My niece’s boyfriend, Javier, came around last night with a freshly caught bass for our dinner. There was much discussion on the best way to cook the fish and everyone (apart from me) thought we should salt it, add butter and lemon, wrap in foil and pop it into the oven; personally, left to my own devices, I would have filleted it and covered it in batter or egg and breadcrumbs before deep-frying. Nevertheless, I went with the flow and put it in the oven.
After twenty minutes or so in the hot oven the fish had become soft and tender, so tender that when I unwrapped it from the foil and attempted to move the fish from the baking tin to an oval plate… it’s head fell off! A few moments later I had managed to re-attach the missing head (with its eyes cooked white) and no-one but me would be the wiser.
At the table, I chiselled out a small portion only for myself, and hoped that nobody would notice.
“You’re not having much!” everyone exclaimed together (apart from my young nephew).
James understood. He had already claimed to be “All fished out” and was happy to have a couple of small baked potatoes with cheese and tinned tuna (so much more appetising without eyes and skin!).
The first mouthful, complete with two bones, was quite enough for me and, when no-one was looking, I moved the rest onto Chris’s plate.
The bass was a great success – everyone (almost) loved it – and James and I thoroughly enjoyed our potatoes and salad. And if you’re wondering what this blog post has to do with socks… just look at the photographs and you’ll comprehend. Shh, please don’t let on to Roland that I’ve used this sneaky shot of him in socks and sandals.
