by Emy Butler and Jordan Murphy
Jordan Murphy: First, you gotta understand terroir.
Terrior (pronounced “tare-wahr”) is basically the cornerstone of the whole appreciation of wine and food. It's this French idea that wine and food are supposed to be about a sense of time and place. It’s an experience, an appreciation of a specific moment, an homage to someone’s craft. Food and wine are expressed in a myriad of ways based on the palate of the consumer, the technique of the chef/winemaker, the quality of the soil, the pedigree of the winery or restaurant, the weather that year, the lunar cycle, a love of farming, the history of a village, the soul of a community …it’s fascinating and complicated and historic and dreamy and blunt and gross and scientific and surprising, and terroir celebrates every bit of that nuance.
My friend Emy had been asking about tinned fish for a while when I told her to put her money where her gills are and come taste some with me at Redneck Beach. Little did we know what our day would turn into. We babysat some old pawpaws grandchildren so he could flirt with his girlfriend. We were some of the only people there who spoke English. And we enjoyed every minute of it, the last hot day of 2022, in some perfect blend of chaos and peace. Which also describes the dichotomy of eating seafood out of a fucking’ can. Lemme tell you though if you're buying the right stuff, there's some fresh-ass, delicious food in that tin.
Emy Butler: Had my dear friend and I not outran the police that one night, I would have never known about the tinned fish community.
Cockles in cold pressed grapeseed, ok, white tuna belly filets, Galician mussels in Spanish sauce. Fish roe in spicy olive oil. Fish balls. Peppered mackerel. Brined anchovies. Infinite and personal mollusks swimming in hot juice, hiding in the dark, wading. These lil canned po’ boys were low cost with high protein starting in the early 1900s. Now, there is an unforeseen grip that tinned fish has on an entire culture, and to an extent, I do get it.
Shelf stable, eco-friendly, an endless variety, and still affordable for now. However, gentrification has reached the fish aisle. Trout in a can is being sat next to a passion fruit next to a $45 local soft cheese. Growing up as an underprivileged girl raised on potted meat and saltines that made her way through life in the service industry, one can say, I'm most definitely intrigued.
I told my criminal of a friend to take me to a horrible place. There we would indulge in this pop-top of strange social status swimming in all the darkest corners of the unknown kitchen cabinet. Under a broken beach umbrella, we lay out our Hot Girl Spread on a pink and black sarape, outlooking the murky and movey Tennessee, its floor filled with its own version of radiated clams and mussels. Atop the sandshore of Taluca Beach, we toast our tins. And to Diaper Island, our Ranch Waters.
We sat and ate what we could but ended up baptizing each other in the river, packing up the fish and all the ants that red clay could house, then blasted Yelawolf down the windy, dirty country roads back home, then met with another girlfriend to just eventually split a bag of Krab Kingz. Special thanks to the two men in Birmingham that helped jack up the car and changed out tires after outrunning the cops. Without them, CHUM wouldn't have had a CHUM Bucket this time.
JM: A few months ago, the owner of Russ over at Research Park Wine Merchants introduced me to the concept of Merrioir (pronounced “mare-wahr”), which is like terroir, but under the sea. Blew my fucking mind. I was already a fan of conservas (Spanish and Portuguese tinned fish) thanks to the restaurant Domaine South who had a little resection on their menu dedicated to them last summer, and Russ only furthered my appreciation. He showed me a copy of a book that his friend Chris McDade wrote called The Magic of Tinned Fish and I was immediately hooked. It's a fascinating and educational book about how to appreciate, cook with and eat conservas. He suggests high-quality brands, tells you how to pack a Spanish seafood picnic, and includes through-provoking recipes like anchovy sauce on a charred steak, alongside twists on old classics like dank-ass tuna salad sandwiches. Research Park Wine Merchants keeps a great line of conservas on hand, so I bought a $16 tin of La Brujula Yellowfin Tuna Belly there and experienced a spiritual awakening when I ate it that night, straight out of the mother fucking can, and was reminded that some of the best things in life need no accouterment.
This piece was first published in CHUM Vol.8
