Fishy tales

(Published in the Bengal Post Sunday section, August 8)

Think of fish in India and your mind zeroes in on the cuisine of Bengal, where all foods piscine have been elevated to a veritable art form. Even as the Bengalis delicately pick their practiced way through the maze of tiny bones to unearth intensely aromatic flesh in the experience that is the prized hilsa, or ilish maach now in season, they screw up their discerning noses at an offering from the sea, insisting that the marine life is not ‘sweet enough’. Only river fish for them, they declare, as they throng the markets early in the morning to take home the freshest catch of the day, carefully chosen and neatly cleaned and filleted, after exchanging banter, the occasional insult and a recipe or two with the fishmonger, the neighbour and the local rickshaw-wallah. At this time of year, when eateries big and small announce the arrival of the hilsa with food festivals to celebrate it, there is a collective smacking of lips, a meticulous and astonishingly skilful sorting of bone from meat in the mouth and a sonorous and satisfied burp signalling the end of a feast well-deserved and better relished.

Fish is indeed a treasure in a nation that is primarily vegetarian. It is not only a rich fund of nourishment in its fat, protein and omega-3 amino acid content, but also a storehouse of tradition, culture, customs and, interestingly, art. Fish motifs are used in painting, weaving, carving and metal casting, seen in mythology mainly as an avatar of Vishnu and used as an analogy for the beauty of the female eye. Medically speaking, small live fish are used in an annual camp in Andhra Pradesh to push a cure for asthma down a believer’s throat – there is no proof that this method works, but faith goes a long way along the path to good health. In some ancient cultures, catching a fish could win a young man a bride, rather like the story of Arjuna shooting a fish in the eye at Draupadi’s swayamwar. And in a number of coastal communities, fish is not just a dietary staple, but also a steady source of income, in both the local and international market.

The way fish is eaten and the kind of fish eaten varies with region, just as the methods of cooking it do. In Bengal and Assam, as well as in other regions where the sea is a distant fact, river fish is preferred, while in Maharashtra and Goa, the sea is the piscatorial larder. Dried fish – such as mackerel, prawns or Bombay Duck – is a favourite on the western coast, and dried shellfish is often ground into a base for gravies in South India. Along the Ratnagiri shoreline and in cities like Mumbai, the flat, meaty and gently-flavoured pomfret is prized, the white variety more than the black, and can sometimes command prices that could finance a small business! Goa is home to some of the best seafood in the country, with recipes that bring out the best in any fish – from the spicy green Xacuti to the fiery Rechado to the preserves – prawn and chicken pickle being hot (literally!) favourites. The Parsis have created the Prawn Patia, a spicy preserve ideally eaten with dal and rice, and the fried dried Bombay Duck, crunchy, salty and incredibly fishy.

But at this time of year, when the seas are whipped up into a frenzy by the southwest monsoon, no fisherman on the west coast will take his boat out. He will stay on land to mend his nets, refit his boat and organise his home, waiting for the rains to finish their job, for the fish to end spawning season and the waters to be calm enough that he can go out to sea again. And that is when the celebrations begin. With Narali Purnima, or the Coconut Festival, the Goddess of the Sea is propitiated with sweet fresh coconut water, milky coconut flesh, ghee lamps and flowers, and her permission taken for fishing to begin once again.

It may be believed that fish needs a mild, neutral environment for its true taste to be savoured. But in India, be it in Bengal or in Kerala, Maharashtra or Goa, spice is indeed a way of life. Chillies and often coconut are part of almost any recipe, especially in Kerala. The delicate Pearlspot or Karimeen is perfect in a moilee, or cooked in a broth rich with coconut milk, curry leaves, chillies, ginger and salt. Moplah (Kerala Muslim) cuisine has a recipe for prawn biryani that cooks the shellfish with chillies, ginger, poppy seeds, coconut milk and lime juice. In Goa too, coconut rules, often replacing cow or buffalo milk in any recipe, adding a distinctively Indian note to many seafood preparations that have strong Portuguese roots and are baked, stuffed and grilled or pies. Through all this, the intrinsic flavour of the fish is the hero, always clean and distinct, no matter how much camouflage may be put in, from chillies and pepper to tamarind and ginger. But the contrast between the fish-based cuisine of Bengal and that of Goa and the west coast in general is distinct: river-based species give way to ocean life like mullet, mackerel, sardine, skate, shark and prawn.

One of the most ubiquitous of fish dishes is the curry, made in almost the same way across the country. A thick or thin gravy, redolent with spices, forms the base. This may be made with ground coconut or with tomatoes, but will contain the chillies that give it its characteristic red-orange hue, so easily identified as one of the colours of India itself, hot, spicy and oh-so-addictive. In this long-simmered and rich sauce is dropped prawns, lobster, crab, or any of a long list of fish, and allowed to steep rather than stew. The result: a fragrant, delicious meal when eaten with hot, fresh rice and a puffy poppadom. Bon appetit!