A bone to pick with kippers

The idea behind this blog was not to regale behind my culinary excellence, or to show-off at how knowledgeable I am of the cuisines of the world.  Indeed, it is my intention to provide an insight to the "warts and all" of everyday home-style cooking.  There will be no jus, there will be no obscure planktonic ingredients and there will be a total and utter absence of anything molecular.

I had read about kipper fishcakes, and, ostensibly the idea seemed sound.  Smokey herrings, lightly poached in milk, flaked and then combined with a floury potato mash and coated in breadcrumbs.  The reality was that I found it immensely difficult to bone the execrable things.  It was rather like a needle in a haystack, but somewhat in reverse - I was trying to remove the haystack from the needle.

After 10 minutes spent boning the first half of the first fillet I decided that I might be on the path to fish futility.  Perhaps, though I might be able to just munch the bones, like in sardines for example.  This was not to be, and indeed invited the possible eventuality of me having to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on my partner before the end of our supper.

In the end I did what every logical cook would do.  I decided to make mashed potatoes and serve the kipper fillets on the side.  Surrender you might say, but honestly I don't think I could contend with 2 hours of needle boning that infernal thing.

The thing is, I can remember eating kippers as a child.  Vacuum-packed delights they were, dyed iridescently yellow with a star-shaped splodge of incandescent butter proudly displayed at the front.  Did they have such offensively large bones in them?  I don't recall that they did, though perhaps that might be nostalgia.

Tonight I'm going for the safe option.  Meatballs with pasta. Surely I can't screw that up as well can I.......