An AI in an EI Kitchen – Part IV

My introduction to fish was a happy one. I encountered it filleted, flaked, crumbed and fried as in Bird’s Eye Fish Fingers (are they still around?). Fish was delicious, Fish smelt good. Fish came in neat cardboard cartons out of a deep freeze. There was no connect between the aquarium and the meal on my plate.

Fast forward twenty years or so to when I stepped into the EI kitchen and discovered that fish was on the daily menu: every denizen of the deep was fair game. And so I was introduced, in quick succession, to Parkat (Sting ray), Mushi (Shark), Rawas (Salmon) Surmai (Mahaseer), Cupar (Eel or Tuna), Catfish, Ghol (Croaker), Bombil (Bombay Duck), Bhangda (Mackerel) and a whole lot more from the elite Pomfret to the guttersnipe Newtie. And how can one forget the shellfish? Prawns, shrimp, crabs, lobsters, oysters, clams were expensive in comparison but still added their presence to the meal. Each fish was allotted its own masala ranging from red, hot and sour to yellow, to green to reddish brown or brownish red – the ingredients were selected so as to enhance the particular flavour of the fish. Some fish were good for frying, others for stuffing, yet others for curry and some for baking and cutlets.

The fish was still delicious but there was one catch: it had to be fresh! Hello, Indian Fish Market.

My first visit was an education. There sat the women, buxom of build, laden with gold, hair slicked to a shine, baskets brimming with different kinds of piscatorial fare. A stone slab and a mean looking sickle completed the picture. There was a time honoured process involved in the purchase: examine the freshness of the fish by pressing the gills and checking the eyes, then haggle over the price, then sidestep the flying scales, fins and other incidental debris and avoid the ubiquitous cats. All this while being overpowered by the aroma of fresh, not so fresh and some quite stale fish and discarded entrails. It was also tough to avoid the puddles of ‘fish water’ and you undertook the homeward journey trying hard to avoid the accusatory glances of other commuters. Buying fish was not for the fainthearted. Neither was cleaning them – fish always seem to be caught while enjoying their own last meal!

I soon learned the useful trick of sending hubby to buy the fish. The fisher-women loved him and a few became his ‘fast friends’ hailing him as soon as he entered the market and producing for him the best of their stock. He would come home with a lot more than he bargained for, but since the fish was fresh and cleaned to perfection he was readily forgiven: we could look forward to a weekend table laden with the ocean’s bounty.

Those fisher-women with their lively banter and occasional invective are now long gone. The present generation is not so amiable in plying the trade and fish is sold at ‘fixed price only’, take it or leave it. The up-market housewife has also been responsible for the introduction of ready to cook ‘fresh’ fish delivered to the door. The trawler companies are finding it convenient to cut out the middle woman.

Fish is no longer on our daily menu, but when it does make its appearance, we remember the time when the trip from market to table could be quite an odyssey!

Delivered at the doorstep

The latest offering from Bandra Bugger (the blog!) reminded me of Indira. Indira was our fisherwoman. Sturdy of build and stentorian of voice, she brought the freshest fish at the highest prices direct to our doorstep.

My neighbour was an avid fish-eater and an excellent bargainer to boot. So, Indira would ring my doorbell (hoping to entice me with the first pick), I would ring the neighbour’s doorbell (in order to ensure a good bargain) and we would get down to business.

On one such occasion, I indulged in a medium sized Rawas (Indian Salmon) which I purchased intact – an intended treat for my husband. I placed the fish on the kitchen platform and went to fetch the required amount from my purse. I paid Indira, she kissed the notes (it was her boni or first customer’s blessing) and wished me good appetite; I shut the front door and returned to the kitchen, to clean the fish and consign it to the pot for lunch. I was stunned to find no fish. I am not absentminded and there was no doubt that I had placed the fish on the platform. Nevertheless, I checked the floor, the sink, and the stove-top. The Rawas was nowhere to be found.

It was then that I realised that our usually vocal collie, was unusually silent. Sure enough, she had hidden herself under our bed and was licking her lips over the last morsel. The raw salmon, scales and all, was now in her well sated belly – she had gulped down in a matter of minutes what would have been a substantial meal for two human adults! It was a rather expensive treat for the dog, but I was more anxious about the effect of the scales and fish bones on her health to be angry with her. Well, she never suffered any after effects; on the contrary, she was full of bounce and bonhomie. We, of course, had to make do with the previous day’s leftovers and were, consequently, not in the same good mood.

That Rawas must really have been first-rate, because Indira’s subsequent visits were always greeted with much tail wagging and body shaking, while I would get a sharp nip as a reminder to get on with it and buy the fish!