My journal of foood musings and eating memoirs
Take a look at that picture, the one above.That’s “fish and chips”, the Indian version off course.Fish and chips being uncommon to us and all I was quite easily allured.Allured and blind to the fine print on the menu the order was made.It arrived , wrapped in this blanket of crispy crumbs of something and surrounded by a bed of deep fried potato sticks.Fish and chips , i thought.And so the unraveling began, one bite and i knew it! Basa! It had to be Basa!I immediately looked for the menu and ran my finger down to “fish and chips” , there it was, printed finely! All the way from the Mekong river on our plates in south India. Gripped with disappointment I took the second bite, nothing but catfish.Yes those little creatures called “Basa” are catfish. So what’s wrong with catfish one might say.I say it’s wrong.It doesn’t taste like our fish.The sear fish, the mackerel, the pomfret, the sardine, the hilsa! Oh fish!
The Basa may come with a skeletal system that can be easily handled but it comes with a lot less taste. I am sorry Basa, but I don’t like you. You quite simply spoil the dish for me.The stories of the where, the why Basa, the fillet of Basa, the farmed Basa, melt in your mouth Basa, don’t seem to work on me.This is about my palate and it does not appreciate you.
Basa, I wish you well. May you grow and flourish in the Mekong river and add to the growth of the Eco system, but please stay away from my plate.I know you , camouflaged under those fancy names, I will find you out.Watch out Basa, I can feel the momentum rise that cries out, oh fish not Basa!