Jane Grigson's Fish Book - Jane Grigson [228]
† GARFISH & NEEDLENOSE OR SAURY Belone belone & Scomberesox saurus
Garfish may not be an epicure’s delight, but they have some enchanting characteristics, more than enough to enhance the good but unexciting flavour. Although they are plentiful enough in our waters, we saw them first in France at our weekly market. The blueish-green glow of their long narrow bodies stood out amongst the herring and mussels; so did the protracted beaks armoured with a row of tiny vicious teeth (garfish – the name goes back to the Middle Ages – means spearfish or javelinfish, from the shape of this beaky snout). The label said orphies. Name and appearance were worthy of a fairy tale, or one of the lighter stories of mythology. In her quick way, Madame Soarès the fishmonger saw we were hooked, and came over to explain that the glowing sheen of the skin was repeated in the bones. ‘I’ll cut one up to show you… See?’ Sure enough they were an exquisite greenish-blue, like Persian plates in a museum. The colour doesn’t disappear in the heat of cooking either, so you have an elegant articulation of peacock glory against the white flesh on your plate. (It is caused by a harmless phosphate of iron, discovered in 1823 by J. G. Vivian and named vivianite.)
Another amiable characteristic is the way garfish leap out of the water to escape prowling tuna fish, or to snap at the tiny herrings and sprats they live on. It is not the real flight of a bird, a flight which changes direction and soars and dips, but more of a ‘skittering’ over the sea propelled by strong tail movements.
Garfish arrive on the west coast of England in early summer, swimming into shallow water just ahead of the mackerel – in some parts they are called mackerel guide or mackerel scout – to spawn in the seaweed. Apparently housewives in the East End of London like to buy them. The rest of England doesn’t get much of a chance. No demand. (I always wonder how we are expected to ‘demand’ fish we have never had the opportunity of seeing or hearing about.)
Madame Soarès doesn’t suffer from that kind of fishmonger’s laziness and stupidity. She delights in the unusual. The moment your eye flickers towards something new, she is there. Like a Colette of the marketplace, she pours out information with feeling and drama, from a treasure of hoarded experience. Usually there is a recitative on the history, capture and character traits of the fish, rising to an aria of recipes and sauces. In this case the recitative was the thing, because the garfish doesn’t offer much scope for culinary enterprise.
The saury (Scomberesox saurus) is related to the garfish, and looks very like it. The beak is similarly protracted – for which reason Americans call it needlenose and needlefish. It leaps from the water, too, though rather more vigorously, and is sometimes called skipper. One thing distinguishes it instantly from its cousin – two rows of small tuftlike fins between the dorsal fins and the tail. When you cook and eat it, you could not guess the difference since the bones have a greeny peacock glory too. It is caught down the east coast of America and in the Caribbean, as well as in Europe and North Africa. Other related species are found in the Atlantic and Pacific: occasionally they can be bought in cans.
How to prepare garfish and needlenose
Cut off the head, tail and fins. Clean out well. Cut across into 5–7-cm (2–3-inch) pieces. Dip them in seasoned flour and fry them in clarified butter. A few lemon quarters, some bread or potatoes in butter, a glass of white wine, and there you are – simple gustatory pleasure with plenty of conversation.
The Danes who eat a good deal of hornfisk (garfish) sometimes poach it in very salty water or a court bouillon*. French friends have recommended a green sauce sharpened with sorrel* which is fine if you feel the occasion requires embellishment, or if garfish often comes your way and you want a change. I prefer the