33. Blueback Fish Set Meal
"...Come to think of it, they say the fish's skin, head, and tail are the real delicacy."
Skin, head, tail. Normally, people eat the flesh, but true gourmets go for these parts, right? Honestly, it does feel a bit off-putting. But since the meat is this fresh and delicious, maybe it's worth a shot...
"...I see. So that's how it is?"
He picks off a piece of skin with his chopsticks. Even on a fish this massive, it's thin and light... chewy yet crisp. Like fish jerky? No, more like a croissant. It feels like biting into a perfectly baked, thin layer of pastry.
"Whoa."
Something drips from the skin, so he flips it over. It's oozing oil. Beneath the well-grilled skin, a layer of fat gleams in savory brown hues, dripping steadily. Indeed. The visual is even more appetizing than imagined.
Crunch.Crunch, crunch, chewy, springy.
Pop it in his mouth and chew—the first few bites are all crisp. Fragments of fish skin explode across his palate. But after a couple more chews, that crunch vanishes, replaced by a relentless springy chewiness. The fat layer beneath the skin—dry and dripping just moments ago—melts into a rich, umami burst from the liquefied lipids.
The taste of perfectly grilled fat. But different from meat fat. Well-cooked meat fat is heavy, coating the mouth in a glossy sheen that lingers, gripping the taste buds without mercy.
Fish fat, on the other hand, is surprisingly light. Meat fat feels like it could clog your arteries; fish fat lubricates them somehow. Both cling heavily, stimulating the tongue to the end, but that subtle difference defines the flavor.
When it first arrived, those charred black spots on the skin had him worried it was overcooked. But no. It needs to be grilled this thoroughly to shine. The best fish skin he's ever tasted in his life.
"Hard to get it this perfect at home..."
That's why there are specialized grilled fish restaurants. Fish is easy enough to grill at home, but achieving high-end perfection? Not so much. Now he gets it. He's already hooked on this crunchy-chewy skin.
But even light oil builds up if you overdo it, coating the mouth unpleasantly. Time for rice to cut through it...
Oh no! The rice isn't helping...?
The skin's oil is so intense that even a huge mouthful of rice barely touches it. Worse, the rice's clean sweetness only amplifies the umami. Does the palate tire from excess oil, dulling the taste until it clears a bit—then bam, the full flavor hits? A delayed umami feast. Can't let his guard down for a second.
He glances around to cleanse his mouth. Hmm? Lemon... and pickled radish? Ah, right—he remembers getting them with the set meal. He was too fixated on this enormous grilled fish to notice.
There must be a reason they came together. Lemon, huh. Its tartness should cut the grease. Should he try it?
...Ouch! Sour!
A thin slice of lemon hits his tongue, and pure acidity surges in—no sweetness, just unrelenting sourness. But! His mouth feels refreshed! The oil is nearly gone!
Now his tongue-tip burns with lingering acid, ruining everything. Can't taste rice or fish like this. No choice—he tears off more skin, using its oil to wash away the sourness. Lucky the fish oil is light enough for this.
"Pickled radish... Let's see."
He scoops some finely grated radish onto a piece of skin, wraps it like a ssam, and pops it in.
...That's it!
The radish's mild spiciness wipes out the oil from the start! Yet the fish oil's nuttiness, the skin's crisp savoriness—they all remain intact! Of course. Now he understands why lemon and radish always come with grilled fish. Mystery solved.
Delicious. Incredibly so. Food tastes good on its own, but knowing the right way elevates it twofold, threefold. He's addicted. Grilled fish? Can't hate it anymore.
"Ah. Ate too much skin. Time for the flesh again... Huh?"
After devouring the skin, the remaining bones and flesh peek out. The haphazardly stripped meat makes him feel exposed, embarrassed. An adult who can't properly fillet fish—shameful. No one's judging, but his face flushes anyway.
He fillets more aggressively... Huh? It's firm. Ah, right! It was airy-soft when hot, but now cooled, it's regained its bounce!
He prods the flesh with chopstick tips. Oil seeps from between the fibers. The earlier bites had almost no fat, but this rivals the skin's layer.
A small piece in his mouth. Ah! Firm! No, springy! It melted like foam before, barely registering, but now it chews with a jaw-aching resilience.
Pain aside, his jaw won't stop. Each chew unleashes the fish's faintly fishy, nutty umami! It doesn't fade—no, deeper flavors emerge, endlessly teasing the tongue!
Should be tiring after this much chewing, tongue numb from umami overload. But that subtle shift, the evolving taste, keeps fatigue at bay.
"And yet so light."
The flavor is intense—umami condenses and explodes. Firm, chewy texture tires the jaw. But the stomach stays light. It feels heavy sliding down the throat, yet by the time it hits the stomach, it melts away, leaving only satisfaction. Like the foamy texture's fullness earlier. Amazing. Texture changed, but satiety remains. Unpredictable fish.
"Bones separate easily too... Might eat this often."
The Oncham Godori's bones are thick—like tuna backbones. That's why the flesh debones so smoothly. Scrape with chopsticks like filleting—done. Hot, it falls away like air bubbles; cooled and contracted, gaps form for easy removal. No tiny bones, or if any, they're big enough to spot and pick out.
Its bold umami, the generous well-grilled skin on such a large fish—irresistible.
"...Finished it all."
The flawless grilling seals the deal. Elsewhere, or at home, he'd pair it with two bowls of rice. But this blueback fish proves its main-dish worth. Rice is just an aid to enjoy it. It screams, 'On this table, I'm the complete meal!' Indeed, no urge for more rice.
Ah, yes. This was haute cuisine. Not 'meal' where sides bulk up rice, but 'dish' that stands alone.
"...Might recommend it to others next time."
Even newbie-friendly like him. Low eating difficulty, great texture and taste—perfect fish intro. If he'd tried this as a kid, he'd prefer grilled fish over meat now? Satisfaction over mere fullness. Not stuffed, but deeply content, he sighs happily. Pushing further would insult the fish. Belly not full, yet can't—won't—eat more. This pleasant satiety lifts his spirits.
He rises to pay. His steps feel feather-light with the bill in hand.
"Hey, why'd you eat the lemon straight? You squeeze it on the fish."
"Oh, really? Thank goodness. I wondered why they gave it separate. Got it. Wow, didn't know."
"Idiot. City bumpkin showing. Lucky—this place is perfect for fish newbies."
"It really is delicious, man."
Wait. Lemon's for squeezing on the fish? No way. He thought it was separate too. Dodged a bullet with the private room. Erased one fish trauma, nearly gained another.