An Evil Eye

22

For Yashim, too, the interview provided an opportunity, for as his caique returned him to Istanbul, it overhauled a fishing boat bringing in the morning’s catch. Back at his apartment, Yashim laid two mackerel on the board. He liked all fish, but mackerel was best: he always liked a mackerel sandwich off the boats that drew up along the Golden Horn in the evening, grilling their fish on shallow braziers along the shore.

Today, he had more elaborate plans.

Taking the sharp kitchen knife an Armenian friend had given him, he made a tiny incision below the gills of each fish. Through the narrow opening he drew out the guts, taking care not to widen the little cuts any further, then he rinsed the fish and laid them back on the board.

He dropped a handful of currants into a bowl and covered them with warm water from the kettle.

With a rolling pin he rolled and bashed the mackerel from the gills to the tail. He snapped the backbones two or three times along their length, pinching the fish between his fingers until the skin was loose. Carefully he began to empty the skin, squeezing the flesh and the bones through the tiny openings.

He picked up the two skins, each still attached to its head and tail, and rinsed them out.

He dried his hands, and peeled and chopped a few shallots. While they softened in the pan, he crushed peeled almonds and walnuts with the rolling pin, chopped them fine with the knife, and stirred them into the shallots with a handful of pine nuts. As they colored he added the currants and a handful of chopped dried apricots. He put cinnamon, allspice berries, and a pinch of cloves into his grinder and ground them over the nuts, adding a dash of kirmizi biber, or black charred chili flakes.

He scraped the flesh from the fish bones and tossed it into the pan with a pinch of sugar.

He chopped parsley and dill, split a lemon, and squeezed it over the stuffing.

It smelled good already. He took a nibble, sprinkled the mix with a pinch of salt and black pepper, then stirred it and took it off the heat.

When it was cool, he stuffed the mixture back into the mackerel skins, squeezing and patting them to restore their shape.

He laid a wire grill over the coals, scattered the fish with flour and oil from his fingers, and laid them on the wire, turning them as they spat and sizzled.

Meanwhile, he sharpened his knife on a stone.

When the mackerel skin was bubbling and lightly browned, he took the fish from the heat and sliced them thickly on the board. Very carefully, he slid the fish onto a plate.