Tinned Fish: An Ode To Perfection
How did the French wife of Vincent Pastore's character on the Sopranos tell people they were married? "Sal, mon!"
Sometimes I astound myself. Consider this: The fifth anniversary of this newsletter, August 5th, 2024, is less than thirty days away. That’s cool. I’m sure I’ll write about it when it comes around. This little fact is not why I’m flabbergasted. Anyone can do anything for five years. Except for Jimmy Carter and being President, but that’s beside the point.[1] What I’m astounded by is the fact that I’ve composed literally hundreds of these newsletters and have not once discussed tinned fish. That is truly a miracle to surpass even those of St. Francis of Assisi and St. Teresa of Avila. I love tinned fish. I eat them whenever I can. Every week you should be begging, crying out in desperate lamentation, wailing in pain, in an attempt to get me to not write about tinned fish. Yet, no one has had to do this because I have not written a single newsletter about them, at least to my knowledge.[2]
It's not like I’m trying to keep hidden a secret part of myself, something that remains separate from this blog. I’ve mined every little bit of my psyche for the slavering horde of the internet, desperately praying that if I open myself up enough, I will go viral. It hasn’t happened yet, but hey, there’s always next Monday. It’s nothing embarrassing like that. It’s just, I think, a giant mistake on my part. Something that I will rectify with the following eight hundred-ish words.
So, tinned fish. That shit is good. I’ll be a little more precise. That shit is delicious. Looking for something a little less PG-13 rated? That stuff is fantastic. Sardines, clams, mussels, sardines in mustard sauce, crab, razor clams, anchovies, tuna with peppers, squid, mackerel, trout, regular tuna, I’ll eat all of that and more. Just give me the tin and a fork.
I should be clear here. When I talk about tinned fish, sometimes called conservas, I’m not referring to like Chicken of the Sea-brand tuna. Definitely not those hockey puck cans full of piscine-smelling water and something that looks closer to grey tire treads than the flesh of something that lives in the ocean. I’m talking about the real-deal stuff. Freshly and sustainably caught seafood preserved in – often rectangular – tins. The things that usually, but not always, have really cool designs on their labels. They also generally cost like double or triple what a can or two of Bumblebee will put you back, but trust me, it’s worth it.
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Conservas, like many things in this world, have a long history. Spanish and Portuguese sailors have a long tradition of canning and tinning seafood in order to keep it edible on long journeys. I read a blog somewhere that the canning idea was actually a French invention, but the French like to claim a lot of stuff that’s not theirs. It’s a relatively cheap and easy process of preservation that allows for quick and easy access to protein that can be stored with a minimum of space and loss. They canned sardines and anchovies for the same reason that midwestern farmers can tomatoes and vegetables. It’s easy and nice to have in the winter or a long sea journey. More importantly, it allowed deep sea fisherman to preserve their product for market.
I’m not talking about eating sailor’s rations from the early 1900s. I’m not a fool. At least not in this regard. Conservas, and preservation techniques, have improved far beyond what people had available in the early industrial age. So has flavor and fishing technology. So, we can get the good stuff now, brands like Matiz, Ortiz, Scout, La Brújula, and Wildfish Cannery, among others, that manage to retain the full flavors of the fish, while enhancing them with additions like lemon, vinegar, mustard, hot sauce, and other additives. It’s a wonderful world out there.
Perhaps all this talk of tinned fish has conjured up sad images of single men dipping a fork into a can, taking out a lump of mystery meat, and then stuffing it into their mouths all while they watch various dimly lit YouTube videos, their eyes inches away from a computer screen. Or perhaps you’re remembering your mother, tucked away in a fading pastel-colored Midwestern kitchen, dumping out chunk light tuna cans into a mixing bowl filled with mayo, or into a bechamel, for either tuna salad or tuna casserole. These images are unhelpful ones. Allow me to describe a different scene. You are with some friends on a sunny afternoon, maybe near the beach, maybe not. Everyone is laughing and having a great time. Someone, could be you, could be someone else, takes out a tin of sardines, and a tin of razor clams. There are crackers or a baguette, mustard, butter, lemon, a bit of hard Spanish cheese, and maybe an olive or two. You place the cheese on the cracker, add a bit of olive, top it off with a few razor clams, and maybe a splash of lemon juice. Delicious. The day just got brighter, more vibrant, more vivacious. Someone suddenly starts playing some beautiful flamenco guitar in the background. You try a few more combinations of charcuterie, each better than the last. Maybe someone opens a bottle of wine, depending on how Puritan the state you're in is. Everyone is on cloud nine. It continues to be a beautiful day.
Now that’s the image that should be in your head when I say tinned fish. Not every time is going to be like that, it would be ridiculous to promise such a thing, but it will be close. Even when I eat a nice little tin of sardines for breakfast, on toast with cheddar and lemon, I feel like I’m at the beach having the time of my life. It’s a light, easy, and still relatively cheap meal. Even the fanciest cans of sardines cost less than a nice steak or a big batch of chicken. They last much longer too and are far more sustainable than most salmon fishing.
Many people reading this will be unmoved by my words, they’ll remain unconvinced. In the end, I have to be fine with that. Fine with the realization that some people will just miss out on the beautiful thing that is tinned fish. But, I hope that I have at least encouraged some people to try something new. Reach out if you have any questions. I’d love to chat.
[1] There is another more obvious joke here, but I’ll let my dear readers make that on their own.
[2] Maybe I forgot. It has been five years and my records aren’t that fastidious.
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