by Deb Powers

St. Patrick's Day fell on a Friday again this year - a Friday in Lent - so it came as no surprise when my mother called me early that morning to tell me that the Pope had issued a dispensation for Catholics worldwide: we could eat meat this Lenten Friday. Corned beef and cabbage would be on the table. And I did make it... but I found myself remembering my childhood Fridays.

Growing up with a devout Italian grandmother meant that those Catholic traditions were not only observed, they were studied with a gimlet eyed intensity most reserve for life or death situations. As well they should be! Eating meat on a Friday was a sin.. it was more than life or death - it was a matter of putting your immortal soul in peril! That meant that throughout the year, Friday was the day for tuna casserole, fish sticks, fish cakes, spaghetti alio e olio (with garlic and anchovy oil) - or on a very good week, thick slabs of fresh-caught haddock, deep fried and steaming next to a pile of Nana's hand-cut, home-made french fries. Good Friday called for a different kind of seafood though - the New England standby known her in the U.S. as 'salt cod'. In Nana's tongue it was bacalao, and even if we all hated it, it was the traditional way to break the Good Friday fast.

These days, you buy bacalao in little wooden crates the size of of a sardine tin, or wrapped plastic and styrofoam packages. Even then, in the early sixties in the North End, few people had the patience to go through the soaking and cleaning and soaking and draining and soaking and boiling that it takes to make bacalao palatable. Just for them, during Holy Week North End fishmongers laid out their dried salt cod in wooden tubs to soak, rinsing and draining the barrels several times a day. By the time Thursday came, the fish had lost its wooden stiffness and was ready to soak one last time before being cooked up in a pot with potatoes and onions.

My grandmother did not believe in shortcuts. When she brought home a slab of bacalao on Monday of Holy week it was a whole side of dried salt cod, stiff as a board and impossible to fit in her wooden tub. Too thick to break, and to tough to cut with a kitchen knife, the bacalao suffered the indignity of being sawed into pieces with the saw she'd used all through the winter to saw firewood, then tossed into a washtub to soak for days. It sat in the corner of the kitchen, covered with a cloth to keep out the dust when she swept the floor. Three or four times a day, she hefted the heavy tub to pour the water off into the sink, letting the salt drain away as she refilled the bucket again with fresh water and set it back in the corner. For the entire week before Easter, the kitchen stank of brine and fish - the smell, I was certain - of penitence and sorrow.

By Thursday the bacalao was ready to cook, softened to pliability that allowed it to be forced into the enormous stewpot on the old gas stove. It had been drained and rinsed one last time, the slightly salted rinse water declared to be suitable, then put on a slow fire to simmer for the day with onions and garlic. In the late afternoon, Nana would add the potatoes and let it continue to simmer for another hour before she finally added the stewed tomatoes and covered the pot to stand overnight.

The end result was a fishy tasting slurry, salted beyond comprehension despite the days of soaking and rinsing. Orange and oily, it could be spread on thick slabs of Italian bread, or spooned over polenta, or stirred into hot, plain spaghetti. There is not now - nor has there ever been - anything in the world that tasted like it. It tasted like Lent.

And it was the taste I found myself craving that Friday St. Patrick's Day in Lent when my mother said that the Pope had continued the tradition of offering a dispensation for Catholics so that they could eat corned beef and cabbage. Perhaps after years of drifting, I'm beginning to come full circle. I want my traditions back. I want my bacalao.

If you giggle at the title of this article because you did not know the word fishmonger, then you should consider that you need to beef up your knowledge of purchasing seafood. Well, if that is where you are, then I am here to help! There are some surefire ways to know that you are visiting a reputable fishmonger, which by the way only means someone who sells fish.

A good fish market will have raw and cooked foods displayed separately. I am not prone to give in to hype about dangers, seafood is not something to play around with. Indeed, fish and shellfish can cause serious health problems if you do not take care of it well. Putting raw food in the vicinity of cooked seafood means that you should head out the door. You could be talking about blood and other uncooked fluids seeping into the cooked foods.

A good market also will indicate if foods are fresh or previously frozen. Most of the markets will indicate this distinction only if the food is previously frozen. On the little descriptor tag, there will be a line that lets you know. If there are none of these signs, beware unless you are right on the ocean. Many types of seafood have to be frozen if they are not being sold immediately. Ask if you are unsure, and the person working the counter should be able to let you know.

There should be a temperature marking on the case. You will want to know that the foods are being kept at the right temperature, which is ideally between 29 and 32 degrees Farenheit. If you do not see a temperature, ask the person working about the temperature. Also check the cases. If there is any condensation or if any of the ice looks as if it may be melting, the seafood is not being kept at the right temperature. Beware of defrosting fish. You do not know how long it may have been sitting that way, and it is unhealthy.

Here is a stickler for the real seafood connoisseur. The flesh of fresh meat should not touch the ice - ever. There are a couple of ways to get around this when the fishmonger is displaying the foods. One way is to put the fish fillets on their skin, but some fish people will tell you that even that is not acceptable. Instead you should look for liners, such as a plastic wrap, above a layer of ice or the fish being put on a tray. That way, they are being kept cold, but they are not touching the ice so that their flavor is not affected.

A good fish market also should answer your questions. While that really goes without saying for any business, customer service often seems to be a lost art in the retail world. When you are buying any kind of meat or other sensitive food, then you need to be sure that the person selling it is able to answer your questions. Seafood is very sensitive. That means that if you cannot find someone who knows or is willing to find out, you should walk away. Get another seafood market.

These tips will not guarantee that you will find the best market. That depends on location, time of year, and some dumb luck. There are some fishmongers who are better than others, however, and you should be sure that you increase your chances of finding one of the good ones by asking the right questions and looking for the right signs. As with other high-end items, price typically should not be the decision-making factor for you. Looking for good quality is better than paying high price in a market where the workers know little about quality seafood.

Being sure that you are comfortable with the person selling the seafood is most important. If there is any reason that you have to suspect any health-related issues or any reason that you feel uncomfortable asking questions, that is a sign that this store may not be the place for you to shop. Look around. Ask for suggestions from other seafood lovers. You are sure to find something that suits your needs.

By Julia Mercer

If you want to expand your seafood recipe repertoire, there are many different ways to prepare scallops so it is a good place to start. It is often tempting to just make or buy "plain" breaded scallops to pop into the oven, but after you try a few new recipes, you may change your mind about that and start collecting more recipes.

One of the easiest ways to prepare scallops (in addition to the already mentioned buying them already breaded to bake) is to saute them. Begin preparation by softening two cloves of minced garlic and 2 small sliced leeks in extra virgin olive oil. (Remember that leeks can have dirt between layers so clean well by soaking.) This step will take about 6 or 7 minutes.

Next add red or yellow sweet peppers that you have cut into very thin strips and half a pound of sweet sugar snap peas. (Remove their strings first.) Stir-fry this mixture for about 4 minutes.

Add 1/2 cup of liquid next. I suggest using clam juice, readily available in supermarkets, but chicken broth or stock will work well, too. Allow this mixture to come to a boil and then take if from the heat.

In the meantime, gently shake a pound and a half of cleaned and dried small scallops in a container with flour to cover them. Place the scallops into a preheated large pan with 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. You may want to add a little butter also for a nicer coloring. Saute the scallops for a few minutes until they are golden and then combine them with the vegetable mixture that you had put aside.

Add about a tablespoon of butter to the pan and then gently mix it into the scallops and vegetables when you remove the pan from the heat. If you wish, sprinkle some of your favorite fresh herbs over top.

Another scallop recipe uses this delicate seafood to stuff flounder. This is a very elegant meal and would be great for a dinner party. Begin by melting 1/2 cup of butter. Saute 1 clove of minced garlic and a small onion that you have diced. Add 1/2 pound of diced scallops and saute for about 4 minutes.

Season with pepper and a little salt if you wish to use it, and then add chicken broth or stock, not a lot, just enough to moisten some dry or fresh bread crumbs that you will be adding next. Fresh bread crumbs make the best stuffing, so you may want to keep that in mind. Make enough stuffing to divide equally among the amount of fish filets you will be using.

Put a flounder fillet into a baking pan and place some stuffing on top. Fold up the ends and put into your baking pan. Pour about 1/2 cup of hot water and 1/2 stick of melted butter around the fillets in the pan. Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes or until the fish flakes and is nearly finished.

In the meantime make a basic white sauce according to your favorite recipe for it (2 tablespoons butter, 2 tablespoons flour, 1 cup milk, pepper, and a little chicken broth or stock) and pour it over the fillets. You may want to sprinkle a little paprika on top. Allow it to bake for 5 or 10 additional minutes.