I turned my back for just a second to discuss the advantages of starting fantasy football’s favorite Baby Daddy at quarterback and the next thing I know, I’m getting fish for dinner. Out of a menu chock-full of pastas at a fabulous Italian restaurant, my husband ordered fish. (No, he was not ill.)

I don’t really do fish. I’ve only ever cooked it three times. I grew up in the south, where fish for dinner meant deep-fried, cornmeal-battered, fishy-tasting catfish. I personally lump catfish and organ meat in the “I’d rather starve” category. Eventually, the “just say no to filters and bottom feeders” mentality spread to all cooked fish (but I could eat sushi every single day for breakfast… go figure). And then the waiter brought the Chilean sea bass to the table.

I swear I could hear a chorus of portly, never-skipped-dessert angels singing after that first bite. The inevitable happened – I tried to deflect my husband’s requests to make sea bass at home but he suckered me in by selecting a recipe that sent me running for my big, new HEB: a simple Asian-inspired marinade from Bon Appetit served as a reduction over rice.
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