Showing posts with label seafood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seafood. Show all posts

10 April 2009

Fish Fries, Fishing, Sea Food and Markets in Paris

Spring is finally upon us. I think I said that a month ago. This time I mean it. About a week ago I began drooling over photographs and memories of Paris in April.

So I knew it was spring. Besides, it's Easter weekend, and that generally signals winter's certain departure. Yes, even the year spring was late (April 28) and we woke up to a thin cover of snow. Yup, even then.

For me, the first balmy days are usually accompanied by a fierce desire for sea food or fish. Here in Catholic Wisconsin, Friday fish fries are hugely popular all year round. Each restaurant has a slightly different take, but most serve fried fish with French fries, cole slaw, baked beans and rye bread.

When I was a child, it was hard to find certain types of fish or sea food in our area, but with a father in the restaurant business, that was no problem at our house. I never knew what I would come home to on Fridays: Lobster boiling or clams steaming. At noon, we had fish sticks and French fries with green peas.

I love the open-air fish markets of Paris, the gritty, briny bins of muscles or clams that make me want to cook them up with some garlicky white sauce and a bottle of well-matched white wine. But I am just as happy scarfing down a fish fry at the local family restaurant with its glorious view of the water, the brownish seagrasses glinting golden in the setting sun, and the string of glittering lights from across the bay.

And so I did tonight, and then we drove home along the river where hundreds of fishermen (and women) lined the shore or stood in shallow water in pursuit of smelt or sturgeon or whatever fish are running right now. I felt a little frisson of delight to see dozens of men in waders near the old scaling gap, and thought of my Irish great grandfather, a scaler in the lumber days, a lithe brown-haired man with nine lives. I saw bonfires lining the shores of the islands, and sensed the carnival atmosphere. It was almost like the old days, when smelt ran by the thousands and there really was a carnival with a smelt queen and smelt wrestling.

And then I remembered that some of the fishermen might be fishing out of necessity, not out of love for the sport, or for the damp spring night setting in on the eve of a holiday weekend, a spiritual holiday, but a time for family and celebrating just the same. I felt a bit sad, but not for long. We are blessed to have the river and the bay and the lovely night.

I hope you are blessed on this weekend.

21 February 2007

Lenten Sacrifice, Memere's Candy Jar and Billy Gumbo

Growing up Catholic, we took Lent seriously and were encouraged to give something up. Usually it was candy.

Nowadays that doesn't bother me in the least, but it was a difficult sacrifice for a child. My resolve rarely lasted a week. I'd be fine the first three days, and would feel highly virtuous, a feeling I like more now than I did then.

But within two days of Ash Wednesday, I craved sugar with an intensity that made my teeth chatter, and I usually found some way to sneak red licorice or chocolate into my mouth. (Giving up red meat would have been a far easier sacrifice back then, as I loathed the stuff and resorted to all sorts of ingenious ways of avoiding it.)

The entire family (except my father) was sacrifice-prone for the dreary weeks leading up to Easter. Candy jars would go unfilled until Holy Saturday when no one could wait any longer and the deprivation generally ended.

My father ignored such things, as he ignored religion. But he relished the culinary customs of Catholicism. On Shrove Tuesday, he'd prepare some fatty dish and hum "Jambalaya" under his breath, always deliberately mishearing the lyrics so he could ask, "Who's this Billy Gumbo fellow, anyway?"

During Lent, he'd order lobster and clams and shrimp, having some of it flown in from the East Coast (a huge extravagance in those days). It was for the restaurant, of course, but we enjoyed it, too: Lobster with chive-y butter, clam chowder, oysters, scallops, shrimp - oh my!

For school-day lunches, there were fish sticks and French fries and macaroni-and-cheese.

Today I try to give something up, not for religious reasons (I stopped practicing when I got it right), but because it feels good.

Note: The candy dish belonged to Mémére. I noticed today that it has a few small splashes of red paint on it, same as Annie's pressed glass goblets (Sept. 25, 2006).