A Fish Named Colin

The first time I realised that my restaurant french was really lacking was in 2003. By that time I had done some CD based lessons in the language, and like all these things it had concentrated first on language for tourists: transport, food, and emergencies. Thus I struck out to France for 8 days, 14 year old daughter in tow, confident in my ability to negotiate the perils of international travel in "foreign".

All was going remarkably well, until one damp Sunday evening in Honfleur. Being a harbour town it was obvious that we needed fish and chips. Being a tourist town on a wet Sunday evening in November it soon became obvious that finding fish and chips was not going to be the easy task we first thought. Eventually, however, we found an open restaurant in our price range that had food we (ok - she) recognised and approved of.

The fish on the menu was Colin, something I didn't recognise. "What sort of fish is Colin?" I asked, only to receive a bemused look. "It's... Colin" said the waitress (all done in English, I hasten to add). None the wiser, I ordered it, and since then Colin has been our inexpensive fish of choice.

But what sort of fish is Colin?

Colin

Colin is one of the French names for hake (Merluccius merluccius), the others being merlu and saumon blanc. However the name Colin may also be used for lieu noir (coley/saithe) or lieu jaune (pollack). They are all fish from the wider cod family and it's not easy to tell what species you're being sold, especially once it has been cooked. In a fishmonger's (and probably a supermarket) the common name might have the Latin name as well, but in restaurants it could be whatever sea caught fish with firm white flesh was cheapest in the market that day.

Sometimes Colin

That means that (unwittingly) my question "what sort of fish is Colin" was valid. It just didn't sound clever.