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that finally occurred to us in the early 1990s and continues to build twenty years later. Every one of us should strive to know the home address of the seafood we eat. We should know whether its living relatives are in danger of vanishing forever. We should explore the complexities of eating wild or farmed seafood. Becky has blended the urgency of those demands with exquisite recipes that resonate with her own willingness to embrace the realities of our dependence on the ocean for survival. Last night, when I took my first bite of her seared albacore with ratatouille and caramelized figs, I knew that the fish was line-caught in the Pacific, where albacore are not depleted as they are in the Atlantic. I knew that it was a “Best Choice” on the seafood watch lists of the Monterey Bay Aquarium and the Marine Stewardship Council. I knew it was delicious.

—Brad Matsen

Port Townsend, Washington

introduction

I might as well have grown up with pickled herring in my baby bottle. I was weaned just as soon as I could drop my dime-store fishing pole in the big lake that was our backyard. My first real job was down the street at a seafood market in northwest New Jersey, on the shores of Lake Hopatcong. On weekends you’d find me selling crab-stuffed flounder rolls to bridge-and-tunnel businessmen and nice ladies from the neighborhood.

I eventually moved out west. While attending culinary school in Seattle, I stared in awe at a massive halibut’s eyes, contemplating their migration from the sides of its head to the top. Two tours through Italian restaurants introduced me to the diversity of regional fish dishes. At one place I worked with tuna roe (bottarga), and I soaked salt cod for fritters. Lots and lots of salt cod. At the other I grilled little silver fish while the Italian owner waxed poetic about the best fish in the world (Grilled! From the Mediterranean! Salt! Olive oil! Eccellente!).

My most formative restaurant experience was cooking at the famous Herbfarm Restaurant in Woodinville, Washington. I was the fish girl there: I held still-quivering abalone in my hands, shucked the tiniest native Olympia oysters, faced more Dungeness crabs—antennae to eye—than I care to count, and scooped out luscious golden eggs from spiny sea urchins while wearing thick rubber gloves for self-defense. There I cradled in my arms, just barely, the stunning majesty of a forty-pound wild Alaska king salmon, as you would a precious baby, and I chuckled alongside my fellow line cooks at the phallic ridiculousness of a geoduck. I was miles and miles from the Atlantic Coast.

With the spirit of a local, I ran the galley of a boat headed up the Inside Passage to Alaska, peeling spot prawns and filleting salmon before climbing down the ladder to my quarters, each step pulling a bit more of the New Jersey out of the girl. This past winter I shed any remaining vestiges of my birthplace. I joined dozens of others on a traditional night dig for razor clams. There were cars lined up as far as the eye could see, their headlights like luminaria leading the way up the coast. When I got my limit and headed back to the cabin, I remember feeling that I had finally gone completely native.

The world of seafood is much more complicated now than it was when I pulled my first Jersey sunfish out of the lake; shortsighted economic gain, a morass of bureaucracy, and a universe of misinformation complicate it. It’s clear that we have an insatiable appetite for far more than the oceans, rivers, and lakes can provide. Guilt and food are a terrible combination, certain to give you indigestion, or as my friend says, “Guilt makes for bad gravy.” Denial or ignorance about the consequences of our food choices is far too widespread. Most insidious is the attitude that we might as well indulge in all types of fish while they are still around (because who knows when they might disappear).

My intention with this book is to help simplify some very complicated issues, thereby empowering you to make better, more sustainable seafood choices. There are some generally recognized