In my other less-than-entirely-secret life as a food hack, I heard a story so disgusting, of such low moral repugnance, such bowel churning repulsion that I thought it could only belong here. You know. Amongst almost friends. A particularly fine chef called Stephen Harris was feeding me - which is always a good thing (my morals might be incorruptible, but I've found my stomach to be a cheap man-whore in a G-string on a cold November night) - and after the last dish had been delivered, he came and joined me at the table for coffee and talk, and to conclude our interview that we had begun earlier. And I asked him about one peculiar fish course, the main part of which was listed as Thornback Ray. It had the texture of Skate wing (only, for all the best reasons, much much more so). Now I had never heard of it. So I asked him. A ray? You mean like manta or sting ray? Yep, he replied. They're the same family as a Skate, but much larger. And they're caught locally? I asked, not really paying attention, but doing my job. Yeah, he said, the boats come in about a mile away. But we only buy the wings. Cos – you know - they cut off the bodies at sea and throw them away. Why's that, I ask, bent on spooning the last of the mini chocolate soufflé into my maw. And he looks around. Our part of the room is empty. Well, he continues, cos they're known as "the fisherman's friend." Sorry? I masticate, mouth otherwise occupied with a delicate balance of egg white and folded African couveture. It's the law, he continues. There are - erm - certain similarities in anatomy that made them - shall we say - rather useful to fishermen. You know. On a cold night. So they made it law - you have to cut off the bodies and throw them away at sea. Blech-urgh-gribble? I gobbled, doing my damnedest to swallow. (I wasn't sure what to be more outraged over; the depravity done to the fish, or that the problem was so wide spread, they had to pass a law against it. I guess if you were roaming the fish stalls of your local market, you really wouldn't want to take the chance you were about to buy a cum-soaked bit of haddock.) Anyway, this obviously being apocryphal, and not wanting to believe the thing a minute longer than I had to, I repeated it to a chef friend the next day. Oh sure, he said. It’s also the reason why some girls working in the catering industry who, shall we say, are known to chefs, get the nickname of... Skate.
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