The Culinary Year in Review – 2025

Hard to believe, but somehow, here we are again — another year wrapped, another fridge full of leftovers, another notebook filled with inspiration. I cooked a lot. Ate even more (thankfully, I love to walk) Debated about chowder. Burned a few things. And had a few wins.

Honestly, 2025 was a blur — but not in a bad way. A flurry of meals shared, mistakes made, ideas sparked. A ton of seafood, obviously. Most importantly, many moments that reminded me why I keep doing what I do: to experiment, to stoke my creative juices, to eat something yummy, and to connect with people — in person or online.

This year flew by. Between testing recipes, developing new products, exploring new ideas, and connecting with our incredible Sitka Seafood community, 2025 felt like one long, happy, evolving dinner party — minus the passive-aggressive jabs at the table. Here’s what filled my plate — and my brain — this year:

Clam, cod, creamy, corny, tomato-y, clear — there were strong opinions all around. I tested a bunch of different versions to see exactly where I stood on the issue. I remain neutral. Mostly it was a great excuse to eat more chowder and talk about what makes food “authentic” — and who gets to decide. Spoiler: no clear winner. Still simmering (or still seething if you read Reddit).

Simple food, good intentions, lots of love. We put smoked salmon in quiche, Dungeness crab in cakes, salmon in frittatas. Honoring someone doesn’t have to be elaborate. It just has to be from the heart. Honestly, it’s the least we could do for the woman who gave us everything.

Meals became portable — especially in summer. I worked on recipes and stories for seafood that could be prepared ahead, packed up, and eaten without a lot of fuss. Think rice paper-wrapped shrimp rolls, a few seafood salads that are little more than cook, combine, and pack up, and grab and go folded sushi sandwiches. Food that travels well and tastes great outside, especially if you’ve been hiking or just sitting under an umbrella watching the waves crashing on the shore.

Techniques, tips, wins, and failures. I grilled halibut, shrimp, swordfish, salmon — sometimes I put ‘em on skewers, sometimes I tucked ‘em into foil packets, and sometimes I just laid ‘em on the grates with a little oil and salt. I learned patience — how to resist the temptation to flip too soon — and the grill didn’t fight back.

In Salmonsharesians, our private Facebook group, I chatted with some wonderful characterswho generously shared their stories with us all. I got to see what people are actually making. Not just the picture-perfect meals, but the real-life weeknights: blackened fish tacos, miso-glazed salmon, tuna melts, curries, chowder with whatever’s in the fridge. It was inspiring — and impressive. Some of those folks could give me a run for my money.

Mornings began with cornetti and doppi espressi (croissants and double espressos), standing shoulder to shoulder with locals at the bar, listening to the low hum of espresso machines and lively chatter.

At Pecorino, a neighborhood trattoria tucked into Testaccio, I tried all four of the classic Roman pastas — carbonara, cacio e pepe, amatriciana, and pasta alla gricia. We met up with newly ex-pat friends who gladly shared the meal, so it wasn’t all for me, although I was fully prepared to order all of them for myself. You experience this for the first time once in your life, and I was not about to eat demurely and responsibly and risk missing out on quite possibly the best pasta I’ve ever had. They were all delicious, but the carbonara was silky, unapologetically eggy, and flecked with perfectly crispy guanciale. Not a drop of cream in sight — just pecorino, egg yolks, and a skilled chef in the kitchen.

For something lighter, we hit a seafood-forward wine bar in Trastevere called Enoteca L’Antidoto. It felt instantly familiar — like we’d wandered off the street and into a chic little spot in hipster Williamsburg, Brooklyn. We were greeted with a “fish cooler” in the dining room — a stainless steel and glass affair the size of a wine fridge, with perfect temperature and humidity controls. Hanging on the center hook was the lower half of a 200-pound bonito tuna from Sicily. On the shelves were sgombro (mackerel), seppia (cuttlefish), and pesce spada (swordfish). We had crudo of that very bonito with chive blossoms and a spicy dipping sauce, lightly seared mackerel with preserved lemon aioli, and a bottle of rosado that was fresh, light, fruity, and the perfect go-with.

Tinned albacore . Flavored butters. Miso marinades. Ready-to-eat chowders. These weren’t just shortcuts — they were real-life solutions. We tested everything and kept only what made meals better. Not every night can be a big cooking night, and that’s okay. My favorites? Canned tuna, miso-marinated sablefish, and rockfish with lemon-dill butter. And don’t get me started on our amazing salmon burgers.

Looking back, it wasn’t just about seafood. (Okay, it was mostly about seafood) Seafood became the catalyst for something else — sharing and making connections. About eating something wild and knowing where it came from, who caught it, and how to do it justice.

Thanks for being part of this ride. For trusting me with your dinner plans. For sending pictures of your food and stories of your flops and wins. For asking “what the heck do I do with this fish?” and sticking with it until you figured it out.

Here’s to more flavor, more simplicity, more good meals in 2026. I’ll be here — spatula in hand, chowder allegiance undecided, fridge always a little too full.

- Grace