Fun times last night. Came home from work at 9 and had to gut like 16 whiting.
My CSF originally advertised that my fish would arrive whole, but gutted. However, they also said that we’d be getting whatever the fishermen happened to catch that week, which in this case was whiting, a creature considered “too delicate” to gut ahead of time. (Given the way they smelled when I picked them up, I’m fairly certain “delicate” was a euphemism for something else. Or maybe that’s me being delicate.)
One of the reasons I signed up for the CSF was because I knew it would force me to figure out uses for fish I’d never encounter/buy at the grocery. Of course, knowing this intellectually and getting elbow deep in it at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday night are two very different things, as I learned yesterday.
Whiting are a fish so insignificant that Wikipedia doesn’t see fit to have a full entry on them. Some internet research revealed that they aren’t actually a species at all, but rather “whiting” is a colloquial term used to describe a broad range of fish with white bellies. Wait, isn’t that like every fish?
Despite this, I tried hard not to look down my nose at the whiting, which one friend suggested I put back on a hook and throw into the sea in the hopes of catching something better. I’m still trying to find their redeeming qualities amongst the entrails, bones and smell…
Gutting was bad enough, but suffice to say that cooking them was as close to a disaster as dinner can come and still be edible. I thought I could fry these babies whole, like a sardine, but upon hitting a pan of hot oil they disintegrated almost instantly … heads fell off, fins mixed with flesh… I might as well have thrown a hand grenade into the pan. It might have tasted better.
Contemplating a new use for our dinner party Thursday. Stay tuned.