![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Went to Vittoria's yesterday, and decided I'd try something a little more adventurous for a starter. So I chose what they called 'mangiatutto'; deep-fried whitebait in breadcrumbs with lemon and tartare sauce.
As I have enough skill in Romance languages to know what 'mangiatutto' means, and also a vague idea of what whitebait is, I was not too surprised to see that the fish in question arrived complete with head, guts and fins. What I was a little surprised at was the size of them; the largest was about 10cm long and a centimeter and a half wide. I chose a smaller one to start, and held it up for inspection.
As I stared the fish in the face, its scowling expression not at all disguised by a smattering of breadcrumbs, I drew up a general rule of thumb in my head that food really shouldn't look back at you when you're about to put it in your mouth. A strategic dipping in tartare sauce mitigated this somewhat, and I popped it straight into my mouth.
You know that feeling when, after finally working up the courage to try some food, you realise that it's actually delightfully tasty? The wonderful feeling of your horizons opening up, of a whole range of potential taste combinations to explore? I didn't get that feeling.
Instead, the whitebait tasted of three things: fried breadcrumbs, tartare sauce, and lemon juice. If the tartare sauce was omitted, a faint bitter taste could be detected which I assume is the taste of fish guts.
Livejournalling potential aside, the dish has absolutely zero merit. Why do people freely choose to eat things like this?
As I have enough skill in Romance languages to know what 'mangiatutto' means, and also a vague idea of what whitebait is, I was not too surprised to see that the fish in question arrived complete with head, guts and fins. What I was a little surprised at was the size of them; the largest was about 10cm long and a centimeter and a half wide. I chose a smaller one to start, and held it up for inspection.
As I stared the fish in the face, its scowling expression not at all disguised by a smattering of breadcrumbs, I drew up a general rule of thumb in my head that food really shouldn't look back at you when you're about to put it in your mouth. A strategic dipping in tartare sauce mitigated this somewhat, and I popped it straight into my mouth.
You know that feeling when, after finally working up the courage to try some food, you realise that it's actually delightfully tasty? The wonderful feeling of your horizons opening up, of a whole range of potential taste combinations to explore? I didn't get that feeling.
Instead, the whitebait tasted of three things: fried breadcrumbs, tartare sauce, and lemon juice. If the tartare sauce was omitted, a faint bitter taste could be detected which I assume is the taste of fish guts.
Livejournalling potential aside, the dish has absolutely zero merit. Why do people freely choose to eat things like this?
Tags: