Catch me if you can!

THE BEST tourist draw at Pike Place Market is the fishmongers’ stalls. I love seafood — all the bounty of the ocean when transferred to my plate, after having been cooked to perfection (no matter which cuisine) is always an appetising sight. That said, I’m a bit loathe to touch these scaly creatures of the sea, much less gut or clean them. But it all changed a few weeks ago in Seattle, the home of corporate stalwarts such as Boeing and Starbucks. Lying as it does on the north-west Pacific coast, its seafood offering is magnificent. And I had a glimpse of the thriving fishmonger business when we visited Pike’s Place in downtown Seattle. A word about Pike Place Market: founded in 1907, it is the oldest continually operating farmers’ market in the US and offers an abundance of fish and other seafood including salmon, the famous Dungeness crab, shrimps and a variety of other fish. A quaint section of town, Pike Place Market is one of Seattle’s top tourist attraction and draws about 10 million visitors annually. So naturally, I endeavoured to contribute to that statistic and was keen to find out just what it was about Pike Place that drew people by the droves. I had heard — and read — about the fish throwing but wasn’t quite sure what to expect or indeed what it meant. I didn’t know then, but this expedition would challenge my aversion to touching dead fish. As we entered Pike’s Place, which houses the Farmers’ Market, I couldn’t but help being drawn by a crowd around a largish fish shop that had neat piles of fish and baskets of crustaceans loaded around the store. About five lively ?men were in charge of the shop and kept yelling something unintelligible every time someone bought their wares. The guy manning the store on the outside would hold up the selected fish, holler and then throw it in one sweeping arc to his buddy at the counter who would catch it as expertly as Jhonty Rhodes! To my complete surprise, the throwing of the fish was the actual reason that attracted visitors because they were encouraged to participate in this throwing ritual. There I was standing around clicking away furiously when one of the guys yelled out to me and asked whether I would like to participate in this game. He held up this fish (I’ve no idea what it was), but it was about 15-inches long. There was no way I was going to touch, much less hold that cold, scaly thing looking at me with its big, flat and dead eyes! My wife, who had just volunteered to display her fish catching skills, raised an eyebrow. That raised eyebrow, I have learnt over the years, could mean anything. ‘Scepticism’, ‘annoyance’, ‘disagreement’, ‘sarcasm’ but in this case, I read it correctly as ‘challenge’. Well, there was no way I could now let that challenge pass and suffer her smirks for the rest of the trip. I reluctantly — but bravely — agreed. The fishmonger demonstrated how I should stand, the way I should position my hands to catch the fish that he would throw to me — over a distance of about six to seven feet over the heads of the bystanders behind the counter on the inside of the store where I would be standing. It looked easy enough — what’s the big deal in catching a fish? I practised the stance a couple of times, self-conscious under the gaze of at least 30-40 bystanders some of whom were brandishing cameras ready to catch the action in whichever way it panned out. I was given an apron to protect my T-shirt. Then I heard the guy on the outside of the shop hold up the fish and holler loud and clear. I braced myself, suddenly thinking that this may not be so easy after all. What if I dropped the fish (as I had seen two previous ‘performers’ do)? As the fish came sailing over in a perfect arc, I waited for it to come across. It all seemed like a long-drawn out film vignette in slow motion but it must have taken less than five seconds! The fish landed in my hands and then I could feel it slipping from my grasp… but my reflexes must have reacted fast enough for me to dig my fingers into the side of the fish thus preventing it from falling. It was when I heard the cheering. Hooray! Giving the fish to the shopkeeper, I threw up my hands in victory after which I realised that my hands had a certain aqua slime on them and were smelling ... well, a bit fishy. But in that heady moment, I did not care at all! My victory was short-lived. I returned to Dubai and I’m now the official household buyer and cleaner of fish. You will find me every now and then on a Friday morning in the Karama fish market. -patrick@khaleejtimes.com