A quiet Sunday as yet only punctuated by housework and a pleasant trip to the markets...
So we're lazing about a little and Pete decides to get some soda water to go with the vodka in the freezer he's selflessly decided Emma should drink. Emma gets hungry and decides she's going to start cutting up potatoes for dinner.
All of the sudden our plans descend into chaos.
Emma gets a call from her work colleague. He just caught a huge barramundi but is leaving for Yirrkala in the morning. (Apparently the secret to good barramundi fishing is using crab as bait, taken from the mangroves) He can't possibly eat it before then, so would we like it?
Well yeah, says Emma.
Can Pete clean the fish?
Well no, and neither can I.
Hmmm.
So he drops off this monster of a fish 70cm long or something. By the way, he says, our Yolngu colleague has been craving barra. So drop a fillet off at her place some time, would you?
We stare at this enormous fish, which seems to stare back at us with a shocked, gaping mouthed look. Or maybe that's just what barramundis look like when their jaw has been taken out.
We know nothing about fish.
And we get an idea.
We ring up another friend and ask him if he'd like to come over. We tell him we have acquired a frighteningly large fish and don't know what to do with it.
Wow, he says, you've got a friend who just gave you a 70cm fish? That's some friend.
Yeah, we say. Would you like some?
Nah, he says. I've got a freezer full of the stuff. But he says he'll come over and clean it for us anyway.
And so he does, filleting knife and all. Out on our veranda, telling us how to cook it and loving the vodka we serve him by way of thanks.
Our landlord drops by to harvest some papayas. We swap her a fresh barra fillet for papayas we give Ralph for his efforts.
We eat potatoes and fresh barramundi for dinner.
Darwin is weird. And awesome. And fresh barramundi is nothing like the stuff we've eaten in fish and chip shops downs south...
Sounds delightful!
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