Forget Takeout

With fresh fish and simple sauce, these tacos transcend

LIKE MOST people on the West Coast, I used to think all fish tacos were pretty much the same. Order a fish taco at one of the 150-plus restaurants that constitute the Seattle-based chain Taco Del Mar and you'll get batter-fried Alaskan cod with a creamy white sauce and shredded cabbage inside a soft tortilla, your choice of corn or flour. This style of fish taco, what you might call a "San Diego-style fish taco," has become a kind of classic.

Taco Del Mar's founders, brothers James and John Schmidt, opened their first store on June 8, 1992, at Pier 57 along Seattle's historic waterfront. The chain's Web site tells the story that James was at the University of California at San Diego in the late '80s when he "discovered" fish tacos. And he wanted to offer Seattleites that same kind of food he had enjoyed at "funky beach shacks" there and in Baja California across the border. But there are other styles of fish tacos, to be sure.

In June, I asked my friend Rosa Amelia Dominguez Zavala, the director of an orphanage in Pedregal de Santa Julia, on the outskirts of Tijuana, to tell me about fish tacos, and she said it would be better if she could show me. I was in Tijuana to cook for a group of high-school kids who were building homes for families in need. I wasn't supposed to be doing culinary research. But there I was, so how could I say no?

The next day, Rosa led me to her favorite fish market. Oysters were heaped in bins under the cool shade of a blue-striped awning. Live shrimp still jiggled on ice. Squid, octopus and lobster were lined up in their respective bins.

"We need a pargo," Rosa said in Spanish. Pargo huachinango and pargo colorado are game fish that look something like rockfish or snapper. Rosa was disappointed at first that the only fresh pargo were smaller than what she had hoped for. The larger fish were all frozen. Rosa instructed the fishmonger to cut the fish. The fillets were exposed so the fish could be butterflied on the grill, but they were left attached on one end to the carcass.

While we were waiting, Rosa spotted a rack of "marlin fumado," or smoked swordfish. "That makes good fish tacos, too," she said. "And they're very easy; you just have to make a sauce."

"Let's get some," I said. "We'll have it as an appetizer while we grill the pargo."

Back at the orphanage, I built a charcoal fire and Rosa showed me how to marinate the pargo while the coals got hot. "You need Chinese sauce," she said. In Mexico, Maggi-brand soy sauce, which tastes quite different from Japanese soy sauce, is a basic kitchen condiment that almost everyone has on hand.

Rosa squeezed the juice from several tiny green limes over the fish, covered it with thinly sliced onions, sprinkled it with salt and pepper and doused it with generous splashes of the soy sauce. "This style of cooking fish," she said, "is called Pescado Sarandeado. My father cooked it for my wedding."

While the fish was marinating and the coals were heating, Rosa instructed me to cut onions, tomatoes and chilies into dice. These, we sautéed in butter, then added canned tomato sauce with chilies. Like the Maggi soy sauce, small yellow cans of the popular "Pato" or Duck-brand tomato-and-chili sauce are stocked in every local store. They can also be found in most North American supermarkets in the Hispanic foods section. The sauce was ready in less than five minutes.

While the sauce simmered, Rosa heated a few fresh corn tortillas filled with cheese on a griddle to make simple quesadillas. Then she crumbled some of the smoked marlin into a bowl and stirred in the sauce. "You put a spoonful of the fish and sauce inside each quesadilla," she said, "just like this." These tacos were almost unbelievably good. And so were the ones that followed, made with the Pescado Sarandeado.

Fish Tacos a la Pedregal de Santa Julia

Serves 4

At home, I serve Pescado Sarandeado with Rosa's simple sauce of chilies, onions and tomatoes. The flavor takes me right back to Mexico.

2 pounds fresh red snapper fillets

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1 small onion, peeled and sliced thin

¼ cup fresh squeezed lime juice

3 tablespoons Maggi-brand soy sauce

3 tablespoons canola or olive oil

12 fresh corn tortillas

For the Sauce

¼ cup butter

1 medium onion, peeled and chopped fine

1 medium tomato, cut into ½-inch dice

1 medium-sized mild chili pepper

1 (7.75 ounce) can Pato brand tomato sauce

1. Sprinkle the fillets with salt and pepper, and put them in a dish with the sliced onion, lime juice and soy sauce, rolling the fish around with the other ingredients to coat. Allow the fish to marinate while you build a charcoal fire.

2. While the fish is marinating and the coals are heating, make the sauce. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium-high heat and sauté the onion, tomato and chili until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the tomato sauce and simmer another 5 minutes, or until heated through.

3. Rub the grill with the oil and grill the fish for 5 minutes on each side, or just until the fillets are cooked through. Meanwhile, warm the tortillas on the grill or in a dry skillet over a hot burner. Serve the grilled fish in a puddle of the sauce with hot tortillas and additional sauce passed separately.

Greg Atkinson is a contributing editor for Food Arts magazine and a culinary consultant. He can be reached at greg@northwestessentials.com. Barry Wong is a Seattle-based freelance photographer. He can be reached at barrywongphoto@earthlink.net.