Wake up, it's lampuki time

In the eventuality of a customer asking me to stick to my day job for not liking my cooking, I decided against sleeping till 11:00 everyday, as most caterers rightly do, and work my mornings.
Of course, morning is merely an operative word in this case. I was never much of an early riser. If I’m at the paper early, I’m in a bad mood. If I’m late, my editor blows his top. So whenever I can, I choose to be as ‘on time’ as possible.
I had bought the loudest alarm I could find on the market so I can wake up (along with my entire neighbourhood) early enough to be in Marsaxlokk at an hour ungodly enough even for the other chefs who want the freshest ingredients available, at the best price, direct from fishermen.
The alarm, which sounds a bit like a jet airplane on heat, now comes to good use also to avoid a morning bollocking at work. Give or take that hour or two, I’m always at the paper on time, or so I like to believe.
Since I don’t open Ciao Fra on Tuesdays, I get to compensate for the rest of the week at the newsroom from morning until, on occasions, the early hours of Wednesday. Good thing I actually like my day job.
It’s now 21:30, so I finished early for today. I’m glad, honestly. It means I have more time to think of what I’m cooking at Ciao Fra tomorrow. It means I’ll wake up earlier than usual on the Wednesday - my day off from the paper, to spend some more time sourcing out ingredients for the evening’s tapas menu.
I’m hoping, Leli, my fish supplier who if born 2000 years ago would have perfectly fit the bill for Jesus of Nazareth’s thirteenth disciple, has fresh sardines tomorrow. Leli is a fisherman through and through, but life is hard when you’re just fishing and need to guarantee a future for three children. He could have made the extra cash smuggling drugs or Africans, as some fishermen in his position undoubtedly do. But he’s not the type, so he retails his catch – along with a very small percentage of farmed fish, which is amply made up for by the stuff he gets from harpoon or other amateur fishermen.
Last Sunday morning, a young fisherman walks into Leli’s shop with a jablo box.
“Ara x’ġibtlek Lel,” the boy says.
“Aw,” he shrieks. “Hemm x’hemm? Lempuki?”
“Eh. Tridhem?”
“Ma nafx ta,” he shrieks louder. “Dejv, Tridhem?”
“Ġibhem eh,” I said.
“Ħudhem mela. Kun imbierek.”
In my hands, I held one of the first catches of lampuki this year. I paid through my nose for something so common, yet so unavailable. It felt like holding a pack of Smarties prior to 1987.
I cooked fish soup. I filleted a few of them and fried them the traditional way. I made sashimi with it, and ate most of it myself. I also marinated lampuki morsels, mounted them on skewers and pan-seared them. The prep felt like being in a playground with new shoes.

Marinated Lampuki morsels on skewers

This recipe becomes more ideal when lampuki would have reached a medium size, towards September. Serves four.

What you need:

3 medium-sized lampuki
Fresh Ginger
Fresh thyme
Chillie flakes
Eight spoons quality balsamic vinegar
1 lemon, halved and juiced
Extra Virgin Olive oil
Salt
Wooden skewers

What to do:

Carefully fillet and cube the lampuki, or find a good fishmonger to do it for you. Cut the fresh ginger into very small pieces. Add to the fish along with the rest of the ingredients. Marinate for four to six hours in the fridge.
Wet the wooden skewers, mount the fish on them and sear in a dry pan for a few minutes, without allowing the lampuki to dry. Enjoy.