THE TIME THE CATFISH ATE PAPI IN TEXAS 2003

This next piece is a memory of Deysi’s dad (Papi) during a time that he came to visit us in Texas and make sure all was well with us. Papi was born and raised in Peru and for his first 65 years, all of his time was spent there. Since our marriage in the late 1970’s and our subsequent departure from Peru, Papi had become a world traveller. He, basically visited us at each place we stopped at for work. Then in the late 1980’s he uprooted most of the remainder of the family and deposited them in Canada. This, so they could be closer to Deysi and Lalitas. However, during this time of our lives, Deysi, I and the girls were travelling the world, following my jobs.

Papi, now followed us, from a new base in Canada, and managed to visit many of the places that we lived in. He was putting together a pretty large travel record. Much of it on solo flights, armed with little English and his own set of travel rules. But somehow he managed to cross a lot of borders, tracking down his girls. This memory, once again, is rather insignificant, in the grand scheme of things, but it is one that has been with me for years. In my current mental state, when a memory comes by, you just grasp it thankfully, and do not waste much time, wishing it were better.

This time Papi, made his first trip to Houston, Texas. The beauty about travelling to Texas, for Papi, was that at least half of the population was of latino origin. He had absolutely no problem communicating there. This particular memory starts shortly after his arrival, when we take him out to eat. And thus began his lifelong relationship with catfish.

I know many of you purists, in my audience, are protesting that my cover photo is NOT a catfish. Well unfortunately, that picture was as close as I had, in my archives, to a catfish. You gotta admit that this is also a pretty ugly fish-like creature, much like the catfish. You also might be screaming out that catfish are not big enough to eat a full sized latino male. And you would be correct. But if I made the title “Papi eats the catfish”, then none of you would have read this far. So, now that you are here, you may as well read the rest of my drivel.

It took place in a local Texas style “fry up” place, offering Tex-Mex food and all of the local delicacies. We arrive and start perusing the menu. Papi, is consulting me about what I am going to eat. There were no crawfish (mud bugs) on order, so my eyes went to rattlesnake, prairie dog or catfish. I was torn between the choices. Deysi is explaining that the catfish is “pescado” and very popular with some folk. She also explains, that other people have an aversion to the “strange” taste. Well the word pescado is enough for Papi. His opinion was, that, he had not eaten a good piece of fish since leaving Peru.

I’m telling Deysi to explain that Catfish has a very unusual taste. the wild caught fish tastes much like the mud at the bottom of the ponds, they feed in. They are not a particularly well sighted fish, so much of what they consume includes mud. The pond raised catfish are kept in cleaner waters so have far less of the wild, gamy taste to them. Anyway, Desyi explains all of this to him. But she might as well have been talking to an Inca statue. His mind is made up, and the more Desyi speaks, the more convinced he is that catfish is for him. I’m like, oh well I tried. It was not my first experience trying to convince a Peruvian of something. Of course the result was always the same.

Catfish it is then. Papi’s plate arrives first. It has about 10 or 12 (fish and chip size) pieces, of deep fried catfish, covering about a kilo of fries. In a little bowl is a hot sauce made from Tabasco, horse radish, and cayenne. It is hot enough to strip off any barnacles growing in your stomach, and then cauterize you on the way through. On the side, there are a few “corn meal” balls and some deep fried okra. They sit this down, but Papi is now looking for a plate to put his piece on. He believes that what they just sat in front of him, was for the whole table. When Desyi explains, that what he sees is his portion, his face lights up. Finally, I think, he has found a real fish feed.

Everyone has heard about the size of things in Texas, but until you are served in a Texan restaurant, you have no idea of how much they can pile on a plate. My mind goes back to the first time we ate the famous Crawfish boil just outside of Houston. There is a special season for crawfish each year and a lot of hype surrounding it. These are small, one bite, shrimp type creatures, that remind me very much of the Peruvian camarone (freshwater shrimp). And are a little annoying to peel and eat, but well worth it. Many translations show crawfish as a direct translation to Peruvian camarones. Deysi says it is not so, however they do look very similar.

Our first encounter with this creature, was at the very same restaurant where we introduced Papi and the catfish. Not knowing what to expect, we ordered crawfish for all. When it came we were shocked. A wash basin sized portion of crawfish was placed in front of each diner, plastic bibs tied on and then we were left to eat. for a few minutes we just stared at this truckload of crawfish in front of us. Amazing! But eat it we did.

The catfish they served to Papi was about the same size portion as our crawfish from our earlier experience. Papi could see the humour in the “over the top” portion that he was given. He had a good laugh and took a tentative bite on the end of one piece of catfish. He chewed it slowly to let the flavour sink in. Deysi asked how it was, and he said “muy rico”. With that he slowly and methodically ate his way thru most of the plate of food. It was from this first experience that Papi acquired a love of the flavour of catfish. Every time he visited us in Texas, the first thing he wanted was catfish. It remained his favorite “gringo” fish for the rest of his days.