(I was going to call this post of rounded-up links “Git Along, Little Blogies,” but the hand of God or Dorothy Parker or something stopped me.)

What’s caught my eye (and appetite) today:

From The New York Times:

Hackney: From “trendy-poor” to just plain trendy? It would seem so. I have to say, the reference to “arts refugees” makes me a little uncomfortable, especially since there are probably a number of real refugees in the neighborhood who seek asylum from more than simply unaffordably high rents.

Frozen pickle pops! Now imagine what kind of paletas one could create with Kool-Aid pickles.

From the Epi-Log:

In light of the recent fall from grace of Eliot Spitzer, a look at what America’s most scandalous politicians love and hate to eat.

From Gothamist:

A pizza parlor in Queens churns out standard pies, but wait — there’s also a small side list of delicious Ecuadorean fare on the menu that more satisfyingly reflects the heritage of the slicery’s owners.

The frenzy to snag reservations at Momofuku Ko began four hours ago. Care, care!

We had a cold snap in New York a few weeks ago — you know, the kind where it feels like the wind is demanding satisfaction from you. What made it worse, though, was the teasing intimation of spring that came right before it, a few days of sunny, cloudless skies and light-jacket weather.

I felt had, personally. Especially on the first day of the snap, when I underdressed pretty woefully for the weather. I hunched and shivered all day, downing mugfuls of tea at work and depressively thinking back to winter. That night, a quintet of us had plans to cook at R’s again. I was tasked with finding something that pleased everyone, which I decided meant that I’d find something that pleased me and then coax the rest of them into agreeing.

I kept thinking about a small can of harissa I’d picked up at Fairway — in no small part due to the can’s appealingly retro design, if I’m being honest — and how it might work in dinner. That would be so delicious and comforting, I mused, all that smoky Aleppo chili powder and coriander flavor coating winter vegetables and thick, fat-striped chunks of meat. (I’m not being precious here. As B can attest, this is actually how I talk and think about food, sad as it may seem.)

Feeling quite the bloodhound, I then found an old recipe (from ancient 1999!) in The New York Times Magazine by Molly O’Neill for lamb stew with squash and preserved lemon.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have preserved lemons on hand. Neither did R. I gnashed my teeth for a while, recognizing how important preserved lemons were to the taste of the dish, and then decided to compromise. I’d roast the lemons on low heat after spackling them in an opaque crust of salt, and dice them finely before using them in the dish with their pulp. If the dish wasn’t delicious (and even if it was), I’d preserve my own lemons to teach myself a thing or two about jumping the gun.

The stew was totally delicious, though.

Still, I feel the need to post the recipe as originally devised — preserved lemons are such a common ingredient in Moroccan cuisine, and as such, their bright, “primary” flavor is integral to the dish. I’ll just have to make a batch of my own citrons confits like I promised, won’t I?

Lamb Stew With Squash and Preserved Lemon
From The New York Times Magazine, Mar. 7, 1999

Ingredients
1 1/2 pounds lean shoulder of lamb, cut into 1-inch cubes
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons harissa sauce (recipe follows), plus more for serving
4 cups peeled, uncooked butternut squash in 1/2-inch cubes
2 medium-size ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped
1 cup cooked chickpeas
1/2 preserved lemon, rind and pulp finely diced, plus additional pulp from 1 preserved lemon
1/4 cup golden raisins
1/4 cup fresh chopped mint for garnish
Cooked couscous or bulgur for serving.

Directions
Sprinkle the lamb with salt and pepper. Heat the olive oil in a large kettle set over medium-high heat and cook the lamb, stirring, until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Add the onion and garlic and continue to cook until the onion is soft. Add the harissa sauce and cook another 5 minutes.

Add 2 cups water, bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer, covered, until the lamb is tender, about 45 minutes. Add the squash, tomatoes, chickpeas and water to almost cover the ingredients. Simmer, uncovered, until the squash is tender, about 20 minutes.

Stir in the preserved lemon and raisins and cook another 2 minutes. Remove from the heat, garnish with mint and serve with couscous or bulgur and more harissa on the side.

Makes 4 to 6 servings.

Harissa Sauce
[Note: I used canned harissa, which was fine, but I've made my own before, and I think everyone should. It's a snap to make, and tastes so much finer. Most importantly, it is fantastic with fries]

Ingredients
1/2 cup olive oil
3 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon Aleppo pepper (see note)
1 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon coriander
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt.

Directions
In a small bowl, whisk together all the ingredients. Let sit at least an hour before serving with lamb stew.

I have something to confess. For someone who co-authors a blog about eating well and cooking creatively with limited funds, I am terrible at limiting my grocery budget. I do not cook based on what I have and need to use up - but instead tend to prepare whatever strikes my fancy, purchasing whatever ingredients are necessary along the way. Now, this doesn’t include sushi, pheasant or sirloin steaks. … but I do try to purchase organic meat and dairy whenever possible, and unless times are really tight, it’s one aspect of my spending that tends to be relatively unbridled.

But every good era comes to an end - and as the London School of Economics has been sending me threatening notices about paying my tuition and I must heed them, I currently have less than £50 to last me till the month’s end. Luckily, starting tomorrow work is sending me to Manchester for five days (allowing me to save money AND eat well - stay tuned for restaurant updates!), but until then I have pledged not to buy a single thing from the grocery store, having ascertained that I have more than sufficient stocks to last between now and then.

However, this means I couldn’t make dak galbi for dinner yesterday as I desperately craved, and if I want spaghetti carbonara tonight, it’ll have to be without parsley. To describe this situation as unsatisfactory would be an insult to descriptions everywhere - to cook with what I have seems to be contrary to my whole nature!

But, as I said, last night I persevered and took inventory: one frozen pack of ground beef, three bell peppers, one zucchini (courgette), 10 cherry tomatoes, one carrot, four stalks celery, a tiny piece of cheddar and some clamato juice. And of course, I already possessed plenty of spices and regular carbohydrate staples such as pasta, rice and couscous to supplement these perishables.

I decided on stuffed peppers with couscous and ground beef, with a stuffed zucchini thrown in for fun. I would substitute tinned tomatoes for fresh, throw in a bit of onion, garlic, cumin, mint and cinnamon to give it some Middle Eastern zip and round out a tomato sauce with whatever tomato-based sauces and beverages I could find.

In this case, that meant clamato juice mixed with ketchup and tomato paste, with a bit of water thrown in (definitely not my finest hour). Since this mixed up to be a pretty salty bowl of surprisingly tasty preserved tomato-ness, I went easy on the salt when seasoning the ground beef and couscous mixture going into the peppers.

I wouldn’t call the results one of my finest culinary creations, but perhaps that’s just because I didn’t want to eat stuffed peppers that day. … I just had to. What I did like about the recipe was that it was relatively all-encapsulating. In one small stuffed pepper, I got carbs, protein, veggies and dairy in an easy to eat container – it was like a food of the future.

Couscous-Stuffed Peppers with Beef

400 g ground beef

1 tbsp olive oil

1/2 onion, roughly chopped

3 cloves garlic, minced

10 or so cherry tomatoes, halved

2 tbsp tomato paste

3 bell peppers, cored and cut in half

1 zucchini, cut in half with flesh scooped out and reserved

1 tbsp cumin

1/2 tsp mint

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 cup couscous

1/2 cup grated cheddar cheese

For the Sauce

125 ml Clamato juice (or Tomato)

3 tbsp tomato chili sauce

3 tbsp tomato paste

2-3 tbsp water (optional)

Directions 

Preheat oven to 180 degrees Celsius. In a skillet, heat olive oil fry ground beef with the garlic and onion. When browned, add salt and cherry tomatoes and fry until tender. Add the finely chopped zucchini pulp, then spices, tomato paste and couscous. If necessary, add water to moisten. Cover and wait 15 minutess, or until couscous is light and fluffy.

In the meantime, boil a pot of water. Blanch peppers in boiling water for 1-2 minutes to soften slightly before placing them in tinfoil-lined baking dish with the 2 zucchini halves. Add couscous mixture to the peppers.

In a bowl, mix the sauce ingredients and season to taste with pepper and salt. Pour sauce over the peppers and zucchini and sprinkle grated cheese over the stuffed vegetables. Cover with tinfoil and bake in oven for 20 minutes. Uncover and bake an additional 10 minutes until cheese is nice and crispy.

What isn’t there to love about quinoa? I certainly can’t think of anything. It cooks up fine in a rice cooker, absorbs sauces and dressings without getting soggy and packs a surfeit of complete protein for those nights when meat seems too costly or unhealthy.

I make something with quinoa in it at least once a week. Its versatility makes it great for breakfasts (cook it in hot milk like oatmeal), lunches (dried fruit, nuts, a vegetable or two and a dressing) and, of course, dinners. Plus, eating it makes me feel virtuous. And surely a virtuous, healthy eater like me will always be able to find a seat on the subway, or win a medium-size lottery.

But there are times when I want something wicked to temper that piety.

Miserly as I am, I enjoy discovering ways to sharply cut costs without compromising on the thing I hold most dear — taste. And that’s why I love the hot Italian sausage that I can buy at Fairway a few hours after it’s made. A single link, which is a little over 1/3 pound, costs about $1.50. The meat, when removed from its casing and rolled into 1/2-inch boulettes, makes nearly two dozen amazing meatballs. Simply browned or browned and braised, they’re great in dinners and even greater in next-day lunches.

So tonight, I browned the meatballs in a little olive oil, then tossed in some Swiss chard. Once the chard began to wilt, I added orange bell peppers I’d roasted on the stovetop and a simple tomato sauce I’d made for pizzas the night before.

I then turned the heat to low and let the meatballs braise in the sauce until they were tender. Smelling them braise and seeing them bob to the surface like alligators made me want to pull a Garfield.

And we did, a few minutes later. I took a photo of our empty bowls, but I wouldn’t want to make you feel existentially empty, as I did when I realized there wasn’t any more to be had. So here’s a studio-wannabe photo and a recipe instead.

Quinoa with Meatballs, Chard and Peppers
Serves 2
Ingredients
1 cup quinoa
1 link hot Italian sausage
3 orange bell peppers, stemmed, seeded and roasted
1 bunch Swiss chard
1 14-oz can peeled San Marzano tomatoes
3-4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp. oregano
1/2 tsp red chili flakes (optional)
2 tbsp olive oil
Salt and pepper, to taste

Directions
(For tomato sauce) — In a mixing bowl or blender, combine tomatoes, garlic, oregano, 1-1/2 tbsp olive oil, salt and pepper. Puree with immersion or regular blender until smooth. Set aside.

(For quinoa) — Cook quinoa in a rice cooker, using the same ratio as you would with rice. Keep warm until ready to serve.

(For meatballs) — Remove sausage from casing and roll into small meatballs about 1/2-inch in diameter, taking care not to overwork meat. Slice peppers into strips and cut leaves of Swiss chard in chiffonade, discarding stems.

In a large skillet, heat 1/2 tbsp olive oil over medium-high. Sear meatballs until evenly browned on all sides. Add chard and saute until it begins to wilt, about 1 minutes. Stir in peppers, then add tomato sauce and chili flakes, if using. Turn heat to low, and let meatballs braise for 15 minutes to 20 minutes, or until very tender. Serve over quinoa.

It’s difficult to imbue fried foods — even the best ones — with freshness and snap, to shear away that natural feeling of overindulgence that goes hand-in-hand with eating them.

Except, I’d argue, in the case of fish tacos.

There are also dishes that wring richly intricate tastes from a few ingredients: Shirred eggs and preserved lemons come to mind, although there are many in the worldwide running — and again, I’d say fish tacos are definitely among the pack.

I think it’s a combination of the substance fried — fish, the lightest meat there is — and the other fillings, which are usually raw, crisp and vibrantly colored. This is especially true of Baja-style fillings. Shreds of cabbage, radishes sliced as thin as contact lenses, pickled onions and a zippy crema, pinkish from Tabasco, help provide flavor without much bulk.

So this past Sunday, we made supper at my friend R’s place, like we do most Sundays, and what else would have sufficed for a chilled, homesick-for-summer crowd?

Here’s the hurlyburly “meez” evolving on the countertop. The hands on the left, at work on a chocolate Guinness cake, belong to the visiting L, my erstwhile college roommate and a master baker. The hands on the right, shown patiently grinding salsa (yes, the same salsa) in a mortar, are J’s.

Salsa porn! Even more deliciously filthy with chips.

Now, the key to frying the perfect fish taco is the batter. I generally go about it this way, flying by the seat of my pants: Pour a beer — we never go wrong with PBR — into a mixing bowl. Whisk in flour until the consistency is a touch thicker than crepe batter and forms an opaque coating on the back of a spatula.  Season to taste with Tabasco, lime zest, salt and pepper. Note: The batter will taste awful, as an uncooked beer-flour tincture isn’t your average amuse-bouche. Just focus on the seasonings and try not to grimace. Drop in 1-inch pieces of a firm-fleshed fish. (We use tilapia, because it’s cheap.)

Fry the battered fish in very hot oil, about 350 degrees Fahrenheit, until honey-blond in color. Remove immediately with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of R frying the fish. This is because I’m a shameful weenie when it comes to deep-frying.

The fear started years ago, during college, when I caused a towering, 4-alarm inferno of a grease fire in a dorm kitchen. In my defense, the fire wasn’t at all my fault, although I was certainly the catalyst, and the real scapegoat put out the fire in about five seconds. (Later, he attributed his cool-headed damping of the flames to a long-ago summer job at Arby’s. Ha!)

But the sight of those blue flames still haunt me, and I remain terrified of hot oil, although I have no problems with similarly perilous flambéing and grilling. … Ahem. Sorry. Where was I? It’s dark in here. Ah yes, the remaining recipes!

Tabasco Crema
Ingredients
1 cup sour cream
8-9 dashes Tabasco, or to taste

Directions
Combine and blend until smooth.

Fast-pickled Onions
Ingredients
1 red onion, cut in thin quarter-slices
1 cup white vinegar
1/4 cup lime juice
1/2 tsp. granulated sugar

Directions
Combine first 3 ingredients. Add onions, stir and allow to marinate for 1 hour before using.

If I’m ever caught slacking at work, it’ll be because I wasn’t vigilant enough to cover my tracks as I scrolled through my favorite food websites.

I’m most likely to get pinched while reading the Dinner Tonight posts on Serious Eats. I tend to fixate on what I’m making for dinner in direct proportion to how hectic work’s gotten that day, and why I like DT so much is that it helps clear my head and focus on what really matters—you know, the evening meal. (I ascribe this to the fact that the featured recipes are always precise, contextual and simple to execute.)

So this past Monday, J and I made this DT recipe for poblano tacos. Missing the char of summer barbecues, I’d zeroed in on the description of the roasted poblanos as being “chocolatey” in flavor; a minute later I was clandestinely on the phone with J, who gets off work much earlier than me, dictating a grocery list to him in sotto voce.

It’s a fun and simple recipe: first, toast the peppers over your stove’s gas flame. When they’re uniformly blistered and charred, let them steam in a closed paper bag, and rub off the skins after about 5-7 minutes. Pull out the stems and seeds, and slice the poblanos into thin strips.

Then saute them in a little olive oil. What do you mean, you see errant seeds in there? What seeds? You’re drunk.

At this point, we could certainly have crammed the finished poblanos into a tortilla and eaten them with whatever salsa and sour cream we had on hand. However, we only had the latter. … because we’d decided to make our own salsa while the peppers steamed their skins loose.

We used this Rick Bayless recipe for a roasted tomato-jalapeno salsa, which was featured on The Splendid Table’s website.

Since our broiler emits billowing clouds of smoke, we opted to toast the jalapenos and garlic by the same stovetop method we used when toasting the poblanos.

Then, J (look at those cute hands) ground them with some sea salt in our mortar. As promised, this released a “wonderfully pungent aroma” that I’m proud to say we huffed for a while.

I’ll admit we cheated a little in preparing the salsa. Instead of roasting the tomatoes ourselves, we opted to use canned roasted tomatoes. Personally, I think it was the better choice. Having been roasted and canned at their peak ripeness, the tomatoes were juicy and flavorful, unlike the mealy winter tomatoes available in grocery stores these days. They ground beautifully in the mortar, and the flecks of charred tomato flavored the salsa just as freshly blackened ones would have. Of course, when we make this in the summer, we’ll use fresh tomatoes. But these cans will be our go-to for February salsas.

The salsa was one of the best I’ve ever had. Over the course of the past week, it’s made me evangelical about making fresh salsa—I’ve bellowed about it to everyone from my co-workers to bartenders. (Thanks for humoring me, R!)

I’m serious. I can see salsa revival tents in my future. Giant mortars set up inside. Tremendous pestles worked by the faithful. Miracles abounding.

We added some corn and frijoles borrachos* (although black beans, as one commenter pointed out, would probably have been more traditional to serve inside the tacos) to round them out. About 30 seconds later, with empty plates, we wished we’d made 20 for each of us.

*As this post is getting a little lengthy, I’ll get to our secret recipe for those at another time.

What you see above, a smackdown of inspirations drawn from chicken-and-rice soup and tom yum goong (but with some distinct departures from either), has reintroduced me to the easy pleasures of poached chicken. What alchemy could be simpler? In this case, it’s bringing galangal, lime zest and a seeded, sliced habanero to a boil in a few cups of water, lowering it to a bare simmer, slipping in a cut of uncooked chicken and covering it all. When the pot’s uncovered after a few minutes have passed, it reveals a lovely, fragrant broth and chicken that’s evenly flavored and juicy, even if you use historically dry boneless, skinless breast meat.

Here’s where the trick comes in. Instead of conventional rice, pick up a small bag of Bhutanese red rice at the market or health food store nearest you. As you assemble the rest of the soup (yes, Anthony Lane, thou god-among-critics, it’s possible to “assemble” a soup if it’s this easily accomplished), cook it in a rice cooker on on a separate burner of your stove. Stir in the rice right before serving. It’s startling how much flavor the soup has, especially since its ingredients are all cooked so gently.

I must segue for a moment before giving you the recipe, as I have a shout-out to give.

B, you are the best! Awesomest necklace I’ve gotten in years. I think I’ve worn it every day since receiving it, which also means that everyone who’s complimented it has gotten a half-lecture about krakens and octopuses. As for J, he hasn’t tried his caribou jerky yet, but I’ve sworn to make him remember to give it a chew before the week’s done. Bookoo merci!

Chicken Soup with Bhutanese Red Rice
Serves 2-3

Ingredients
6 cups water
1 tablespoon thinly sliced galangal root
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 stalk lemongrass
zest and juice of 2 limes
2 habanero chilies, seeded and sliced
1/2 pound boneless, skinless chicken breast
1 cup Bhutanese red rice, rinsed and draised
1 1/2 cups cremini mushrooms, stemmed with caps quartered
1 cup watercress, thinly sliced
1 yellow and 1 red bell pepper, seeded and cut into thin strips
3/4 cup halved grape tomatoes (optional)
3-4 tablespoons fish sauce
1/4 cup chopped fresh chives
salt, to taste

Directions
Peel tough outer layers from lemongrass. Chop stalk into 2-inch lengths and smash pieces with the flat of a knife. In a stock pot, heat water, 1/2 the habanero chilies, 1/2 the lime zest, 1/2 the shallots, the galangal and 1/2 the lemongrass and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, making sure that contents of pot are at a bare simmer, with 1-2 bubbles breaking the surface about every 10 seconds. Gently slip the chicken into the contents of the pot. Cover, and let simmer for about 10-12 minutes, or until chicken is fully cooked and no longer pink.

As the chicken poaches, cook rice according to package directions. If using a rice cooker, do not lift the lid after the rice is done—allow the rice to steam in its own heat until ready to use.

When chicken is cooked, turn off heat, remove chicken from broth and let cool. Shred into thin strips using 2 forks. Strain broth, discard solids and return to stockpot. Warm broth to a gentle simmer over low heat. Add remaining lemongrass, lime zest and habanero chilies, along with remaining shallots, fish sauce, mushrooms, and bell peppers. Simmer for 3-4 minutes, then add watercress and tomatoes, if using. Simmer gently for an additional 5-6 minutes, or until vegetables are just tender. Add lime juice, chicken, salt, chives and rice. Serve.

We all have our culinary fears – areas of cuisine we tend to avoid. Perhaps it’s because we’ve had spectacular failures trying our hands at them, or were never introduced to the proper methods, or – in this case – because the mere idea scares the living daylights out of you.

I know N shares this particular fear: that of preparing and eating whole fish. I’ve heard her stories of bulging fish eyes covered with napkins at expensive restaurants. In my case, it’s been unplesantly close encounters with fins, skin and bones that put me off the delicious adjacent flesh in a pretty disappointing way.

Now, I am not a squeamish person, and I believe very strongly in understanding as an omnivore the realities involved in preparing meat or flesh for consumption. But I think my caveat lies in the fact that I feel most reminders of these things should remain in the preparatory world – I am happy to fillet a fish, pluck a chicken, pull out eyes, or de-vein prawns while I’m preparing food, but I prefer to not have to deal with any or all of these things when I’m actually trying to eat.

“Keep it in the kitchen! Gawd!” I may be heard to proclaim, like a 12-year-old embarrassed by public displays of affection.

But on one sunny Saturday afternoon in London, a trip to the fishmonger to exchange witty Cockney banter (via him, not me) was too difficult to resist. I was also in a fear-defying mood, wanting to walk on the wild side. If I had been up for challenging fears I have about the outside world (as opposed to in the culinary world), I would have gone bungee jumping or something in order to challenge my petrifying fear of heights. However, I thought buying a whole sea bream would cater nicely to my daredevil instincts of the day, leaving my sky-bound adventures for another time.

But well, I faltered in my determination when faced with the mugs of red snapper, skate, herring, squid and shellfish in the fishmonger’s trays of icy fishy goodness. Everyone there seemed too confident in their purchases – and then I noticed the fishes hadn’t been cleaned at all. In fact, their eyes appeared to be mocking me, and I suddenly felt their prices weren’t quite such a bargain. After awkwardly browsing around for a few moments, I retreated back to my flat with my tail between my legs to do more Internet research.

See, it wasn’t just the fact that the fish was whole that worried me – it was the ‘culinary risk to price’ factor that was making me once again shy away from challenging my boundaries. I don’t have a lot of experience cooking fish, and what’s more, I can be a slightly picky eater when fish is placed in front of me. I often proclaim (quite loudly, to anyone who will listen) that good fish shouldn’t taste like fish at all. And I don’t like cooked salmon (raw salmon is no problem, strangely enough). Since one sea bream was going to cost £4.35, I was wavering.

However, armed with information from the Internet, I returned a while later with renewed conviction. I now knew I could ask the fishmonger to clean the fish for me, and that sea bream would be relatively comparable in taste and flavour to sea bass, a fish I’ve oft-enjoyed. I had settled on baking the fish whole with a melange of fresh herbs, sun-dried tomatoes, onion, garlic and olive oil and I was going to like it, dammit.

And well, like it I did – for the first 85%. I enjoyed how easy it was to pick the bones from the whole fish, and how soft, fresh and lovely everything tasted. The sharp and strong sun-dried tomatoes didn’t overpower the fish as I had feared, and the fresh parsley proved a lovely contrasting element.

But unfortunately, about 80% of the way through, the growing carcass and existing head grew to be a bit too much for me and the heebie-jeebies set in. Shortly thereafter, I gave up. However, I think I can mostly manage my fear in the future – and when I can’t I will just ask the fishmonger to fillet the fish for me.

Sun-dried Tomato and Fresh Herb Sea Bream

1 small-to-medium-sized sea bream, cleaned and trimmed

½ red onion, sliced in rings

3 cloves garlic, one sliced thinly, the other two minced

1 bunch of chopped fresh parsley

1 bunch of chopped fresh basil

6 sun-dried tomatoes, roughly chopped

Generous amounts of olive oil (if using oil-preserved tomatoes, omit)

Salt

Preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F). Clean the sea bream in cold water both inside and out and season the inner cavity and outer body with salt. Make 3 or 4 vertical cuts along the body on each side of the fish and place slivers of the thinly sliced garlic in each cut. Place the fish in the centre of a baking tray covered in tin foil.

In a separate bowl combine the fresh herbs, olive oil, sun-dried tomatoes and garlic. Mix well. Stuff the inside of the fish with 3/4 of the the mixture and place the remainder overtop. Cover the fish with tin foil, ensuring the tray is sealed.

Bake for 20-30 minutes, or until the flesh flakes easily off the bone.