Fried Sardines

Where to start? Maybe I should tell you about the tons of fruits and vegetables we have been turning into jams and pickles. Or about the simple matter of building the restaurant toilet in the garden that has acquired the fuss of a full-fledged hotel construction. Or about the most sensible requirements of assorted governmental agencies that should (at least in theory) lead to obtaining the permission to open restaurant.

I have been attempting to write every night, but after a few lines I open Instagram or go bake cookies instead because staring at pretty things or measuring ingredients as per a trusted recipe sends my exhausted brain on vacation, however short. We are making many decisions every day, each appears important and nearly all seem irreversible. I am afraid to pick the wrong color for the walls, to set the wrong spot for the emergency light, to cook the wrong lunch for our builders so they hate me and screw up something as a revenge. I spend my days being ridiculous and taking everything too seriously. That why let’s talk about fish.

We spoil ourselves silly with fresh fish in Alaçatı. One would think that living in Istanbul right on the Marmara Sea and the Bosphorus as well as a stone drop away from the Black Sea one would have unprecedented access to fresh seafood. It often is the case, but even more often it is not. Big city means longer distribution chain with a middleman or two somewhere in between, so it might take a few days for the fresh catch to arrive on your table.

On the Aegean you buy directly from fishermen. You can do so at one of the daily fish auctions in the area or from a vendor that conveniently comes close to your house. Surprisingly for the fish trade the auctions on the Çeşme Peninsular start around 11 am, the fact that probably reflects the local flow of life we are still getting used to: nothings seems too urgent and a grocery shop open at 9 am is a drive away from the center of the village.

To take part in the auction, you don’t have to be a restaurant owner (even if there are many around): any enthusiastic fish eater is welcome. Fish auction may sound intimidating, but appears a straightforward affair. The locally caught seafood comes in small lots of 1-2 kg and the auctioneer goes from one lot to another and announces the price of each. If you want the lot, you get it or hope that no one else gets it and at the next round the price goes down.

We first came to the fish auction with anne who visited us in Alaçatı. We entered, she eyed a bunch of nice sea bream and the second the auctioneer called the lot, she indicated her interest before the rest of the attendees could even gather their thoughts. We had a good lunch and a story to tell.

You might be lucky to get some fish even later in the day after the auction is over. Alternatively, you make friends with the man who comes to the main square every morning (read: every morning he pleases). Once you learn his hours of operation, you get the fresh catch at most reasonable price without any fuss.

I like that you never know what fish you get on a certain day. Breams of all sorts often show up: the king of all, çupra is most welcome, but you can also see the common folk of the two banded bream (karagöz) or red porgy (mercan), maybe not as exquisite in taste, but way more affordable. Red mullet (tekir / barbun), crown prince of the sea, sought after like no other fish is often available. Sole (dil balığı) makes an appearance now and then. But then one day it might be only grey mullet (kefal) in its thick jacket of scales and bold flavored. Or kolyoz, a close relative of mackerel (uskumru). Some days you find blue-backed sardines.

Every time I happily return home with a bag of fish I recall my Istanbul fishmonger. That team never failed to offer a cup of tea on a quiet morning and preferential treatment at peak hours when the cheerful men trimming and peeling your fish at the speed of light handled my purchase on a priority basis while the cashier was calming down the queue of matrons discontented by my shamelessness.

I guess the loud voices of the matrons reached the recipient and as a punishment I have to clean my fish myself. When I do, I think of my mom who comes from a family of fishermen and yet preferred to pass the task of cleaning fresh catch to my granddad or aunt because she feared the fish still might be alive turning the act of butchering into slaughtering.

Peeling on your own gets you up close and personal with fish. Maybe at bit more than you’d like. As I remove the guts and wash off the blood, I am still looking in the crystal clear eyes of the fish that was swimming in the Aegean waters earlier that morning. Taking out the tiny sacks of roe from the sardines one day I realized I just interrupted the natural order of things and the seeds of new life were not going to germinate. I paused and wondered whether I should stop eating fish. For a whole second. The second was not very long. After all we are continuing the tradition of feeding off the sea like our fishermen grandfathers did. I cook fish with care and and after a meal of fish with my family all the bones and heads get piled up on my plate as I eat every bit. Plus as we buy from the auction, we are supporting small independent fishermen with more sustainable fishing practices than those of the huge boats. So there will be more fish on the menu, no question.

One of my favorite are sardines. We don’t see them a lot around and never at the auction. But our fishmonger at the square sometimes brings those small beauties with the turquoise-tinted black backs and silver bellies. Whoever first drew an image of mermaid must have been inspired by the beauty of the Aegean sardines!

I prepare them like they cook anchovies on the Black Coast. After cleaning the little fishes I roll them on a tray of stone-ground corn flour to coat. Then I arrange them in a pinwheel fashion on a skillet and fry until the skins crisp at the bottom. Next, I flip the pinwheel of sardines to the other side and finish until it crisps too. Fried sardines go best with the salad of mixed greens and herbs, torn into chunks and combined with tomato, still from the field, no greenhouse. And it is already December. I told you, we spoil ourselves silly Alaçatı.