Fish

One of my earliest memories is in the kitchen at my grandparents house where my sister and I spent each Saturday (realise now to give my parents some time off) with my grandma and grandad. My grandma stands with me at the work top, the two bowls – one with egg, one with breadcrumbs and one at the end for the finished fillets before they’d be fried in the pan. She showed me how to coat each fillet in egg, then crumbs, then place them on the plate ready for her to fry.

I didn’t know it at the time, but though my grandma loved me she didn’t like me very much, especially compared with my sister. My mum mentioned this when I was around 8 years old, 3 years after grandma had died from complications in a heart operation. My gran on my mother’s side had the same operation a few years later, but survived.

“Gemma was the Apple of your Grandma’s eye. Roisin was more hard work”. She said this with a laugh and maybe some children it would have caused psychological damage but I didn’t really internalise it even though I remember it clearly. I was aware I wasn’t a likeable child. Parents, peers and teachers had all commented on my odd and frustrating behaviours, particularly my loud and explosive temper tantrums which could be set off by seemingly the most minor of inconveniences.

Now I’ve bought some mackerel, some breadcrumbs and eggs of my own. I was reluctant to buy the latter because I don’t know what I’ll use the other 5 eggs for after this mackerel. Eggs on their own make me feel sick and white fish was a bit too expensive in the shop, but I wanted to give myself this nostalgia kick, to try to recapture something my grandma made me. There was something very comforting about the obvious cause and effect of coating the fish and frying it, which might be why it’s so lodged in my memory.

I try not to be too mean to my child self. With her obsession with justice and poor volume control, her anxiety around social interactions and insistence on accurate repetition of stories and anecdotes. I remember my extreme resistance to vegetables, and all new foods, the only food I particularly liked being fish fingers. In nursery they had a rule that no one could get desert until everyone had finished their lunch. Being a slow and picky eater I was always the last to finish, to the extreme irritation of the nursery staff and other kids, who would make their annoyance known both in the lunchroom and in the playground. This probably had a greater psychological effect than anything my grandmother said.

Whilst I’ve never been officially diagnosed with autism, these behaviours along with the high number of autistic and neurodivergent friends I’ve found as an adult mean I don’t rule it out.

When buying the fish, I happened to notice Galaxy chocolate bars rereleased with caramel filling and suddenly remember a walk in Elder Park with my sister and my great aunt (Grandma’s sister), walking her dog zac. She asked as our favourite chocolate and my sister replied “I like Galaxy and I like caramel, so probably a Galaxy Caramel”. I said the same. From then on whenever giving us a treat, our aunt would always get us Galaxy Caramel, which in fairness is an extremely quality choice of chocolate bar. When I started high school I would go to hers every Thursday for lunch and she would always have salmon or cheese or ham sandwiches, orange juice, a piece of fruit and a biscuit. When I moved to Prague for a year in 2015, she cried loudly and anxiously in fear of not seeing me anymore. Towards the end of her life, she had home help, who would get her up and put her to bed far later than she’d have liked. I feel desperately guilty for not being more available to her, especially as an adult.

When I was 10 my sister, in reference to our favourite TV show, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, said her favourite character was Oz, the laconic werewolf and Willow’s boyfriend before she “Turned gay” (attraction to different genders, if only there was a word for that…?). Years later I said the same and developed a brief obsession with Seth Green (of all people) and a livelong attraction to quiet introspective introverts with mildly absurd senses of humour. My sister also said her favourite colour was purple, so I said mine was too. Today I don’t know many of my opinions are really mine. I don’t really understand what it means to have a favourite colour.

Now I add something to the recipe that my grandma never would have – herbs de provence. The hangover of an eating disorder when I was 16 means that most food I make needs to have some kind of plant addition to it, even if it’s just herbs. The whole reason I’m eating the fish is for the omega 3 oils. Ironically my eating disorder was what made me get over my years of picky eating, as I became obsessed with health food, I started cooking stir fries and curries. This was ostensibly a new found interest in cooking, covering up a desire to have full control of the meal and know exactly how many calories were in it. This never really goes away, and now today despite being a size 12-14 and technically overweight according to BMI (Though no one looking at me would ever think that) I still roughly estimate the number of calories in every meal I eat. Now though, I eat a much wider variety of foods and my brain is also aware of all the nutrients and vitamins they offer, and how they help me.

My mental health is probably the most balanced it’s been in my life. I practice self awareness and self care. I miss my grandma, my gran, my aunt, my sister. I miss my dad. I feel guilty for not being more available to my mum. I wonder how much of getting older is just remembering the past and longing for it and feeling the present slip by.

The fish is good. I hope it helps me survive.