A Fishy Story

Jennifer (real name withheld) only came to Goa because of her loyalty to her sister who, for the most part, lived in Goa and was a practicing nun which, for the layman, simply meant that she still wore her habit. The good one!

Left single by her husband who died prematurely many years ago in Germany while on a Government of Canada assignment, Jennifer obviously was still at the vulnerable stage of grieving over the loss of “a very good, kind and caring man”.  She made no secret that being alone was heart-breaking, lonely,desolate,meaningless and that her stay in Goa seemed barren without the warmth of her mate and the joy of having to share ones intimate and not-so-intimate thoughts with a loved one.  However, she viewed Goa as her second home away from home.  It was the old country for her.  She was also aware that before long she would return to her close-knit and caring family in Canada where she could involve herself with her children and grandchildren and in so doing feel more fulfilled.  

While she was in Goa, however, she did what most individuals in the Goan Diaspora do when visiting Goa.  She wanted to enjoy the nostalgia of Goan cuisine.  When she was informed that there was a Goan restaurant just around the corner from her apartment, she made it a point to visit it for dinner.  This time it was going to be a large fried fish without any masala (prepared spices) in order to capture the essence of the fish, with some rice and prawn curry.  Of course, we thought that it was a fine combination and we reminded her that she should let us know what she thought of the service and the taste of the food so that we could also have a shot at the same restaurant.

The following day, Jennifer seemed uncharacteristically shaken by the experience of the previous evening. Perhaps the more appropriate word to use is that she was outraged. This was unlike her, since she had the talent and personality of masking her frustrations by a welcoming smile whenever she was out in public or interacting with her friends.  This time it was different.  She seemed singularly disturbed.   Her dinner was excellent she confessed and the service was second to none.  The meal was served without a long waiting time and the food presentation was very encouraging.  She was euphoric about the size of the fish that was served, but she knew in her heart and in her gut, that there was no way that she was going to eat the whole portion.  Some accommodation had also to be made for the delicious prawn curry and rice. In Goa it is natural to transform one’s eyes into a little bigger than ones stomach.

After dinner, she paid her very affordable bill which she confessed was a steal compared to what she would have had to pay for a similar meal in Canada.  However, not being one to waste, she asked the waiter to have the fish wrapped for take-out. In Goa this is a common practice particularly when portions are very large. The remains of the fish were neatly picked clean on one side by her exposing the proud bones and the promise that the other side of the fish would make a good meal for breakfast the following day. The engaging waiters immediately cleared the table and before long Jennifer returned with a neat package containing the fish which she tucked away in her fridge.

The following morning she prepared for breakfast with great anticipation.  She woke up early in order to buy hard crusted bread which was delivered to the house fresh from the oven very early in the morning. She opened the promising package of the previous night so that she could warm the contents in a pan only to discover that the other side of the fish which held out such promise for breakfast was neatly peeled away and only the bones left behind.

This was highway robbery she thought and assured us that she was on her way to see the manager of the restaurant ( who lived next door) to register her complaint in the firmest possible way.  The expression on her face really meant business.  An empty stomach can sometimes fuel one’s rage.

That evening, Jennifer’s disposition appeared to be slightly upbeat.  She assured us that the management was very disturbed by her experience and it assured her that she could return for another dinner which would be on the house.  Their explanation was that it (the management) had no control over the kitchen where the cook made all the decisions.   Jennifer forcefully expressed the view that the cook should be fired.

There were laughs from the management and the gathering crowd (the Goan Gossip Paparazzi) that had now gathered around to fuel the discussion and to think of ways to embellish it further.  Goan gossip can take some rude twists and turns until the original story seems to get completely masked with the newly acquired embellishment.

This story, however, would travel around Goan circles in Candolim like wild fire and Jennifer actually thought that it would be hers and our guarded secret!!!!  

In Goa....secrets???.....not on your life!!!! They are known to manufacture them!!!!!