Steamed fish at Sunny Harbour
Dec. 4th, 2012 07:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
khiemtranIt's a hot Saturday night in Sydney and we're at Sunny Harbour for a family dinner.
Normally, we'd come to Sunny Harbour for the dim sum (see below), but tonight we're here for the real deal - the live seafood.
We've got there early and get shown to a table on the first floor. As we ponder the menu, the tables around us quickly begin to fill. There are young couples on dates and old couples dining together, and families gathering on the bigger tables. Almost everyone is Chinese. The waiters are all dressed smartly in black and white, but the other diners are dressed far more casualyl. The dress code isn't important here. Also, there's a noticeable absence of alcohol on any of the tables. No beer. No wine. In a more typical Sydney restaurant, you'd expect to see at least one bottle on the table. Alcohol isn't the important thing here either.
At every table, the same little routine takes place. A waiter comes up and stands to attention by the table and launches into a long conversation with the diners, usually in Cantonese. There's a menu at each table, but it's almost irrelevant. In fact, when I ask about some of the items on it, all of them happen to be unavailable. The menu, you see, is also not important here.
It's our turn, and I begin the game. We'd like a small barramundi, I say. Barramundi happens to be the cheapest fish on the menu, but it's also one of my favourite. Plus, apart from liking the taste, I also know how to eat a Barramundi - how to pick the flesh of the bones and where the best meat will be. The waiter frowns. They are all out of small ones, he says, but how about the parrot fish instead? It tastes very similar. And is also the most expensive fish on the menu. We go a few rounds through the other permutations on the menu to no avail. The parrot fish is the only one they have small enough for two. He has me cold. Ah well, it had better be good then.
Next comes the negotiation on how to cook it, and we go for the classic style with ginger and shallots. There's no point mucking around with seafood this fresh. There are a host of vegetable dishes on the menu, but I want something simple instead. Remembering that the menu is not so important here, I ask for some choy sum, stir-fried with garlic, a small fried rice for Liem and steamed rice for us.
Negotiations over, we settle down and watch as the other tables get their food. Everyone is having seafood of one form or another. Lobster on one table, fish on another, fish with noodles on a third. Just then the waiter returns proudly holding up a flapping barramundi in a plastic bag.
Liem's fried rice and the stir-fried choy sum arrive first, and then, at last the steamed fish. And when it comes, it's amazingly good. The fish, you see, is the important thing.
As I've mentioned before, the tanks you see at a Chinese seafood restaurant aren't there for decoration. They're as much a piece of specialized food preparation equipment as an espresso machine or a pizza oven. They perform the key function of making sure the fish are still alive and healthy just minutes away from a skilled Cantonese chef. The end result is light years beyond the fish you might find at the fishmonger.
Our fish has been steamed and then topped with ginger and shallots, then drizzled in hot oil in the classic style, before being topped with a light, sweet soy sauce. It has been cooked to perfection and sliced so that the meat can be picked off the bones and then the head and spine lifted in one piece (thus avoiding the need to flip the fish, which is seen as bad luck in fishing communities).
Each part of the fish is eaten, from the firm flesh on its back to the tender cheeks and even the soft maw. Even the skull falls apart when you pick at just the right places with your chopsticks. The most amazing flesh is actually the soft tissue around the head.
I'd show you a picture, but this is all that was left by the time I remembered...
All done, and the bill actually turns out to be cheaper than our last trip to an Italian restaurant (though that included wine and entrées).
Normally, we'd come to Sunny Harbour for the dim sum (see below), but tonight we're here for the real deal - the live seafood.
We've got there early and get shown to a table on the first floor. As we ponder the menu, the tables around us quickly begin to fill. There are young couples on dates and old couples dining together, and families gathering on the bigger tables. Almost everyone is Chinese. The waiters are all dressed smartly in black and white, but the other diners are dressed far more casualyl. The dress code isn't important here. Also, there's a noticeable absence of alcohol on any of the tables. No beer. No wine. In a more typical Sydney restaurant, you'd expect to see at least one bottle on the table. Alcohol isn't the important thing here either.
At every table, the same little routine takes place. A waiter comes up and stands to attention by the table and launches into a long conversation with the diners, usually in Cantonese. There's a menu at each table, but it's almost irrelevant. In fact, when I ask about some of the items on it, all of them happen to be unavailable. The menu, you see, is also not important here.
It's our turn, and I begin the game. We'd like a small barramundi, I say. Barramundi happens to be the cheapest fish on the menu, but it's also one of my favourite. Plus, apart from liking the taste, I also know how to eat a Barramundi - how to pick the flesh of the bones and where the best meat will be. The waiter frowns. They are all out of small ones, he says, but how about the parrot fish instead? It tastes very similar. And is also the most expensive fish on the menu. We go a few rounds through the other permutations on the menu to no avail. The parrot fish is the only one they have small enough for two. He has me cold. Ah well, it had better be good then.
Next comes the negotiation on how to cook it, and we go for the classic style with ginger and shallots. There's no point mucking around with seafood this fresh. There are a host of vegetable dishes on the menu, but I want something simple instead. Remembering that the menu is not so important here, I ask for some choy sum, stir-fried with garlic, a small fried rice for Liem and steamed rice for us.
Negotiations over, we settle down and watch as the other tables get their food. Everyone is having seafood of one form or another. Lobster on one table, fish on another, fish with noodles on a third. Just then the waiter returns proudly holding up a flapping barramundi in a plastic bag.
Liem's fried rice and the stir-fried choy sum arrive first, and then, at last the steamed fish. And when it comes, it's amazingly good. The fish, you see, is the important thing.
As I've mentioned before, the tanks you see at a Chinese seafood restaurant aren't there for decoration. They're as much a piece of specialized food preparation equipment as an espresso machine or a pizza oven. They perform the key function of making sure the fish are still alive and healthy just minutes away from a skilled Cantonese chef. The end result is light years beyond the fish you might find at the fishmonger.
Our fish has been steamed and then topped with ginger and shallots, then drizzled in hot oil in the classic style, before being topped with a light, sweet soy sauce. It has been cooked to perfection and sliced so that the meat can be picked off the bones and then the head and spine lifted in one piece (thus avoiding the need to flip the fish, which is seen as bad luck in fishing communities).
Each part of the fish is eaten, from the firm flesh on its back to the tender cheeks and even the soft maw. Even the skull falls apart when you pick at just the right places with your chopsticks. The most amazing flesh is actually the soft tissue around the head.
I'd show you a picture, but this is all that was left by the time I remembered...
All done, and the bill actually turns out to be cheaper than our last trip to an Italian restaurant (though that included wine and entrées).
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 09:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 12:00 pm (UTC)I've only ever had really fresh fish once, and it was, as you say, absolutely amazing.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 12:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 01:07 pm (UTC)If so, that is very interesting. When we lived in Mayotte, parrot fish was one of the least expensive fish to be had. Not that we ever bought one; Julien was spearfishing and supplying us with all we needed. (Boy does he miss that. I think he'll be able to go from time to time here in Egypt, though.)
(thus avoiding the need to flip the fish, which is seen as bad luck in fishing communities).
I love this detail! Can you expound on why it is bad luck?
The most amazing flesh is actually the soft tissue around the head.
Yes indeed!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 07:04 pm (UTC)Could be. We had a look at the tanks on the way out (in Sunny Harbour, the tanks are on the ground floor but the diners sit on the first and second floors), but we didn't notice any particularly green fish. There were some red ones that I didn't recognise though. Generally, I try to avoid to avoid tropical reef fish for environmental reasons.
I love this detail! Can you expound on why it is bad luck?
Flipping the fish is an omen for the capsizing of a boat. Because of this, you're supposed to eat the top of the fish, lift off the spine and bones, and then eat the bottom half without turning it.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-04 07:16 pm (UTC)Thanks for the added info on the bad luck! :D