I.
I've nothing against the humble sardine; that small, oily fish in the herring family, which some people refer to as pilchards and which Aristotle is thought to have loved eating; though presumably not on toast, which is how the British traditionally serve them.
And there's no denying that they do make a tasty and nutritious meal, even when enjoyed straight from the tin, rather than fresh from the sea; full of protein and fatty acids, sardines are also low in contaminants, such as mercury, unlike some other larger fish commonly consumed by humans.
However, push comes to shove, and my preference is for the anchovy ... [1]
II.
The anchovy is another small, oily fish, belonging to the same order as the sardine (Clupeiformes), but to a different family and they have been happily swimming around the world's temperate oceans for tens of millions years; i.e., long before there were any people to catch them in nets and stuff them into jars.
Anchovies are pretty little things; slim-bodied, and silvery greenish-blue in colour, with a stripe running along their backs. But they also come with tiny sharp teeth, so anyone handling a live fish should beware.
I'm particularly fond of the European anchovy, which is found in the Med and which has been fished by the peoples fortunate enough to live on the coasts of Greece, Italy, Spain, and Portugal, etc., for untold generations.
The place that I mostly associate with them, however, is the picturesque small town of Collioure, on the Côte Vermeille, just over the border from Spain, in the region of French Catalonia where they are known as anchois or anxova depending to whom you speak.
Katxu and I went there once, initially because we wanted to follow in the footsteps of Matisse and Derain and experience the astonishing quality of the light that inspired Fauvism a century earlier, but we soon ended up at the anchovy museum like everyone else who visits [2].
After the visit, I was so enchanted by the story of these little blue fish and the folk who depend on them, that I even wrote a short poem on the back of a postcard:
Notes
[1] I know that many Brits do not like anchovies, due to their characteristic saltiness and strong flavour; i.e., pretty much the same objection that is often raised against olives. But then the British are a people who privilege fish fingers and pickled onions over most foreign delicacies.
[2] Technically, there are two family-run anchovy businesses in Collioure, rather than a museum as such: Anchois Roque and Anchois Desclaux. Both were established in the 19th century and each is open to the public, so that one can watch as the fish are processed, preserved, and packaged in the traditional way (by hand, not machine).
As well as regular tastings, there are all kinds of old objects and photos to look at that allow one to appreciate the historical and cultural importance of anchovies for the inhabitants of the town. Click here, for further details.
For a sister post to this one on oranges and lemons and the politics of citrus fruit, click here.
