For years we’ve eaten pumpkin on Halloween. Often in the form of soup, with Yorkshire pudding and sausages alongside, and sometimes in ravioli. This year we decided to take a complete break from it. Instead I made an equally autumnal supper of pan-fried rainbow trout and a rather successful melange of Brussels sprouts, onion and bacon, which worked extremely well. The trout was from Skagit’s Own Fish Market and was just beautiful, lightly floured and fried in a bit of bacon fat. The bacon itself was from Skagit River Ranch, and I wish I could say I liked it better. Everyone we know has been raving about it for the last year, and I finally got hold of some (whoa! expensive), but good lord it’s sugary. It smells wonderful in the pan, like smoke and maple syrup, but it burns really easily, and after a few bites I feel like I’ve eaten a candy bar. Brussels sprouts made the perfect vehicle for it, giving the sugar somewhere to go.

We drank a bottle of Sones Cancion del Mar white wine, gave out a few Butterfingers to the neighbor kids, and didn’t miss the pumpkins at all.

The summer weather has been coming and going with dismaying regularity, but we had at least one really nice day last week. We had gone out to Well Fed Farms to pick up our final batch of chickens for the season, then took the opportunity to swing by Skagit’s Own Fish Market on the way back. I found myself enamored of a tray of fresh rainbow trout, neatly butterflied and glistening in the case. They were far cheaper than any of the salmon options and looked wonderful; we brought home two.

It was too nice out not to grill, so I followed the fishmonger’s advice and stuffed the trout with lemon slices, then laid them carefully over moderate coals. When the skin on one side was crispy and golden, we carefully turned them to do the other side without flinging lemons into the fire.

The result was gorgeous. Apart from a bunch of tiny bones that had escaped the cleaning process in my trout, they were easy to eat, and the delicate meat was scented with lemon. I made coleslaw with a buttermilk-horseradish dressing from Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, then opened a bottle of very dry and light French rose.

Even the scent of citronella candles couldn’t hurt this meal.

Last week I got an inexplicable craving for salmon cakes. This has been one of our standard pantry dinners for years – cheap, easy and healthy – but we hadn’t had it for a while. I made an executive decision and picked up a can of Alaskan salmon at the co-op.

Oddly enough, this may have been the first time I ever made fish cakes myself. My husband and I have divisions of labor in the kitchen, not always logical, and he’s generally in charge of curries, Thai beef stirfry, burgers, kebabs, and salmon cakes. He must have been busy with something else on this occasion, since I ended up making them myself. Fortunately for me, these are really, really simple. We use a recipe from the Joy of Cooking as our base, then add flavorings as we please. This batch was very basic, as I was also cooking Brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes and wasn’t really focusing.

The version I made was just canned salmon (with a little skin and bone mashed in – I rather like the texture, and it’s full of calcium), matzo meal, egg, salt, pepper and parsley. Other times we’ve added red pepper flakes, herbs, or breadcrumbs instead of matzo, but I wouldn’t say we’d gotten really inventive with them. We usually make garlic mayonnaise to liven things up. What do you think would be good in fish cakes?

Salmon Cakes

Adapted from Joy of Cooking by Irma Rombauer. Easily scaled up or down depending on the size of your can of salmon.

• 2 cups canned salmon meat, with or without skin and bones
• 1/2 cup cracker crumbs or matzo meal
• 2 eggs
• salt
• pepper
• chopped parsley

Mash all the ingredients together in a bowl. Shape into patties and fry in butter or oil until browned. Serve hot with garlic mayonnaise.

This was dinner last night: Chilean sea bass* in a sour orange beurre blanc, potatoes and sweet potatoes roasted in olive oil, and sauteed cabbage. The cabbage was actually a slaw left over from our shrimp tacos the previous night, marinated in lime juice and serrano chiles, but tossed in a hot wok it was really delicious, especially with the beurre blanc.

This was my first time making beurre blanc, and I didn’t even realize that’s what I was doing until I was halfway through it. I was following a recipe in Moro East and wasn’t quite sure if it was working correctly, so I referred to James Peterson’s Sauces and saw that I was basically approaching it the right way, just with some unusual seasonings. The recipe uses Seville oranges, but allows substituting a mix of lemon and orange juice if you can’t get them. I combined the juices in a small pan, added a bay leaf, some thyme, finely grated orange zest and a sprinkle of cinnamon, heated it all to a simmer, and whisked in an improbable amount of butter. The sauce wasn’t particularly thick, but it didn’t break, and it had a wonderful tart orange flavor that went gorgeously with the fish and cabbage and sweet potatoes. Not an every day sort of sauce, but nice to know how to do.

*Yes, I realize Chilean sea bass is not the best choice, as it’s been red-listed by sustainable seafood advocates. I have bought it maybe twice in my life, both times from a local family-owned fish market that primarily sells only their own catch. But the Moro recipe specifically called for sea bass and I wanted to see what it was like (and it was, in fact, wonderful). As Rob DeBorde says in Fish on a First-Name Basis, “if the darn thing didn’t taste so good, we wouldn’t have to fret over eating it. Stupid fish.”

I’ve always been a big fan of fish tacos, and tend to order them any time I see them as long as they’re not deep-fried (not that I have anything against fried fish, but I prefer it outside of a taco). We recently had some fantastic halibut tacos out at Skagit’s Own Fish Market, grilled with a spicy rub and liberally dressed with tomato salsa and fresh cucumber. Then there was the taco, also halibut I think, at Fred’s Rivertown Alehouse in Snohomish, which was topped with cabbage and tartar sauce and came with some really excellent beans and rice. At this point I really wanted to make some of my own, to keep the streak going. We picked up some nice looking ling cod and a pack of fresh tortillas and thought about topping options.

This year I’ve been growing tomatillos for the first time. We got a couple of plants from the high school greenhouse of a variety I’d never seen before, just labeled “purple tomatillos.” With the hot weather we’ve finally been having, the plants have started bearing like crazy, and the fruits are, indeed, purple. I only had a few mature tomatillos, but decided to try whipping them up into a green (or purple) salsa to go with our fish tacos.

I husked and rinsed the tomatillos, then put them on a cast iron griddle alongside a jalapeno pepper. I toasted them until they softened and blistered, let them cool, then packed all of it into a blender with a few cloves of garlic, a handful of cilantro, and a glug of olive oil.

It turned out really well. To my relief, the tomatillos are really only purple on the outside, so the final salsa was still mainly green, which is less alarming. And the salsa was sweet and mildly spicy, just perfect for the fish.

For the rest of the prep, I dusted the cod with a bit of salt, New Mexico chile powder, and ground cumin, then grilled it until it was just cooked through. I shredded a big of green cabbage and tossed it with salt and some white vinegar, and we toasted fresh corn tortillas on the grill.

With a dollop of good sour cream (and a cold beer alongside) the tacos were about perfect. I could eat these every week, easily.

Recently, and perhaps foolishly, I accepted a challenge from a fellow blogger. Nothing to do with blogging, or even food – instead, the challenge is to hold a plank position for four straight minutes. Our deadline is September, and currently we’ve each managed a bit over two minutes. In a word? Ouch. If you’ve ever done plank exercises, I suspect you’ll feel my pain.

A much more pleasant type of planking is the sort you do with fish. We tried this again recently, with some gorgeous king salmon from Skagit’s Own Fish Market. Planking is a traditional technique in the Northwest, but it’s hard to find fish cookbooks that even mention it, let along give detailed instructions. So we’ve been somewhat making it up as we go along.

The idea here is to build a fairly low fire in your grill, then lay the fish on a well-soaked cedar or alder plank (you can make or buy these) and position it away from the direct heat, and cover. The fish cooks slowly in the smoke, protected by the wet wood, producing very tender, flavorful fish. It’s fine if the plank smolders a bit, but you don’t want it to actually catch on fire – keep a spray bottle handy. It’s supposed to take anywhere from 20-30 minutes, but I think we overdid ours a little – the fire might have been a bit too hot.

We served our salmon with grilled asparagus, salad and a not-very-successful homemade aioli (it was more like salad dressing than mayonnaise). It was tasty enough, and made a rather good salmon salad sandwich the following day. On the whole I’d say this was a good dinner, but had room for improvement.

Have you planked, either the exercise or the fish? Any tips?

The theme for Casey Schanen and Tom Saunderson’s class at Gretchen’s last week was ostensibly Seafood with Wine Pairings. If you ask me, the real theme was Butter.

This was some of our mise en place – see that pile of butter pats on the plate? We used most of that over the course of the evening.

We put together an appetizer plate for the guests so they’d have something to nibble on right away. There were fresh radishes and turnips, Nell Thorn bread and rosemary crackers, all being dunked into an amazing dip of butter whipped with green olives. Yes, it looks like guacamole – but it ain’t. Caution is advised, as this stuff is addictive.

The first course was a seared scallop on a bed of sauteed endive and turnip greens, glazed with a mixture of butter and chestnut honey and topped with parmesan curls. Chestnut honey has an assertive flavor, and it worked surprisingly well here.

Next up was a piece of seared and baked halibut, served with fluffy spinach gnocchi topped with asparagus and leeks. Wait, was there no butter on this? There probably was. [Update: There was not butter. But there was cream. - ed.]

Then came salmon. Each piece was topped with a chunk of butter and baked, so the butter sank down into the fish.

The pieces were served with a saute of thinly sliced radishes and turnips and fresh peas, along with delicate ravioli stuffed with fresh peas and feta. A lemon beurre blanc went over the top. I was full when this plate was served, but it was far too wonderful to pass up.

All this great buttery stuff was paired with wine brought by Tom, all produced in coastal areas. They were excellent, and went so well with the food that I almost forgot to notice the wine.

I particularly loved the albariño, which was fabulous with the rich halibut. All the wines did a fine job of cutting through the butter and leaving the mouth clean for another bite.

After all that, there was dessert. I was completely unable to cope with it after inhaling those ravioli, but it was very nice: buttermilk panna cotta with berry sauce. I’m fairly certain there was no actual butter in this.

It was a good class. As always, with those two.

I wasn’t sure there was any higher calling for alder-smoked salmon than a bagel and cream cheese, but this risotto may have changed my mind.

Some friends brought this salmon to a party at our house (very good friends, indeed). It was from Pure Food in the Pike Place Market, according to the bag, and it was the best smoked salmon I have ever eaten, juicy and tender with just the right amount of smoke and sweet. I was trying to think of some way to use a bunch of it at once, and Jon said, “What about in that risotto we’re having on Thursday?” Hmmm.

I’d never used smoked salmon in a risotto before, so I kept it simple. Shallots cooked in butter, then the Arborio, then white wine, then light homemade chicken stock until the rice was almost done. I stirred in a bowlful of frozen peas, then added the shredded salmon at the very end with some cream and parmigiano. A green salad on the side. Perfect.

And the leftovers, fried until crusty, with an egg on the side. You could make this specifically for breakfast, for a brunch party. I think it would be a hit.

Now what shall we do with the rest of the salmon?

Even after I had learned how to cook most things, I had no idea how to deal with a piece of salmon. It was embarrassing, but I was sufficiently terrified by the idea of cooking, not just salmon, but any fish, that I almost never tried. I was scared of it being raw, but I hated it overcooked. So I just skipped the whole thing, which is really a shame when you live in the  Pacific Northwest.

Enter that saviour of timid chefs everywhere, Mark Bittman! All of his recipes tend to have a comforting, you-can-do-this sort of tone, with simple techniques and ingredients. I discovered a stovetop-to-oven method of cooking salmon fillets in his book The Minimalist Cooks at Home, and it worked so well I wouldn’t cook salmon any other way for years. It repeatedly produced fish that was moist, tender and cooked all the way through. It’s simple: crust the fish with herbs and spices, melt butter in an oven-safe skillet over medium-high heat, add the fish seasoning-side down and cook one minute. Flip and cook one more minute. Put the pan in the oven and cook about five minutes or until done how you like. Easy.

Over time I’ve mucked around with both the cooking method and the seasoning from the original recipe. I now usually just panfry my salmon in a nonstick skillet at medium heat, and flavor it with cumin and salt. Every once in a while, though, it’s fun to revisit Bittman’s original flavorings of rosemary, orange and fennel.

Rosemary is one of the herbs I’m never likely to run out of – the bush under our deck is over three feet high and four feet wide. I always pick more than I need just to keep the shrub in check a bit. For this recipe I probably used the leaves from two six-inch twigs.

The rosemary gets chopped and mixed with the zest of one orange…

…and about a teaspoon of fennel seed, crushed in a mortar (or spice grinder if that’s easier).

Mix in some coarse salt and pepper, and spread the spices over the salmon fillets. Heat butter or oil in a skillet and carefully lay the pieces spice-side down, hopefully not spilling the topping all over the pan. You want the seasonings to form a nice crust over the fish.

Cooking just on the stovetop, I probably keep the fillets in the pan about six minutes, flipping occasionally. I like my salmon a bit rare inside – if you like yours more done I’d use the oven method, or turn down the heat so the fish doesn’t overcook on the outside.

We ate this with roasted beets and parsnips, and a salad with a strong mustard dressing. The flavors are bold and a bit sweet, and I loved how the orange in the fish went with the beets.

On Sunday we made sure to make it up to the Bastille open-air market on Boulevard Richard Lenoir. It begins at Place de la Bastille and stretches for several blocks, four aisles wide and teeming with people, dogs and little wheeled shopping carts.

You can buy everything from tomatoes to underwear. Not to mention foie gras. And wine.

It was so exciting to see wine being sold out in the open! At a farmer’s market! We have somewhat arcane liquor laws here in Washington, it makes me easily impressed by this sort of thing.

The “as-is” bottle selection was particularly scary. Some of them were only one euro, but looked thoroughly toxic. Maybe we should have sprung for a bottle, what the heck?

There were sausages of all sorts, and complex looking loaves of pate stuffed with indescribable body parts. I saw little cups of brains and lots of tripe.

You could buy handmade pasta and gnocchi…

…and cheese of all shapes and sizes…

…and fish!

We bought a few vegetables, some fresh herbs and flowers, and some Moroccan bowls (only one of which survived the trip home, alas) then headed for the fish counter. Some had been cleaned and filleted, but most were intact and bright-eyed on their hill of ice. We bought a bag of fresh sardines – always a treat for me, since they’re so rarely available back home.

Back in our tiny apartment kitchen, we realized that we had a certain lack of sharp knives. Jon used a bread knife to cut a fennel bulb and some tomatoes into small dice.

I used a dull steak knife to gut the sardines. They were so tender, though, I probably didn’t even need that. I rinsed them out and patted them dry, then used a pair of scissors to cut up chives and parsley.

We had one decent skillet, so first Jon used it to saute the diced fennel until soft and caramelized. This we mixed with the chopped tomato and herbs, with a drizzle of fruity olive oil from the Ducs de Gascogne store around the block.

Once the pan was free, I fried the sardines quickly in olive oil until the skin crisped.

To accompany our fish and salad, we had a loaf of bread from the bakery down the street, plus a bottle of rose and a round of St. Marcellin cheese which we had also brought home from the market.

It was very simple, yet completely different from any meal we’ve made at home before. I loved the salad, with the deep sweet flavor of the cooked fennel and the summeriness of the raw tomato and herb. We’ll have to make it again.