THE BIG FISH

THE BIG FISH

THE BIG FISH

Yellowfin croaker (Umbrina roncador) is a species of croaker occurring from the Gulf of California, Mexico, to Point Conception, California. They frequent bays, channels, harbors and other nearshore waters over sandy bottoms. These croakers are more abundant along beaches during the summer months and may move to deeper water in winter.

In Costa Rica, Corvina is a name given to almost any white-fleshed fish caught just off the coast, in and around the waters that surround the floating islands of mangroves, and sometimes deeper in the Pacific. Corvina in the US is frequently used as a name for a specifically colored sea bass, but looked different from what I had seen here. I had been buying "Corvina" from Victoriano for a while and noticed that it frequently had a golden/yellowish cast to the fins and along the spine as well. A little Googling got me a few pictures of what closely resembled what I have been buying and I believe that the fish mentioned above, the Yellowfin croaker, is indeed what we here in Costa Rica call Corvina.

A couple of Fridays ago I took drive down the coast through the overhanging palms and alongside brilliant flashes of electric blue from the Pacific to Ojochal where Victoriano, el pescadero, fishes and lives. Once one leaves the smooth paving of the Costanera, the side road down to Playa Tortuga becomes a pockmarked gravel pit, particularly treacherous in the rain. The road winds and bumps itself all the way out to the two tiers of beaches that got their names from the turtles that have come to the sands to lay their eggs for time immemorial (but perhaps for not too much longer).

Well before those rich white dunes, however, and, in fact the first buildings that one comes to, is the compound of Victoriano. Victoriano's house is a small rectangular structure and is, by no means the center of civilization of his little community. Around the house is a collection of debris both useful and not; car parts, refrigerator parts, tires, slabs of concrete and so much more. Off to the right are old chairs where I have often found Victoriano on Sunday sitting quietly, spectacles on, reading his bible. Almost in the center of the compound is a massive, above ground, concrete firepit, overhung by a small roof that just gives it cover from the frequent rains. Almost every time I visit, one or the other of the family is tending a fire, frying fish, grilling meats, or all of the above.

At the back of the compound and butted up against the river that runs out to the ocean is what I am here for.

Perched on a ten foot by twenty foot concrete slab are two aging and rusted "coffin" style refrigerators. Beside them is a crude cutting table and around on the floor are buckets, hoses, plastic bags and plenty of fish scales. At the end of the cutting table is the scale. When the fish are running and the catch has been good, Victoriano, Jaime (his partner), or Maria (his wife, whom he lovingly calls "Gorda") will fling back the lid of the main cooler to exhibit a pile of whole fish, stacked like logs and packed in crushed ice. The rotation of product here is rapid and the fish gaze upward, flesh firm and eyes clear.

The catch is limited to shore fish, but this only leaves out tuna and dorado from the broad selection that Victoriano displays. I love to see the red faced and red finned Pargo (red snapper), with their giant heads and vicious teeth; the long snouted and faintly yellow-tinted Rovalo (snook); the myriad of smaller mackerel and sharks; and today, the collection of gold cast Corvina, shimmering in the ice. Occasionally there are also Pompano and something the locals call Gatoperro (cat-dog), but it is the bigger fish I'm after.

I know that my Friday reservations are limited, but that Saturday will be a big night. I look at a couple of smaller Corvina, but am deeply aware that the yield of the smaller fish is not good; one needs a big fish to give a greater percentage of usable meat. Jaime is helping me today, and we poke around in the ice together while I mull over how many portions I can pull out of the two 2-3 kilo Corvina he is showing me. "Hay mas grandes?" I ask him, hopefully and he seizes the moment. Scraping back the ice with his hands he reaches into the gills of a huge Corvina and pulls up from the icy mass of fish the biggest Corvina I have ever seen. "Doce kilos", Jaime exclaims proudly, as he displays it atop the lesser fish below it. Twelve kilos! Just over 26 pounds. Easily the biggest fish I have bought or cut in Costa Rica. I take it, for the thrill value and also since I know that I will easily pull over 30 portions out of it.

The Corvina is so big that it will not fit into the standard large plastic bags that Victoriano and crew usually outfit me with to get the fish back to my kitchen. I struggle to keep it in the bag as the tail keeps trying to slip out as I pile it into my trunk atop the now useless ice chest. A five kilo Pargo in the chest? Yes. A 12 kilo anything? No way, Jose. I set out for La Cusinga, wondering if my regular 40 year old Henckle filet knife will be big enough to get through this baby.

Back in the kitchen, I heave the big fish into the sink where it protrudes at either end. I set up two cutting boards along our center prep island in readiness to receive this monster. I dig out my trusty and well used filet knife, but bring out also a cleaver and a larger knife in case I need to get through any bones. Linda takes a few shots of me with the fish and I get to work. Filleting a Corvina is relatively easy work, as the skin is not nearly as tough as that of the Pargo and the structure is simple. There is a large filet on either side of the fish and as long as one is aware of the bumps of the bones in the spine, almost all the flesh can be taken. It was good that our prep island is free-standing, as I had to make many trips around the table to be able to get at the fish and slide the knife along the spine, over the center bone and down into the belly.

I worked slowly, wanting to maximize my yield. Another nice thing about the Corvina is that it doesn't have nearly the number of scales as either Rovalo or Pargo, the other two fish I usually filet, and the mess was minimal. In about 20 minutes I had freed the two large filets, eased the knife between the skin and flesh and pulled out the few rib bones that had come free with the filets. I portioned and counted, sliced and trimmed. Most whole fish give a 50% yield if one is lucky and closer to 40% in the case of fish with heavier heads like the Pargo here, and the King Salmon of the Northern Pacific. I didn't cut all of it then, but would manage to take 32 six ounce portions and probably another kilo of trim for soups and employee meals. This was a good yield, just over the 50% one hopes for.

The meat was beautiful. The steaks shone and glinted in the pyrex I stored them in. I portioned what I would need for Friday night and cut the other pieces into 5-6 ounce chuncks of filet, to be well chilled and portioned the next day. I scraped and bleached the cutting boards and used a dough scraper to remove the rapidly drying scales from the table and wherever else they'd gone. I was quite pleased. Friday night I would roast the beautiful Corvina filets and top them with a spicy-sweet mango salsa. Saturday, a big night for us, I would roast them again and top them with a hot-sour green gazpacho made of cucumbers, green onions, jalapenos, cilantro, olive oil and mango vinegar. It is such a pleasure to be able to serve fish of this quality to my guests.