Dingle 1: One Fish Two Fish....

7/6/2024 Maeve Callahan

 

        When's the last time that you made a meal that you found, foraged, farmed, caught or hunted? When's the last time that you made a meal that you found, foraged, farmed, caught or hunted? From the morning to the evening, each member of our class was fully immersed in the process of catching, cooking, and consuming fish, from sea to table. For me, this was the first time I've ever consumed meat where I had a hand in the process from the very beginning.

As we began the day, I was a bit apprehensive. I wasn't the biggest fan of fish, but I remember being pretty fond, and decent at catching them as a kid. But it'd been over ten years since I'd properly handled a fishing rod, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect. As our diesel-powered fishing boat made its way out into the water, I began to wonder about the great fishing traditions of such a sea-faring area. How long would it have taken a couple of fisherment to row a Naomhog all the way out to the spot it had taken us a solid thirty to forty minutes to get to on our boat, assuming that they didn't need to go even farther out from the peninsula and into the open ocean to catch fish? For us, fishing was a relative breeze, as we cast our

lines straight down into the murky, kelp-filled depths of the sea. It took me a couple of tries to get the hang of casting on the rods, but after a bit, I finally had a fish hooked on the line. Upon reeling it in, however, there were two shiny, flopping Pollock hooked onto my line. I was afraid that fishing would be boring, but I truly could not have asked for better scenery as we were encapsulated in the dazzling turquoise blue of the North Atlantic, the steely grey of the cliffs, lush bursts of lichen and other vegetation clinging to the stone, soft green grass of the land above, and white flashes of gulls and other seabirds overhead. Even the fish themselves were a marvel to look at, an earthy greyish-green hue, some with flecks of copper in their scales, and always seemingly staring into our souls with big, fishy eyes. That part felt important, as we'd be frying them in a couple of hours. By the end of the day, I had managed to reel in nine fish, a number far exceeding my humble expectations of one or two.

Maybe I enjoyed fishing? Soon, one of the fishermen began "processing" our catches (beheading and gutting the fish) and we marveled at how a screeching mass of seagulls chased our boat from the sky for the chum, all the way to the shore. Next up was a very educational and very smelly fish dissection back at our classroom. This made us a bit more knowledgeable yet perhaps apprehensive for the next task up which was cooking the fish at the Dingle Cookery School.

I am not the biggest fan of consuming fish yet I looked forward to this lesson in cooking it properly. "This is likely the freshest fish you will ever have!" said our chef, Mark. And it was true. Usually, fresh fish can be up to 20 days old. At best, 2. But ours was just hours old. In total, we had learned how to fillet the muscle from the whole fish, fry it, and dress it. Despite my distaste for fish, it genuinely was the best fish that I'd ever had. By the end of the day, I had a rekindled fondness for fishing, and a newfound appreciation for sea to table dining, where you had a part to play in the procurement, processing, and consuming of your food for the entire process. A day like ours

is a rarity in our increasingly processed world of food, where the goal seems to be that consumer is as removed as possible from the process.From the morning to the evening, each member of our class was fully immersed in the process of catching, cooking, and consuming fish, from sea to table. For me, this was the first time I've ever consumed meat where I had a hand in the process from the very beginning.
        As we began the day, I was a bit apprehensive. I wasn't the biggest fan of fish, but I remember being pretty fond, and decent at catching them as a kid. But it'd been over ten years since I'd properly handled a fishing rod, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect.
        As our diesel-powered fishing boat made its way out into the water, I began to wonder about the great fishing traditions of such a sea-faring area. How long would it have taken a couple of fishermen to row a Naomhog all the way out to the spot it had taken us a solid thirty to forty minutes to get to on our boat, assuming that they didn't need to go even farther out from the peninsula and into the open ocean to catch fish?
        For us, fishing was a relative breeze, as we cast our lines straight down into the murky, kelp-filled depths of the sea. It took me a couple of tries to get the hang of casting on the rods, but after a bit, I finally had a fish hooked on the line. Upon reeling it in, however, there were two shiny, flopping Pollock hooked onto my line.
        I was afraid that fishing would be boring, but I truly could not have asked for better scenery as we

were encapsulated in the dazzling turquoise blue of the North Atlantic, the steely grey of the cliffs, lush bursts of lichen and other vegetation clinging to the stone, soft green grass of the land above, and white flashes of gulls and other seabirds overhead. Even the fish themselves were a marvel to look at, an earthy greyish-green hue, some with flecks of copper in their scales, and always seemingly staring into our souls with big, fishy eyes.
        That part felt important, as we'd be frying them in a couple of hours. By the end of the day, I had managed to reel in nine fish, a number far exceeding my humble expectations of one or two. Maybe I enjoyed fishing?
        Soon, one of the fishermen began "proceessing" our catches (beheading and gutting the fish) and we marveled at how a screeching mass of seagulls chased our boat from the sky for the chum, all the way to the shore. Next up was a very educational and very smelly fish dissection back at our classroom. This made us a bit more knowledgable yet perhaps apprehensive for the next task up which was cooking the fish at the Dingle Cookery School.
        I am not the biggest fan of consuming fish yet I looked forward to this lesson in cooking it properly. "This is likely the freshest fish you will ever have!" said our chef, Mark. And it was true. Usually, fresh fish can be up to 20 days old. At best, 2. But ours was just hours old.
        In total, we had learned how to fillet the muscle from the whole fish, fry it, and dress it. Despite my distaste for fish, it genuinely was the best fish that I'd ever had. By the end of the day, I had a rekindled fondness for fishing, and a newfound appreciation for sea to table dining, where you had a part to play in the procurement, processing, and consuming of your food for the entire process.
    A day like ours is a rarity in our increasingly processed world of food, where the goal seems to be that consumer is as removed as possible from the process.