With the exception of canned tuna, I've always been afraid of canned fish. My father used to bring home cans of mackerel in miso and sardines in sweet soy sauce to accompany his evening beer, and sometimes he offered a piece or two to me. At the tip of his chopsticks, these fish pieces glittered with oil and gooey sauce, reflecting the fluorescent lamp above our dining table. Often spattered with stray bits of strangely metallic skin and unidentifiable mixture of bones and guts, the fish out of the can never looked attractive to my child's eyes. My revulsion reached the crest when the fish was shoved just under my nose, where the fishy smell became almost overwhelming. I would recoil from the offending piece and make a face, as my father, now tipsy, placed the piece in his mouth, loudly lamenting his daughter's lack of appreciation but his face betraying his amusement.

So, it's a mystery that I started buying tinned seafood lately. The first was the smoked oyster in a tin that I picked up at a Vietnamese market along Broadway. Perhaps because the smoked oyster pasta came out well, I became bold and bought a tin of sardines next. And it was no ordinary tin of sardines--it was "Sultan's" sardines in chili oil, imported from Morocco.

There's a good chance that I was knocked out by the awesomely nostalgic package. It conjured up an image of a small village store with dust-covered merchandise slumbering in the darkness, sheltered from the sweltering heat outside. The Arabic writing on the other side of the box only added to my exoticism. The problem is--exoticism wasn't quite enough to make me open the tin. Once I opened it, I'd have only so many hours to use the fish before it goes bad. So, the tin sat in the cupboard for a few weeks before I finally made up my mind to use it.

When I opened the tin, I was surprised by the generous size of the fish inside. Somehow, I was expecting anchovy-sized fish cluttering the space, but instead, what I found was two plump pieces of sardines almost bursting out of the tiny container. Despite the annoyance of scales left on the fish, the small nibble I had of the sardine was fantastic. I had expected it to be fishy, oily, salty and maybe somewhat stale, but it was none of these. Thinking that I could eat this right out of the can, maybe on crispy toasts, or with grated daikon and ginger, I started cutting the cabbage--the other main ingredient of the evening's meal.

Sultan's Peperoncino (Spaghetti Peperoncino with Cabbage and Moroccan Sardines) (for two)

• 1 tin Moroccan sardines in chili oil
• 3-4 large cabbage leaves, chopped
• 6 oz spaghetti (I used whole wheat, just because)
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon crushed dried chili pepper (fresh ones would be nicer)
• 1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
• salt to taste

In a large pot, boil plenty of water. When the water is boiling, add a generous pinch of salt and add spaghetti. Cook to al dente.

Meanwhile, heat olive oil in a pan and fry the garlic and chili pepper. When it starts to smell nice, add the sardines. After a minute or two, add the cabbage and stir-fry them, crushing the sardines into bite-sized pieces. Salt to taste.

Transfer the pasta into the pan, mix, and serve when the pasta has a nice coat of olive oil.

Since the sardines weren't super-salty anchovies, the pasta came out to be a little milder than I'd expected. It could have used some more salty kick, perhaps, but it was a pretty nice comfort meal. I'm still not sure if I would gladly join my father in his occasional fish-in-a-tin drinking spree, but I'd be definitely buying these Sultan's Moroccan sardines again and again. Next time, I want to try cooking something Japanese with them--perhaps my father can enjoy it with me.