I've discussed my family's Iraqi Jewish background before, in the context of recipes and more somber matters. I've heard my aunts and uncles tell stories of how, in the summer months, when the Tigris River shrinks from its banks in the scorching heat, previously submerged islands are revealed in midstream. At times like these, people would row out to the islands in the evening and enjoy the earthly pleasures of Mesopotamia: song, dance, and the flesh of the unique species of carp native to the Tigris. The meal of choice on nights like these was masgouf, a butterflied fresh-caught fish roasted gently over a smoky open fire. The fish would be split open along the spine rather than the belly and secured a safe distance over the fire by forked sticks stuck in the ground at an angle nearby. The finished dish was a communal meal, eaten right off the bone with no utensils but the fingers God gave you.

My Upper West Side Apartment is no place for an open fire, I don't have any pointed sticks handy, and anyway I'm a long way from the Tigris. But when summer rolls around I start thinking about the simple satisfaction of roasted fish, and I seek out ways of quieting my cravings. This time it began with a whole red snapper, cleaned and split -- unavoidably -- along the belly.

Lacking woodsmoke to impart flavor to the flesh of this generally bland fish, I decided to help it along by stuffing it with slices of onion and lemon, fresh parsley, coarse salt, and olive oil. I scored the flesh for even cooking and seasoning (just salt and olive oil on the outside) and set it on a metal rack to go into a hot (425 degree) oven.

Traditional garnishes for masgouf include chopped onions and tomatoes, as well as the clay-oven flatbreads common to Iraq and much of the Middle East. Since I had already thrown authenticity out the window, I replaced the flatbread with grilled polenta, boosted the onions and tomatoes with some fresh parsley, and paired my Manhattan Masgouf with a crisp white wine.

For all my tinkering with this centuries-old dish, I did manage to retain one small piece of tradition: I quickly abandoned my fork and dug into the roast snapper with my bare hands. I've got to say, it really does make for a more satisfying meal.