Mr. and Mrs. Inspector have been swanning around in Fronch Polynesia, where the air is boocoo fresh and the bananas are Reference Bananas against which all wan imitators will henceforth be given the gimlet eye.
Mrs. Inspector has a beady-eyed predilection for all things piscine (except for fish-fingers, which she disdains with the fervour of the slightly unhinged), so she was in her briny element.
Island no. 4 on our jaunt was the extinct volcano atoll Tikehau (population: 407) , an iridescent green slash like the contracting pupil of the kraken, the inner edge bordered by pink coral sands and water of impossible blue, the outer edge by insistent waves, coral reefs, and various frolicking sea creatures, beflippered, befinned and betoothed according to their kind. On land, Tikehau is a barren place: the raised reef sustains coconut palms (and their atttendant crabs) and some shrubs, but there's little fruit and veg, and the only drinking water is collected from the rain and the odd well. This means that fish, and lots of it, was on the menu at our pension. The friendly and helpful owner, Caroline, performed marvels in the kitchen with limited ingredients, all supporting the main event - Bigeye Tuna. Someone must have landed a whopper, because it was our constant companion over 3 sultry days:
Day 1: tuna sashimi with grated carrot and cabbage, followed by grilled tuna steak with rice and a warm salad of carrot, onion and carrot.
Day 2: tuna poisson cru style (raw chunks marinated in coconut milk) with carrot and cabbage, followed by tuna brochettes with rice and a mushroom cream sauce.
Day 3: sliced raw tuna in soya sauce (my favourite treatment – my palate was finely honed tuna-wise by this stage), followed by cubes of tuna in a cream sauce with carrot and cabbage – this last dish delivered slightly sheepishly.
Any more tuna and I was in danger of turning into a human thermometer, blood replaced by mercury. I'm not complaining though – I miss fresh fish here in landlocked Hungary.
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