Silvery delicious indulgence

A few years ago my sister and I received one of our best Christmas presents ever. Our older sister had given us some frozen whitebait, which we cooked up for lunch a few days after Christmas. The whitebait fritters, with a little lemon juice and salt, were a real treat, and our partners looked on, amused, as we demolished the pile of fritters we had cooked up.

Whitebait are the babies of about 6 different species of native New Zealand fish, and are only about 3-4 cms long, tiny, silvery, and transparent (turning white when cooked). People who haven’t eaten them before get squeamish over their eyes. They are caught at river mouths in spring each year, and whitebaiting takes on almost a religious fervour in some communities, and particularly on the West coast of New Zealand. Whitebaiters suddenly become everyone’s best friend, as we all hope against hope that we will be offered some to buy, or even better, given some for ourselves. These delicacies grace restaurants all over New Zealand during the seasons. As much of a fan of whitebait as I am, I usually find only disappointment when I order whitebait. Expensive little morsels, the amount of whitebait in each fritter is often minimal, and I find their subtle taste overwhelmed by too much eggy batter. Once, however, I was presented with a dish of pure deliciousness. The whitebait had been lightly tossed in flour, then flash-fried, individually. With a squeeze of lemon juice their taste was pure, delicate, delicious.

My father used to go whitebaiting, down at the mouth of the river. He took his net, early in the morning, and when he would return we would excitedly gather round to see how much he had caught. Some days he would come back with just ten or twenty, tantalising but insufficient for a meal. Other days he’d come back with a couple of pounds, and we would eat well that night. Until I left home, I just assumed that everyone had access to whitebait. But when Dad left me some whitebait when I was at university, and I invited a friend to share it with me, her sheer delight and gratitude made me realise that this was something special. Her subsequent awe at the whitebait fritters I made – packed full of whitebait bound with just a little batter – confirmed to me how lucky I was.

No longer, sadly. So when I was at the supermarket yesterday, standing at the fish counter about to buy some salmon, I couldn’t help but notice the long trough full of “Fresh New Zealand Whitebait.” I salivated. We often see frozen squares labelled as Chinese whitebait, but it is not the same. I looked cautiously at the price. $135/kilo sounded outrageous. “But,” I thought, “I probably only need 100 gms. I can afford that for a one-off indulgent Friday lunch. So I duly purchased it, and as soon as I got home, I made my lunch. I tossed the whitebait in about a tablespoon of flour, until each one was individually coated. Then I fried some of them individually, squeezed lemon juice over them, and snacked on them while I mixed an egg with the rest, and made myself some fritters, chock full of whitebait. I smacked my lips, licking off the salty, lemony, fishy taste. Indulgent. Delicious. Reminiscent.