Shark!

I omitted to mention my brush with a shark at Bondi beach last Sunday night.

We stopped by a fish shop and I ordered a juicy-looking fillet of flake, which the owner dipped lightly in batter and fried up for my supper. It was the most mouth-watering bit of fish I’ve had in ages and the batter was light and crispy, just like the stuff you can buy straight from the fisherman around the Solent. It was so fantastic that I wondered aloud how the chippies in the UK manage to make that sludge they pass off as fish batter.

Later in the week I bought a second-hand Lonely Planet guide to New South Wales, which had a glossary of foodstuffs. The conversation went like this:-

“You know that fish I had at Bondi on Sunday night?”
“Yeah?”
“Well what was it called?”
“Flake”
“well according to this book it was a bloody shark. Oh my God, do you think it’s still in me?”

Darren reckons it doesn’t matter what it was provided it tasted good. I disagree. I keep seeing those horrible shark eyes and grey gills. That’s the last time I order a fish that I haven’t seen whole.