Trout & corn

The Greek writer Oppian writing in his Halieutica...refers to catching trout by hand in the following:

"The fish in careless ease supinely laid,

The grappling fingers of the swain invade.
Up from the deep he springs and bids the prey
Recant his error in aerial day."

These words reminded me of my grandfather who caught trout by hand. I had no idea then what that means but I found it today .... Then and there, in those cold rivers, my grandpa' was catching this fish with his empty hands.

An entire story of a rainbow trout fascinated my childhood because, only that trout was the one my grandfather wanted to be put in the fir-tree branches (cobza) and baked on the heap of embers for hours, drowning then the fish in a soundly garlic bait and  spoiled by the gold of a polenta made from a floury cucuruz (corn)...

Today, I did not do cobza, have not caught any trout with my own hand and I did not do polenta.

But, I did that trout to remember me by my childhood when a spoiled copchil (kid) had his eyes glued by the pants of his grandfather, in the middle of a cold fast waters of Apuseni Mountains and trying to see any fish moving in water.

Great mystery was then..... how he managed to catch the rainbow, caressing it !

Now, it's just another story about a simple fried trout with some barbequed slices of boiled corn.

Photos are more than enough for my story. 

Recipe is mine, rising from memories, because, huh, memories are still alive and still spiced by that freh grounded dried chili !

PASTRAV SI PORUMB

Grecul Oppian a scris in Halieutica lui, referindu-se la prinderea păstrăvului cu mina:

"The fish in careless ease supinely laid,
The grappling fingers of the swain invade.
Up from the deep he springs and bids the prey
Recant his error in aerial day."

Cuvintele astea mi-au amintit de bunicul care prindea pastravii cu mina. Nu aveam habar pe vremea aceea ce presupune dar, azi am gasit explicatia... O intraga poveste a unui pastrav curcubeu mi-a fascinat intreaga copilarie pentru ca, numai acel pastrav era cel dorit de bunicul a fi pus in cobza de cetina de brad si copt pe spuza de jar pret de ore pentru a-l inneca apoi intr-un bait zdravan de mujdei de usturoi si alintat de aurul unei mamaligi facuta din cucuruz de cel fainos...

Azi, n-am facut nici cobza, n-am prins nici pastravul cu mina si n-am facut nici mamaliga.

Am facut insa pastravul sa-mi aminteasca de anii copilariei cind un copchil rasfatat era lipit cu ochii de pantalonii sufulcati ai bunicului, in mijlocul unei ape repezi si reci din Apusenii motilor si incercind sa vada vreun peste miscind in apa. Mare taina era atunci cum reusea el sa prinda curcubeul, mingiindu-l.

Acum e doar o alta poveste despre un pastrav prajit simplu si despre felii de porumb fiert si prajite la grill.

Pozele sunt mai mult decit destul pentru povestea mea. 

Reteta imi apartine rasarind din amintiri, pentru ca, nu-i asa, amintirile sunt inca vii si inca piparate de acel chili uscat si proaspat zdrobit !

Enjoy!