Mackerel made it into the papers this weekend with a two page spread in The Observer and comment from Jay Rayner to the effect that unless we start managing our fishing habits more effectively then all fish will become an expensive luxury available only to a few. His review in the Magazine is of a fish restaurant in London where they manage get away with selling a plate of mackerel for £19.00 In his review he talks about fillets so so there is hope that they are serving more than one fish. Presumably cost is getting them from the sea to the restaurant in the hour or so window you have once they are out of the water before they start to deteriorate.

The main article throws more confusion onto the issue concentrating on the fishing port of Grimsby which is now largely dependant on the Icelandic fishing boats that call there to sell their fish.It is difficult to pick your way through the talk of both sides to get to an answer. There is a suggestion that the downgrading of mackerel is not so much because it is currently in danger but more to try and galvanise both sides into a sensible discussion.

You might also suspect that Iceland has a point. There are a lot of conflicting vested interests on the European side of the argument and it is easy to believe that whatever they come up with will be a fudge. Whilst Iceland is a great deal more dependant on the fish that they catch and may in fact be able to make a good fist of managing their fisheries.

We shall see.

In the meantime I am watching two fat wood pigeons eating the bird seed that has spilled from the feeder that is hooked up to the apple tree. They look good enough to eat and put me in a frame of mind so I am thinking it might be a good idea to have an air rifle to hand in the kitchen.

We have eaten the gurnard and it was good. The fillets coated with flour, egg and breadcrumbs and then deep fried. We ate them with roast potatoes and garlic, peas and tartare sauce. Shortly before cooking I had to shoot out to the shops again to buy more Heinz Tomato Ketchup. I think there is a race in the house to see what we get through more quickly – ketchup or olive oil.

The house is now quiet. One child has gone out, leaving the house with a friend clutching a bottle of Lambrini. Another child is mooching round the house having been out all day and told to be in for the evening. The odd door is being slammed but the child is keeping out of the way. The last child claims to be doing homework whilst watching television.

The biggest child is sat doing this listening to Neu!

During the course of the morning shop round Birkenhead I slipped into HMV for a few minutes. The shop in The Grange Precinct is always fairly depressing but this felt more so. The was a clearance house air about the place and the diminishing music all up for sale. that didn’t stop me buying and I came away with four CDs I probably did not need.

But the CDs included the last Husker Du album Warehouse:Songs and Stories. Now I may have said this before (its up there with my top ten lessons on rock’n’roll – along with don’t change your guitar during a gig) but there is a good argument that once Husker Du laid down their guitars and drum kit that was it for rock and roll. After them we have only been dealing with pale imitations, boys and girls, just repeating the same old pose.

Warehouse:Song and Stories wasn’t their best album but it finishes with one of those songs in which the whole noise that is made by drums and young men hitting guitars very hard mesh into some sort of glorious whole. There was a lot going on in the band at the time. Two gay men who may or may not have been in a relationship and now hated each other, drugs and a bass player with a great moustache who wanted to be a chef.

The song, You can live at home, has as its coda the words keep walking away which are howled out by drummer Grant Hart as Bob Mould seems to take hold everyof  guitar there was in the studio and beat the living daylights out of it. It is a great corruscating painful noise and after it had finished all they could do was walk away from each other without being able to do anything quite as good later.

Years after it came out we went to see a band called Zu Zu’s Petals play in a hall in Reading. It was only when we got there we realised they were supporting Nova Mob, the band Grant Hart formed after Husker Du fell apart. They were brilliant.

Gurnard is a forgotten fish. You might sometimes see it on a fishmongers slab but it is not a fish that you would go out of your way to buy. But you should. It is one those ugly fish that are full of flavour and make a good stock. I suspect people are put off by its heavy hard head which could almost be a small piece of armour. It is of course that head that gives the flavour to stock.

http://www.goodfishguide.co.uk/fish/gurnard-red-156

They were given a brief mention in the stories about mackerel last week having also been downgraded by the Marine Conservation Society. No-one goes out to catch Gurnard. A fisherman might keep them if they are big enough when they come up in the net otherwise they get discarded. Discarding is the fate of a lot of them and because they are not that important no-one really knows how many there are and what damage we are doing to their population.

http://www.goodfishguide.co.uk/fish/gurnard-red-156

They are also known as The Sea Robin. They live at the bottom of the sea rooting around for food in the sand 200 yards under the surface. In the water their large pectoral fins open and shut like a bird in flight. By these fins they have three spines which they use to ‘walk’ on the bottom. Although it may look like they are walking the spines stir up the sand and disturb their food.

The name gurnard comes from the sound they make when pulled out of the sea. They have a drumming muscle which beats out a sound a bit like a frog’s croak.

They had some in Wards this morning so I bought three. They were filleted and we will have them this evening deep fried in breadcrumbs with potatoes and peas. I brought the bones back with me to make some stock.

At the counter Nigel, Simon and I talked about mackerel. They had some big ones on the ice. Too big for me but bright still and with their colour unlike the sad wrinkled ones in the supermarket. A customer had been in that week, she had been listening to the news, and would not b buying them again. It was the great factory ships taking them up, hoovering them out of the sea, to be frozen and taken to Spain, where all the good fish go.