Anchovies and cats

Gigi's sooo happy when he eats fresh tuna

 Today we start up a new label about recipes and food: Italian cooking (with cats). That "with cats" means that cats are my helpers. At least, they try to be my helpers.

This first recipe was meant to be posted on May, the 5th (Gigi's birthday), but on May this blog didn't exist, so wu post it now.

Anchovies with oregano

Today it's Gigi's birthday. He gets eight. It's not a little thing, if you're a cat.
I want to give him something special. Something to make him happy.
I know he doesn't know it's his birthday.
Cats don't care about birthdays and such things.
But I'm not a cat, and as I know it's his birthday, I will do something special.
Now, I perfectly know Gigi's favourite dish is fresh, raw tuna.
I can't really explain you how happy he looks like when he can taste it.
But woe!, today my fishmonger has no fresh tuna. Not even a single scale of tuna.
“No tuna, I'm sorry”, he tells me with his usual sad look, “But I have anchovies.”
Now, fresh, raw anchovies are Gigi's second favourite dish.
“That will do”, I answer. Then I think better: Gig's not the only one who likes anchovies. Jazz loves anchovies too. I love anchovies as well. It's pointless buying anchovies for Gigi only. I'll better take them for the whole family. “Ok, I'll take one kilo.”, I decide. One kilo is a little bit more than two pounds. Okay, let's say two pounds.
“Do I have to...”, starts the fishmonger.
“No”, I interrupt him, “I'll do it.”
“Thank you”, he answers with a sad smile.
My fishmonger is a nice, young man, but I'm afraid he simply hates fish. He's always afraid I may ask him to clean it. And I well could, because cleaning the fish is one of the services he should provide. But he doesn't like it and always hopes people will not ask for it.
He looks at me with his sad eyes (sadder than a spaniel's ones, and if you have ever lived with a spaniel then you know they can have extremely sad eyes), and asks me if I do really want my fish to be clean.
He's so sad I nearly never dare to make him face this hard task.
Like now, I'll clean the anchovies myself. It's not that hard after all. I hope...

My fishmonger looks like a sad spaniel

And now for the recipe...

Ingredients, for two people and three cats (one of which being Gigi)
1.    Anchovies, 2 pounds
2.    Dry, ground oregano, one cup at least
3.    Olive oil, one spoon
4.    Garlic, one or two cloves
5.    White wine (dry and still), half a glass
6.    White vinegar, half a glass
7.    Salt

Proceedings
First of all, I must tell you that this is not a recipe I invented on my own. It's an ancient Neapolitan dish that fishermen used to eat when they came back after a hard day on the sea. At least, I think I've read somewhere something of this kind.
Anyway, my family cooks it since immemorial age, so I'm quite sure it's an ancient Neapolitan recipe.
Ok, let's start.
1.    I start cleaning the anchovies. That's the harder task. I put them in the sink under a gush of cold water and start. But as soon as I unwrap their parcel, I hear a clear “Meow!” I know it's Gigi. Gigi's my only cat who can spell a clear “Meow!” Kara usually says “Chirp!” while Jazz says “Bahhh!”...
2.    I clean one single anchovy and hand it to Gigi. He sniffs it. He eats it. He likes it. Hurra! It means these anchovies are good. You know, Gigi is very demanding about anchovies: if they're not extremely fresh and extremely good, he won't eat it.
3.    Kara and Jazz reach Gigi. They all start meowing pitifully at my feet as if they didn't eat since centuries. I know it's not true, because I filled their bowls myself only a couple of hours ago. So I pretend I can't hear them and proceed with my cleaning.
4.    And now for the anchovies. Yes! I've been trying to put off this moment, but I have to face it in the end. Now I understend my poor and sad fishmonger: cleaning fish is not a happy thing to do. When they're alive, anchovies are slender and silvery little fishes, very elegant and charming. When they're dead, they become slimy little creatures that stare at you with blank, accusing eyes. I behead and gut them, and take off their bones, trying hard to swallow my guilty feelings. In the end my hands are all covered with blood and I feel like Lady Macbeth after the king's murder.
5.    I choose a certain amount of anchovies for my cats. I won't tell you how many anchovies I pick. You'd think I usually spoil my cats and this is not absolutely true. Suffice to say that in the end they're very, very happy.

Gigi's my only cat who can say a proper MEOW

6.    I chop up the garlic and mix it with salt, wine and vinegar. I whip them with a fork and medidate about to things. First, now I know that my fingers will smell like garlic for the rest of my life. When I have to chop onion or garlic I usually wear surgical gloves, but this time I forgot to do it. Woe on me! The second thought involves my milanese friends: I even think I can see their disgudted faces in front of my vinegar, because they're very sentimental and think that fresh anchovies can only be eaten marinated, with just a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and a spray of extra-fresh lemon juice. But this is not a milanese recipe, so who cares?
7.    I pour my olive oil in a large pan, where I lay my clean anchovies together with my mixture of garlic-salt-wine-vinegar, then I light the fire. A slightly intense fire, if you know what I mean.
8.    Anchovies start cooking and I start sirring them.
9.    Cats come back to tell me they ate all the fish, and ask if they can have some more. I tell them the truth: there are no more anchovies for them. But they don't believe me and start crying desperately. Poor little souls!
10.    I fill again their bowl with dry cat food, then run back to my anchovies before they char.
11.    I stir them again and add my oregano. I have tons of dry oregano in my pantry, because my mother sends me every year a lot of it, and I never know how to use it. Do you need a bit of dry oregano? You only have to ask me...
12.    I stir again my anchovies until they're ready. When are they ready? When they're cooked, of course. Okay, let's say that they have to cook for about 10 minutes, until nearly all its liquour is dried up.
13.    You can eat them hot or cold, with or without a slice of bread. Or with or without your cats!
14.    Enjoy your meal!