Fired Sea Bass

When I was a kid, we used to escape as a family to the west coast of Wales. All five of us at the mercy of the weather having a myriad of adventures; the brisk countryside offering a stark contrast to the bustle of our familiar English city.

Storytime

Perched on the bow of the open-top sea kayak, my dad paddled us out over the waves. I would pretend to paddle. We headed out to the bridge crossing the yawning mouth of the open sea. You see, on the ebb of the tide, mussels are periodically revealed on the bridge piles. Apparently, they were to be tonight's dinner.

Upon reaching the bridge, Dad got to work finding the best mussels to cook. 8-year-old me wasn’t very good at picking out the best mussels, let alone prying them from their shelter. I resigned myself to leaning over the side of the kayak on my front, dangling my arms in the swirling water. I let myself become entranced by the seaweed swaying around the piles, finding the point where the light disappeared into the dark depths.

A flash of silver, a reflection of the light, gone as quickly as it had appeared. My heartbeat quickened – a fish! Must be a fish… again, a flash.

“Dad, dad, dad, a fish, there’s a fish down there, a big fish, look, look, look.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, a fish, a biiiiiiiig fish.”

“Okay.”

He passed me the hand line and I threw the weight in. I let it sink down and down and down. We waited. I watched, continuing to bob up and down in the waves, face hanging eagerly over the water.

Suddenly, a tug… then a wiggle, and another wiggle. Fish!

“Pull it up then!”

Dad holding the boat steady against the bridge, I painstakingly wrapped up the line and a 5-pound sea bass flopped into the boat in front of me.

“Put your hands on it then, don’t let it jump out!”

I tentatively put my tiny hands on top of its startled body. Fingers touched cold, wet scales…

FLAP! FLAP! FLAP! FLAP!

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Hands came up, the fish flopping around wildly.

“Hold it down! Hold it down!”

I put my hands on the fish again. It wiggled. I screamed.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! It wiggles!!”

During this time, the harbour master had launched his boat to come and get a first-hand view of all the chaos. Honestly, it was quite the sight - the fish flapping, me screaming and dad paddling vehemently to shore.

~

Fish in a bucket, on the safety of the sand, Dad had given me a choice:

“Now, we can either let this fish go and live to swim another day with its friends or –”

“eat it, I want to eat it.”

That was that.

~

I was hungry. As the evening sun cast a glow over the campsite, I watched the tendrils of smoke curl upwards to the heavens. There is something about being out in nature, the cold breadth of evening air kissing my cheeks, sitting wrapped up in the camp chair in front of the fire with family; it puts warmth and comfort into perspective. Bright eyes sparkling, mirroring the flickering glow of the fire, we all waited eagerly for the day’s reward.

After cooking it over the fire, Dad finally passed me my portion. I opened up my tin foil parcel unveiling the steaming bass, the aroma going straight up my nostrils mixing with the earthy scents of the countryside. I ate as if starved. Each poke of the fork revealed flaky portions of the succulent meat. Every bite was infused with the zesty lemon balanced against the smoky richness of the fish. Delicious.

“Well done Meely!” Mum exclaimed from beside me, pulling me into a bear hug. It wasn’t just the food that spread warmth throughout my body. I chewed in time to the sizzle and crackle of the fire as the sensations of the night weaved a sensory tapestry in my mind.

It was a simple meal, yet it is forever engrained in my mind as a time of shared celebration. Food is a conduit for memory, holding the ability to take us back to cherished moments. The act of catching and cooking food in a shared experience transcends mere sustenance; it becomes the profound expression of love and connection, a language without words. It’s one ritual that I want to one day pass to the next generation when I have a family of my own.

Cooking a good-looking sea bass

Now, when you are in the wilds of the countryside, unless you have packed everything but the kitchen sink, you are slightly limited in available tools. I’d ask that when trying this recipe, you do as you feel, guided by instinct and a touch of pizazz.

Ingredients:

1 good-looking sea bass

1 big knob of butter

1 lemon

1 bunch of fresh parsley sprigs

A sprinkle of salt and black pepper to taste.

Preparation:

(I had to ask Dad for this part)

1. Most importantly, pick an atmospheric evening when it is not raining.

2. Fire. Light your fire.

Stoke it up really hot and allow it to burn down to get your burning embers. Perch a cooking grate approximately 10 inches over the top using rocks and you are ready to get cooking.

1. Clean, de-scale and gut your sea bass (head optional).

2. Rip off a large square of tin foil.

3. Slice up your lemon.

This next part is easier over a board and out of the wind…

4. Place your tin foil over the board.

5. Lay the whole sea bass slap bang in the middle.

6. Throw on your butter and sliced lemon pieces.

7. Top with a sprinkle of salt, black pepper and parsley sprigs.

8. Fold the foil tightly over the top of the fish.

This point is crucial. You want to make sure you form a tight seal around the sea bass so that all the steaming juices don’t escape over the fire. Invest in thick foil as cheap foil will split and wrap multiple times.

9. Place the foil parcel on the cooking grate and allow the fish to cook for 20 minutes, turning once.

When the fish is cooking, it's story time!

10. Test the fish. If it's flaky, it's ready! If not, then wrap it up again and cook for a little longer.

Enjoy.

Affirmation

If you do decide to get out there and catch yourself a sea bass, maybe with a friend or family, I hope you feel the same sense of belonging and achievement as little 8-year-old me did.

“In my nurtured and celebrated connections, I find solace and a sense of belonging in this wonderful world”