The advanced reviews are over the top:
“[A] delightful tribute to this diminutive fish.”—The Guardian.
“Told with remarkable erudition, a fishy tale that twists and turns around much of the Western world. A fun read that combines deep knowledge of anchovies with wit and writerly flair. Un-put-downable, even if you have no interest in food or fish!”—Professor Nayanika Mathur, University of Oxford.
And so on. Sure enough, the anchovy section of the high-end grocery in my neighborhood is entirely empty, undoubtedly a follow-up on the New York Times podcast with the author.
With all of the pre-release promotion that this book is getting, we can safely assume that the anchovy will be the fashion in a matter of months, lovingly served in the finest restaurants and displayed at the best parties.
Anchovy partisans are quick to point out that the least favorable way to experience the fish is on a pizza. The usual pattern is to throw the can on the top and cook it, but that makes them bitter, almost inedible. The much better path is as a mushy flavoring on roasts, salads, and vegetable mixes. Here is where the anchovy shines.
As with all such fashions, this is more about doing what others do rather than any underlying reality. Not to put down the lowly anchovy, but such sweeps of popularity among elites typically neglect the more obvious choice. In this case, the choice is sardines. And yes, I mean in the can.
Canned fish? I get it. People either love it or won’t go near it. I suspect it has to do with how we are raised and the food of our own personal histories. I’m from Texas, and our household never saw a fish of any sort on any plate that I can remember. It was all beef, all the time, to the point that I do not think I knew of any other food.
The first time I traveled north and ordered barbecue, I was stunned and even a bit scandalized that it was pork. I simply could not believe it and was sure that the restaurant had made some dreadful error or was deliberately fooling with an ignorant client base. It was explained to me that all barbecue in the Carolinas was pork.
I recall being puzzled about why this was so. Why in the South was barbecue made of pork but in Texas it is always beef? The obvious answer didn’t occur to me until years later. In Texas, there is a lot of land on which beef is raised, but in the South, that is less true. Pigs thrive instead. No kidding. And this history and geography shape the culture long after such conditions are a limiting factor.
In any case, fish was just not a thing in Texas. It still does not play much of a role but for fried catfish from freshwater lakes. Those are a camping favorite—it’s more sport than cuisine—but seafood as such doesn’t have the presence it has on the coasts, for obvious reasons. That said, I did come to love fish over time and variously indulge in a personal favorite of canned fish.
It should not be lost on us just what a luxury canning really is. We didn’t really have access to the technology until the middle part of the 19th century. Before then and for all human history, fish was preserved mainly through salting and pickling. Not to put those methods down, but canning is far preferred.
I’m not alone in being alarmed at restaurant prices these days, even if I’m not paying. A few weeks ago at a business lunch, I was presented with a menu in which the main dishes ran $40 and up, and I simply could not stand it. Instead, I ordered a mere appetizer, which was sardines and potato chips for only $20.
I’m telling you, it was utterly delightful. To my surprise, it was actually served in the can, already opened with four fish packed in there like ... like sardines. They were completely delicious, and my lunch partners kept looking at my humble choice with some sense of jealousy—and rightly so. Still, the irony struck me. This same can I could probably buy at the store for $2, so the markup here was quite wicked, even though it was the cheapest thing on the menu.
A can of sardines is a great lunch, of course, portable anywhere. But there are plenty of other uses.
Everyone tells us to eat more vegetables, but often we don’t know how. All these crazy greens and peppers and things sort of sit there aspirationally in our refrigerators and often end up being thrown out simply because no one has the time to fuss with some new recipe.
Here is an idea. Chop them up into a salad without cooking anything (except the corn), add some red wine vinegar, salt and pepper, and a can of sardines with the oil. You probably don’t need to add any additional oil. Toss and serve. The results are simply marvelous, so good that you can do this several times per week for dinner and love it each time.
For me, a salad is boring without protein added. Sardines are perfect every time.
When I was in Spain a few months back, I was startled to encounter a lunch buffet that had huge sardines that were clearly roasted fresh and served. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and pretty much that is what I ate, eschewing many other beautiful dishes. Apparently, fresh roasted sardines are a Spanish specialty. I’ve certainly never seen them anywhere else.
It’s true that a can of sardines cannot compare to that method, but it will do in a pinch as a plausible substitute. Truly, it is a luxurious thing and packed with rich vitamins and minerals that your body needs. Your health will thank you for the special treat.
I promise that if you hang around fashionable circles in the coming months, you will see someone pushing anchovies on you as the thing of the moment. Fine. Go for it if you must, but as little silver fish go, don’t neglect the lowly sardine.
I can promise you that two-thirds of the readers of this column have already said: “No way, I’m not going to eat those.”
Maybe give it a try?
