Working for It

For my one of my day job gigs, I write about food for the Philadelphia Inquirer. For an upcoming story, I had to test several recipes at home, most of which were pretty labor intensive (a rolled omelet and lamb chops with several sauces that got dotted around the plate, restaurant-style were among them). By Sunday night, I had one left to do. Fish en papillote*. In my mind, I thought it would be super-easy, so I saved it for last. Just throw everything in a packet and bake it. Meanwhile, my husband and I could enjoy a cocktail, lounge leisurely and soak in the Sunday vibe.

Yeah. Nothing is ever that easy, is it?

I mean, don't get me wrong. I got in my own way here a little bit. I went all the way to the market and drove the 15 minutes back to my house before I realized I forgot the, uh, fish. So that added an unnecessary ten miles' worth of exhaust to the planet. Once I started prepping, I noticed that one of the potatoes was half rotten and I realized I should have gotten one extra tomato. I spilled the herbs everywhere and undercooked the vegetables. By the time I was wrestling with the four giant pieces of parchment in my already-crowded kitchen, I was completely sweaty and grumpy and no longer interested in eating this thing.

But it did look pretty. I will give it that.

I'm not even going to spell out the metaphor here, except to say that it's always the things you think will be simple that turn out to be the most grueling. What, in food or in writing, has been your fish en papillote nightmare?



*I can't share the recipe since it hasn't run in the newspaper yet, but here's another fish en papillote recipe I like.