khaly comes to visit and prepares whole fish
I knew a Senegalese boy once. And like all raised-right West African boys, he knew how to cook.
The first time he came to visit, I made sure I had done the grocery shopping. When he arrived and opened the fridge stocked with a couple of whole fish and ice cold beer, he turned to me, smiled broadly and gave me a hug.
“Cheriiii...”
I had done good.
Like me, he loved fish. Our first meal together, on the day we met in Barcelona, he had taken me to a Senegalese restaurant. Unsure of what to order, I had figured the whole fish was a sure bet. When it came, perfectly fried and covered in a rich sauce over a bed of savory seasoned rice and slow-cooked veggies... I went to town.
He had been visibly impressed with my skill at navigating the tiny bones without wasting any of the tender, sweet flesh. And when, towards the end of the meal, I snapped the tailfin off and not only gobbled up the ‘booty meat’ but also nibbled on the thin, crispy-fried tailbones, he was tickled to death.
As an orphaned daughter of the continent, our shared fish fetish made me wonder if the country and people my ancestors had been stolen from were also his country, his people.
“I’m going to cook for you,” he informed me after the hug was finished. Yeah. I had done real good. Together, we moved around the kitchen in preparation for the meal - him asking me, “Do you have...?” and me, responding affirmatively then fetching the requested item, or in the negative and then offering some possible alternatives. The scavenger hunt finished, I watched as he chopped some whole ingredients: garlic, ginger, onion, tossed them in the little porcelain mortar I owned, then added some random assortment of liquids and powders: Maggi, mustard, chile sauce... and began pounding them with the pestle until it was a chunky emulsion. This mixture would eventually get stuffed into each of the diagonal slits he made on either side of each fish.
The art of grilling a whole fish over open flame is not one that i can say that ive consistently mastered, but one that i continually practice. This method of stuffing a powerful blend of aromatics and spices into is one that always brings a bit of nostalgia. A technique passed from one of the many teachers ive met on my travels.
