A Fishy Menu

Could you eat this lovely fish?
Hi all,
Coincidences are funny things, they always seem to come together. Earlier this week I was reading a report on the Internet about some immigrants that were tucking into our native coarse fish. Not a nice thing I know but I didn't give it a second thought until the same subject came up in a book about canals that I was reading last night.

I was just on the verge of putting it down and slipping under the duvet when the author mentioned that some immigrants were fishing near to where he was moored. Being the inquisitive type he had a little chat with them and apparently, any fish they caught were sold to some fancy restaurants that put them on the menu.

Well I don't know about you but roach risotto isn't for me and I'm not fussed about carp curry either. I like my fish to come out of a big blue ocean not the grand union canal.

And yes, I have tried eating freshwater fish but I wasn't impressed. I ate a trout that I'd caught in a Welsh lake and to be honest it tasted so earthy I'd have been better off grilling a farmer's sock. Just think about it, if a fish that's lived all it's life in gin clear water has the same flavour as mud, what's a gudgeon out of the cut going to taste like?

Anyway, I don't blame the immigrants because it's all down to culture they probably think we are mad for sitting there fishing for hours on end and then throwing back what we catch.

My father gave up coarse fishing when it became non-pc to eat what you caught. He was a great lover of pike and also had an appetite for perch which he skinned like a rabbit. He once caught a lot of skimmer bream but when he found them to be full of bones and a bit thin in the meat department, I had to help him bury them at the bottom of the garden. It may have been a bit of a disgrace, but we had a bumper crop of spuds on the same patch the following year, so those lovely fish didn't go entirely to waste.

This all seems so barbaric now but you have to remember that in my father's time there was a measuring rule on the side of the Severn Trent Water Authority fishing licence, the enabled the angler to measure every fish he caught. There was also a list telling the angler what size each species of fish had to be before it could be taken for the pot. If I remember correctly a roach had to be at least 8 inches when measured from the tip of it's snout to the fork of it's tail.

So I don't suppose my dad was doing to badly even though it would be frowned upon now. He was spurred on by the fact that he liked a drink (anything with alcohol in it)so any money he saved on food would go into the fund that helped him slake his thirst. This takes me neatly to the Jack Pike that he simmered slowly in a full bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream. "The pike," he said, "was no better than average but the gravy was absolutely delicious."

In my next fishing post I will tell you about a friend of mine and the carp he took home for his dinner.

My book "Fishing:Learn from the Tips & Laught at the Tales contains lots of true tales. A free sample download is available from my website at


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