By Fish Share Member, Mike Franco
Okay, I will admit it — I long have had a bit of a fish obsession (actually, seafood in general).
Going back to my childhood years “over the bridge” in the South Coast environs of Fall River, some of my earliest and richest summer memories involved traipsing through its many low tide muds with my dad, armed only with our toes and fingers, intent on unearthing the pearly white steamers barely hidden beneath the surface. When those gems were not always available, our trip down to the local Portuguese seafood market did the trick. Harvested ourselves or store bought, these tasty morsels transformed many a “Meatless Friday” supper into a true feast. In my family, we did not eat them by the dozen, or even the pound. My mom would steam 4-5 quarts of them for my dad, brother and me; there were never any left. I can’t handle that many any more, but I still savor these tasty little tidbits — and the memories that accompany them.
That same local seafood market also introduced me to yet another memorable ocean treasure, salt cod (bacalhau) that is the basis for perhaps Portugal’s most popular seafood dishes. You may already know that salt cod needs to be soaked in water for at least 24 hours before it can be prepared as a meal. (Here’s a tip - my mom used milk instead of water for the soaking, supposedly giving the fish a milder texture; it must have been her Irish version of the dish!)
Through much of my youth, it seemed that fish and shellfish were never far away — sometimes even literally. Imagine, for instance, walking into the tiny bathroom in our cold water Fall River tenement flat only to discover a 30 pound striped bass inhabiting the bathtub, my brother’s reward for his sometimes all-night escapades when the big stripers were running in pursuit of herring up the nearby Westport River. These larger temporary bathtub dwellers would be hauled off to the wholesale market the next morning, but the smaller ones usually found their way onto our supper plates that night — to me, a far superior substitute for meatloaf or spaghetti.
My “up close and personal” relationship with the underwater world reached its zenith when I helped on my brother’s lobster boat out of New Bedford for a few college year summers. It was not at all like any other job I had, either before or since. The sheer physical labor involved left this otherwise young and spry twenty-year-old constantly sore and fatigued; the 4 a.m. wake-up alarm required to get out on the water on time did not help either. Yet looking back now, I can still recall the spectacular early morning ocean vistas, the sometimes terrifying (to me at least) threat Mother Nature occasionally would pose to our little lobster boat, and the unique sense of accomplishment in glancing down at a particularly large haul at day’s end. And an added bonus— the endless array of steamed lobsters and lobster rolls (Maine style, of course) that I consumed back then!
Over the many years since, fish (as well as their shelled cousins) and I have remained fast friends. Having lived in various locales where ocean fare is not even a legitimate option, I nonetheless tried to retain my gustatory links to underwater critters by dining on catfish, brook trout and other “inferior” land-locked substitutes. Even the warm water ocean catch options widely available during our regular Florida visits simply do not stack up to their cold water cousins up here. Yes, I admit, call me a true seafood snob at this point.
How lucky was my obnoxious self, therefore, after retiring full time here in 2018, only to have our wonderful Chatham Harvesters Cooperative open its doors shortly thereafter. If you are reading this, you likely are a fellow Co-Op member, a special group now numbering more than 500, and growing. My wife and I recently attended one of the Co-Op’s very informative and enjoyable, member-only cooking demonstrations, and learned this is the only such fisherman-owned co-op in Massachusetts. Another point of pride.
Each Sunday morning, I find myself wondering what will be featured in the weekly email like this one that the Co-Op sends us. Some of my regular favorites — tuna, bluefish, smoked bluefish, monkfish, clam pie. And many, perhaps less familiar types (although abundant in our waters) — skate, fluke, scup, black sea bass, dogfish. The helpful and growing list of recipes on the website is a godsend, especially for the “new to you” fish; we have tried several, they are easy to prepare and delicious. And of course, with autumn just around the corner, who knows what other species may appear in the coming weeks? I am ready to sign up for my fall share, and anxious to find out!
For me, the Co-Op covers so many bases. Yes, it does scratch my extremely demanding fish itch, but also does so much more. This hardworking corps of Chatham-area fishing family members work collaboratively in addressing the nutrition needs of people on Cape Cod and increasingly beyond, especially focusing on fish species that are abundantly available in our local waters, and using time honored techniques and practices — all designed to foster a more sustainable ocean food environment for today and future generations. For me, there is a straight line from their current work all the way back to the pioneer fishing families already here in the town’s earliest days. Quite a legacy indeed.
Meanwhile, here is my public offer to the Co-Op. Should your seafood catch bounty ever swell to the point where your fish storage coffers can no longer hold it all, my Chatham house has two bathtubs and a shower floor, all available as temporary holding pens for your excess. After all, a tub worked well for my brother’s striped bass all those many years ago in Fall River. And I would enjoy the company!
Comments