Trout for the Count

Bit of a late night last night. After the Biker Day and then writing it all up, I was still fairly wide awake and eventually hit the pit about 3.30am. I then had the last couple of chapters of the latest Lynda la Plante thriller to finish so eventually tucked down about 4.30. By 6.30, I was awake again, got up, had a snack and went back again until the alarm went off at 8.15.

The reason for the early start was our friend Stef coming round to fit some shelves we'd had custom-built, and he is one of these annoying people who think mornings are a time when people should be awake. Sure enough, he arrived with 9 year old son in tow and 2 hours later, we had a posh new alcove. This was at the cost of £50, me playing Uncle for the duration and a kitchen about 3 inches deep in sawdust after he had to make several "adjustments".

Job done, we tidied up and did some the 1001 things needed prior to a holiday. These included a half hour panic when I forgot where the passports were. After searching the apartment, these were eventually traced along with 100 euros left over from a previous holiday (who says it's an ill wind?).

Now the reason I've wittered on about this is because this evening was going to be a gentle time of relaxation but the best laid plans etc.............

8.30, the phone rang. It was Stef asking if we fancied a couple of trout as he'd gone fishing after finishing the shelves? Not wanting to sound churlish, I thanked him and these were duly delivered. Now, I have always enjoyed cooking and apparently am more than reasonable, but I have never been that good with fish.

I stood there with these 2 trout gazing at me. I gazed back, reluctant to do anything to them in case they were still alive. Eventually deciding that, at best, they were in a very deep sleep, I consulted Mr Google on what the hell I had to do with them. My first thought was just to bung them in the freezer but apparently they had to be gutted and various things removed before I could do this.

Taking my best knife, I put my hand down on the first fish. That slight pressure on its slippery body was enough to send it across the room like an small torpedo! Right, time for action: I stabbed its tail with one knife to hold it down and, with it pinned to the chopping board, tentatively started cutting.

Realising that a cascade of trout viscera would best be done in the sink, I transferred it there, closed my eyes, shoved in my hand and pulled whatever I found.
Surprisingly, things came out quite easily and I started to feel confident - bad mistake.


Back on the chopping board, I started trying to cut off fins, heads, tails and whatever else I fancied. It was still incredibly slimy and I felt that, had there been a referee, I was losing on points at this juncture. This book that I finished in the early hours had been about a surgeon who killed and then skilfully cut up the bodies - oh, how I wished for his expertise. Having watched the TV chefs fillet fish many a time, I started the practical exam.

The theory is knife flat against the spine and cut, but it's a little harder than it looks. In the end I had 2 very skinny pieces of the most irregular shape and still full of bones. The head of the fish gazed at me reproachfully and seemed to ask the question "Was I put on this Earth just for this? Why couldn't you be Gordon Ramsey and at least let me go out in style?".

Right, change of plan for fish #2. No filleting, just clean, de-fin. top and tail and leave the thing like that. Into the freezer and then take it to the fish restaurant next door for them to do the tricky bits at some later date. All went blindingly well (compared to the first one) and it ended up looking rather neat and professional.

At this point, Mrs B wandered out (not being able to face the tricky stuff) to pass judgement. She seemed to not notice the slimy, blood-spattered kitchen, the stink of fish and Captain Birdseye covered in fish scales and sweating profusely. "Gosh," she said "aren't you clever."

I looked at her and shrugged "Piece of piss really. Dunno what all the fuss was about."