Whitebait fritters are a wholesomely good eN-Zed thing. If you want whitebait fritters, you must come to eN-Zed. There’s no whitebait fritters in Oz or England or France. Aunt Daisy’s recipe for whitebait fritters began with, ‘first, catch some whitebait’. This required the Southland Times of course – for the weather forecast and the high tide times. The forecast was only to know to take a coat or not although in Southland you always take a coat. The tide times were important because you only catch whitebait on an incoming tide because they’re lazy wee things and they prefer to ride the tide like a surfer at Hapuku or Gore Bay, you know. Or maybe they’re not lazy; just smart. Smart people and all whitebait know not to swim against the tide.
One night I was up late making sandwiches for the next morning’s whitebaiting expedition when I heard the shells from just-peeled boiled eggs rattling in the kitchen sink. It was a big fat earthquake that rattled the egg shells, our house and most of Southland for several minutes.
Dad and I had our collection of favourite rivers to catch whitebait, one of which is so remote and so seldom visited that I had to use google maps to help my failing memory. We usually used homemade triangly-ish shaped nets and we usually stood in the incoming surf at a river mouth on the southern coast, which can be dangerous, but whitebait fritters taste better when caught in that heavy surf. (Um…, is there a difference between a fritter and a pattie?) Because, as I said, whitebaiting is about the journey not the bucket filled with whitebait and the fritters to come. It’s primal. It’s you against the river in one direction and the waves and tide in the other direction. It’s not a contest against other people, like a rugby game…, no. let’s just leave that, today of all days. Sacred blue. 😦
Nor is it even a battle against the whitebait. It’s a mankind-versus-nature thing. A wave surges in and you have to be sure not to fall and be swept upstream, lose your net and your bucket of whitebait. After the surge you lift your net, look eagerly inside, empty it of whitebait and whatever else the tide brought in, and get set for the next surge. I imagine gold panning must be similar, in an anticipation sort of way.
And afterwards, after high tide and after your clothes are soaked and you’re shiveringly freezing cold, your fingers are blue and your nose is numb, you can warm up and dry your socks in front of a driftwood fire on which your sandwiches can be grilled/burnt and a billy boiled for a cup of tea… Handy tip: cheese and onion toasted sandwiches, wrapped in foil and warmed up on the edge of the fire… the cheese melts and merges with the onion and hubba hubba, it’s a great way to warm up after standing in the water for a few hours.
Sometimes though we went whitebaiting on sunny days which isn’t at all as much fun as whitebaiting on a normal rough-as-guts, sou-wester Southland day. On sunny days you have to ‘accidentally’ fall in and have to swim for ages before struggling to the river bank or back to the beach for the fire, dry clothes and warm-up routine.
The whitebait fritters? Aunt Daisy was all about separating eggs, whisking the egg whites and folding in the whitebait… who can be bothered with that fuss? Surely it’s a few eggs, a little SR flour, a pinch of salt, add the whitebait, put spoonfuls into a pan, fry in butter and eat them in between slices of ultra-fresh buttered white bread and, for a change, not a gob of Watties. A squeeze of lemon juice is the thing.
Secret: Rowallan; western end of Te Waewae Bay. That’s the best location for a whitebaiting adventures.
eN-Zed 