu the other night even though I’m the only person who lives in my house who likes soba noodles in peanut sauce and even though I have a refrigerator full of things I need to eat before they go bad, few of which go with soba noodles in peanut sauce. Grimly determined, for no logical reason, not to waste these particular leftovers, I decided, for no particular reason, that I would have turn to what I turn to every time I have a cooking situation in need of fixing—the tinned-seafood shelf in my pantry, which right now has more mackerel on it than I know what to do with. Given that at root what I was after was getting more protein in my lunch without having to do any work, could I simply have had some kefir (or for that matter roasted more tofu) rather than cracking these tins? Yes, but then I wouldn’t have done anything to lessen the mackerel stockpile, which is currently threatening to overflow its dedicated shelf.
As Popping Tins has previously reported, peanuts and canned seafood are a questionable pairing, no matter how much you like one or the other or both—which isn’t to say they don’t go. Certainly peanuts and fish do, as many people from Southeast Asia and West Africa (as well as the authors of dubious recipes engineered to rise to the top of lists of search-engine results) could tell you, but the specifics matter, a lovely cod fillet just out of the deep fryer with a luscious, velvety sauce presumably being somewhat different from a $1.00 can of brislings in soybean oil topped with Jif.
I had the peanut element down; while my sauce will win zero awards, it’s also perfectly fine, being made of plain peanut butter, tamari, garlic, sriracha, brown sugar, lime juice, and water. The issue was the fish.
If I were to use one descriptive to describe mackerel, it would be “unpredictable.” Really that’s because there’s no such thing as a mackerel, just as there’s no such thing as a sardine, the words in this context being marketing terminology for dozens of different species of generally small fish from different climates. I get tins containing fish resembling delicately butter-poached mahi-mahi, gristly lumps sprouting bone in every direction, and everything in between, and which range in presentation from small, perfectly-cut fillets to whole fish packed four to the tin. What pretty much all mackerel has in common is that it’s firm and oily without being dense or heavy. I certainly don’t mind the kind that have bones and skin (more nutrition and texture, I say), but the kind without are good, and while I prefer light, fresh fish packed in olive oil, mackerel also frequently comes in sweet, heavy sauces that are pretty good if you’re in the mood for that sort of thing.
Not quite knowing what I was in for, for my first peanut butter and mackerel experiment, I opened a tin of Bela mackerel in organic extra virgin olive oil, which I got at my local co-op for $4 and is available pretty much everywhere. I picked this because Bela’s smoked sardines are my default inexpensive sardine, so I figured their mackerel would be good.
This fish let me down a bit when I cracked the can, though that’s mostly a matter of personal taste. I prefer flaky mackerel cut like the Matiz I wrote about here to full fish torsos, which to me tend to basically resemble slightly drier sardines; it might just be a matter of presentation, but the former seem a bit cleaner and lighter to me, while the latter seem a bit heavier. Undaunted, I heaped my noodles cold in a bowl next to a pile of quick-pickled red cabbage and red peppers, topped them with the mackerel, green onion, and lime juice and dug in, twirling up big bites of noodles and spearing mackerel halves on the end of the fork. It was … fine. Really the biggest issue was that I once again experienced the curious, mutually negatory effect that peanuts and oily fish can have on each other. I’d thought the acid of the cabbage and lime, along with the acid and heat in the sauce itself, would cut through, but they didn’t, and I was too lazy to do anything about it.
Rather than make a joke about misattributed inspirational quotes having to do with failure like I was intending to1, you can imagine me doing so here and then moving on to my second try at this, which was essentially the same as the first with the key differences that I reheated the noodles this time (this didn't matter so much) and that I used a can that's been taunting me for weeks (this did).
I picked this tin up at Asianfresh, a grocery store on 10th Street in Philadelphia’s Chinatown, for I think $1.89. As an immaculately grilled and seasoned bit of tuna loin that sells for $48.95 at a wine bar does not, it represents a kind of fish people all over the world actually eat—of slightly dubious provenance, packed in a sauce that threatens to be cloying, featuring imagery of beady-eyed or frightened sea creatures, and apparently meant more as cheap protein than as expressions of an ineffable essence. Cans like this are sometimes terrific and sometimes foul, and since I couldn’t find useful reviews on the English-language internet (the brand being much better known for its smoked eel), I cracked it with eager anticipation.
This is not the most visually appealing fish, coming in 50g lumps bristling with bones; I’m using this unrevealing image of the inside of the can because I forgot to take a better one. (You can find imagery of the fish itself, as well as get another perspective on it, from this reviewer on Youtube.) I flaked two big lumps and dressed them with on the noodles with some of the sauce, then mixed the whole thing up, really working the fish through to ensure it would end up in every forkful. This was far more like it—while I’m not quite sure what I’m after here, this was a lot closer to it. While the alleged chili sauce lacked any bite, the sweet tartness of the tomato (along with a bit of chili oil) coating the peanut-coated noodles did provide the pop lacking in the first iteration of this lunch, with the bold meatiness of the fish itself not only grounding every bite with an earthiness the Bela didn’t, but contrasting well to the slipperiness of the noodles and the crunch of the vegetables. I didn’t add on some cumin-pickled radishes and onions I had in the refrigerator because I thought that might be a few too many things going on at once, but I regretted it later.
Further experimentation is temporarily on hold, as someone else who lives in my house consumed the last serving of spare noodles despite seeming not to like them very much, and I have other leftovers I need to eat. I’ll be making noodles again, though, with plans in mind involving almond butter, gochujang, and a lovely-looking can of Spanish mackerel in olive oil I was gifted; I also have two tins of Japanese mackerel in heavy, sweet soy sauces that are calling out to me. Summer is coming, too, and with it perhaps an Amoroso roll smeared with peanut sauce and piled high with fish (possibly even another kind) and tart, crunchy vegetables. I will report back.
Housekeeping
—Stay tuned for a special edition of this newsletter probably later this week, in which I believe better advice will be given for what to do with a tin of fish than I am capable of giving.
—Men, what is keeping you from dressing like Gordon Gano?
“My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.”—Vince Lombardi