I have this theory about people who grow up on islands: Throughout the rest of your life, you find yourself seeking them out and, at times, engaging in other-island-envy or “Your momma’s ugly!” smack-talk about other said islands. It’s funny, but true. And no matter what, without water at close proximity, you feel kind of…off.

I grew up on a little island off the shores on eastern Long Island, sheltered by the long arms of the North and South Fork. Before he’d saved up enough money to open his little grocery and meat shop, my dad worked on the ferries—the only way on or off that island—shuttling cars and people back and forth to the main land. When I was 18, I fled that island for the island of Manhattan. Now, I live on the Island of Staten, just a little ways uphill from its ferries and the salty air and the sound of the bass-tone ferry foghorns on dark, pea-soup nights. I think about moving west sometimes, to mountain terrains or the romantic desert scene of New Mexico and such, but I can never seem to make that leap, like that mermaid story—the one who falls in love and gets herself some legs to live on land, but in the end winds up right back in the water where she belonged to begin with.

I’ve never been to Martha’s Vineyard, although like all islands, I am curious about it. Is it as beautiful as people say? Is it just like my little island that I grew up on? One day I’m sure I’ll muster up the gumption to drive or fly there and check it out. Meanwhile, though, I have spent nearly a decade devoted to a funny little yellow and blue checkered hardcover called Black Dog Summer on the Vineyard Cookbook. I don’t know what possessed me to buy it, although I have forever seen those ubiquitous T-shirts worn around, the ones with the black lab on them, and for a while I used to (in my head, anyway) get a little smack-talkie about it: “Pfff. What’s so great about the Black Dog? And what’s so great about Martha’s Vineyard?”

It’s the photo on the back cover, though, that gets me—a weather-worn shingled Cape-Cod looking building with a statue of a wooden, carved black dog on a pole, a sign hung on rusty chains beneath it that simply says “Tavern.” And, if you pay attention, a ferry, in the blue water in the background. It looks like home, and I bet it’s just great.

So from this cookbook, created by the people of a restaurant in which I’ve never eaten, on an island upon which I have yet to set foot, I cook. There’s all kinds of useful sea-faring information and illustrations to go along with, like: how to clean squid and how to properly steam a lobster, fuh chrissake, and how to guts-be-gone fillet a fish, and although there are a bunch of other non-swimmy recipes that are great—vidalia onion soup and grilled pork cutlets with maple glaze and potato scallion pancakes—I more often than not wind up heading to the section for the fruits of the sea, which is exactly what I did last night.

Over the weekend, I’d picked up from fresh striped bass from my farmers’ market fishmonger, and stuck them in the freezer for a night this week. I took the fillet out yesterday the morning, cracked open the book, and voila: a recipe for sautéed striped bass with garlic mustard sauce. It was, in a word, divine, and there was a little leftover that I just ate between two slices of toasted white bread for lunch with last-night’s leftover sides (green beans and couscous with cubed orange beets and olive oil), giving me two days of island-hopping inspired meals—bless their little Black Dog heart.  

Do you ever cook from the cookbook of a restaurant that you’ve never visited? And how come?

Sauteed Striped Bass with Garlic Mustard Sauce

• 2 lbs striped bass fillets, skinned and boned
• 1/4 cup flour
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 tsp pepper
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 1 TBSP unsalted butter
• 1/4 cup olive oil

For the sauce*:

• 7 TBSP unsalted butter
• 4 cloves garlic, crushed
• 1/4 cup Dijon mustard
• 2 tsp lemon zest
• *I also added in about a TBSP of white wine

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Cut fillets into four equal 8-oz. portions.

Combine flour, salt, and pepper in one dish and the beaten eggs in another. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in an oven-proof pan and add olive oil over medium-high heat. Dredge the fish in the flour mixture, shake off the excess, and then dip in the beaten egg. Add the fish fillets to the pan one at a time and sauté until golden brown on both sides. Transfer to oven and cook 10 minutes. (The recipe actually calls for removing the fillets and putting them in a separate baking dish, but, eh, why have to wash another pan if you don’t have to?)

While the fillets are baking, melt the butter in a small saucepan. Add the crushed garlic, mustard, and lemon zest (and wine, if you have some on hand and feel like it). Whisk until blended and continue stirring about 2 minutes over medium heat. Serve each fillet with a dollop of sauce and dream about ferries.

Amy Zavatto has been writing about wine, spirits, and food for ten years. Her work appears in Imbibe, Gotham, and Every Day with Rachael Ray, among others. She is the author of The Complete Idiot's Guide to Bartending and the co-author of The Renaissance Guide to Wine & Food Pairing.