Open Writing

Recently, I purchased some fish from my local supermarket. What’s so remarkable about that you might well ask? Well, as a fish lover for most of my life, and a bit of an epicure to boot, fresh fish from a supermarket, to me, is a real oxymoron, or has been until now.

When I was a young child in the late 1930’s, and would go food shopping with my mother, we had a choice of two fish markets, fishmongers as they were called then; one within ten minutes walking distance, the other a fifteen-minute tram ride away. Both were well stocked with quality fish, so whether we shopped at one or the other depended only on what other provisions my mother needed.

The fish were artfully displayed on a large marble slab that sloped down from about 4 feet high at the back of the store, where the fishmonger stood in attendance. At the front, which was close to the sidewalk, the slab was about two feet high. The storefront was completely open, and closed off after business hours with a steel roller shutter. At either side of the storefront hung cascades of pigeon, pheasant and grouse in season, rabbit and hare.

The fish, which were always whole, came mainly from the North Sea, the Atlantic or the English Channel, and were brought in by train each morning, packed in ice, from the fishing ports of Yorkshire, Norfolk or Suffolk, and Scotland. Depending on the day, and the prevailing weather in the fishing grounds, the selection might include Cod, Herring, Mackerel, Plaice, Sole, Whiting and Halibut. There might also be crab, cockles, mussels, kippers and, very occasionally, lobster.

All the fish exhibited the telling signs of freshness – bright eyes, shining scales and no fishy smell. Many people I know say they don’t eat fish because they don’t like the smell. Well, good fresh fish doesn’t smell “fishy” in the cooking or the eating.

During World War II, the selection of fish dwindled. Between the extreme North Sea weather, attacks on the fishing fleet by German warships, and the loss of fishermen who had been recruited into the armed forces, commercial fishing almost came to a halt. But then the British Government Department of Fisheries applied their research to finding alternative fishing grounds, and different kinds of fish.

It was a hard sell persuading diehards like my mother that any fish she hadn’t heard of were likely to be palatable, but the new varieties were surprisingly good, and we were hungry. The only ones I remember by name are Snook, and Rock Salmon otherwise known as Dog Fish. The Department of Fisheries put out pamphlets that included a drawing of each fish, a description of its qualities and how best to cook it.

Towards the end of the War in Europe, even the new varieties were hard to come by. The fishing fleets were depleted, and the Atlantic Ocean and North Sea became too dangerous due to military activity. Some fishmongers closed, never to reopen. In the years after the War ended, the frozen food companies such as Birds Eye invested heavily in fishing fleets and processing plants that produced a range of products needing only to be heated and served.

The day of “Fish Fingers,” (“Fish Sticks” in the US) had arrived; fitting well with the lifestyle of two-career families and life on the run. The products were actually very good, and their introduction sounded the death knell for many traditional fishmongers and the independent trawler owners.

In the American cities where I have lived, fishmongers as I knew them are rare, and the supermarkets did not offer fresh fish until comparatively recently. Then about three or four years ago, “fresh” fish counters started to appear in some supermarkets here; I suspect in response to the blossoming fish farming industry in the US and elsewhere in the world, and to the increasing cost of meat and its negative health connotations.

The, so called, “fresh” fish that was offered was anything but. The smell pervaded half the store, and probably put off a whole new generation of potential fish eaters. I learned to my dismay that the US annually imports billions of dollars of “fresh fish” from fish farms as far away as Taiwan and China, even Cat Fish, which are plentiful in this country. Recently, I began to notice the absence of a fishy smell around the counters. Also, that whole fish were on display, rather than the usual skinless filets.

These changes persuaded me to make my recent purchase, and the wild salmon I bought was surprisingly good. But a little voice in my head is saying, “I wonder if the fish suppliers have found a way to suppress the smell.” After all, the supermarket lines of distribution are long, and the source of supply probably is half the world away, so how fresh could the fish really be?

Even though the local supermarket is convenient and economical, I guess I’ll continue to drive the hour it takes to Andy’s Island Seafood Market in Matlachet, where I’ll see a beautiful selection of gleaming Yellowtail, Mangrove and Red Snapper, Hog Fish, Grouper and Spanish Mackerel, caught or speared only the day before in the Florida Keys. It’s just like being a kid again.

# # #