“WHITEBAIT”

Hard to relive past taste sensations

By MATT RILKOFF - Taranaki Daily News | Saturday, 22 September 2012

IT was only ever a single kernel of hope. A single kernel on a single cob in a field of thousands and thousands. But it was enough and with whitebait you only need a thimble full. So when I learned that frozen whitebait could be bought for $6.50 a pack in the supermarket, small as it was, the hope was enough to get me just a little bit excited.

Me and whitebait go a long way back. I used to fish for them on the banks of the Waitara River with my grandfather. Later, when I was older, I used the same net to catch the slippery fingerlings in the dubious waters of the Waimoku Stream behind the beach shop in Oakura.

Back in the 1990s I would syphon a few off from the batch I was supposed to be frying up and handing out at Monteith's beer tasting events and more recently my sister's two-year stint in Hokitika gave me infrequent but memorable access to the delicacy.

But in all my life I had never bought whitebait and that was mostly because they cost $120 a kilogram and reporters earn only slightly more than dish rag. But $6.50 for a 250 gram pack, well, I could swing that easy. So into my basket they went and though I consequently found out they weren't New Zealand whitebait, I decided it was still worth a shot.

It wasn't the first time I had opted for economy over expense. In fact, that is how I shop. You won't see me buying fillet steak at $40kg when with a bit of technique and know-how the humble blade steak knocks you down with meaty flavour.

Give me offal any day, show me the bacon ends and I'll buy them and I'm happier with a lamb knuckle than the flashier shank.

I would like to think it was before or after but it was actually while I ate one of those slow braised lamb knuckles with my girlfriend last week that I pitched the idea of how we would eat the whitebait. "How's about this," I said half-way through a mouthful of meat. "We'll fritter them."

She looked at me as you might look at a beloved pet that had developed an unfortunate urinary control problem but I was used to that and carried right on.

"We'll get some white bread," I said stuffing a whip of potato mash into my mouth. "We'll make some coleslaw," I said chewing on a french bean. "And some mayonnaise."

Which made it all sound so simple even though I only explained half of it. You see, the coleslaw wouldn't just be run-of-the-mill coleslaw. It would have flat leaf parsley and red onion and sesame seeds. And I'd be adding more lemon juice than usual to the mayonnaise as I was expecting the whitebait to be a bit salty and the white bread, well, that had to be Quality Bakers sandwich slice. Not because it was the best white bread in town because it wasn't. Rather, it added a further element of Kiwi culture and nostalgia to the already classic menu.

It was complicated stuff that she had no stomach to listen to, which is why I kept it to myself as you generally have to do in New Zealand.

Other countries in which I have travelled have a much greater appetite for food talk and truly appreciate that food, not money, clothes or the type of car you drive, is the only material thing that really matters. I'm not ashamed to say it. The whole reason I spent six weeks tripping around China was for the food.

I passed by the crushing tourist traps, grimaced through the often painful bus trips, the crowds and the chaos and made great effort to ignore the choking smog of its cities. I was there for the steam buns, the handmade noodles, the braised frog, stewed intestine, whole cooked carp and morsels I can not even describe.

I took photos of every meal I ate and I quickly found the best way to break down the language barrier with the Chinese people I met was to show them these pictures of their country's food. After that everything was easy, as it is between kindred spirits.

The day after the lamb knuckles we weren't hungry for dinner until half way through the All Blacks game against South Africa. By the time I had cooked the meticulously planned fritters and brought them to the TV room with the bread and coleslaw and an extra helping of mayonnaise the game had started again. It was nerve-wrecking stuff. "What do you think," I asked my girlfriend.

"They're all right. Not great," she said with her usual honesty. "What did they cost again?"

Just $6.50 I said, and though that didn't make them taste any better it did make the disappointment, the crushing of that small delicate kernel, a little less severe.

http://www.stuff.co.nz/taranaki-daily-news/opinion/7716422/Hard-to-relive-past-taste-sensations