Czech Carp

Carp. As a fish it never interested me and not because of its uncleanly reputation, the fact of the mater is I barely knew of its existence until my winter trip to Prague when I happened to drop into the middle of a national fish obsession. In the days leading up to Christmas, Carp appear in the Czech streets. Suddenly becoming in season, like long awaited winter persimmons or rainbow chard, the fish are transported from fishponds in Southern Bohemia into cities and townships where they reside in large plastic vats. These vats are packed so full of Carp that there is no extra space for them to swim. Their fish lips pucker smack up against the plastic, and their bodies are completely motionless except for the metered movement of their gills. Arguably, the “flying” fish at Pikes Market get more exercise than the unfortunate Czech Christmas Carp and the proverbial “sardines in a can” have a more comfortable accommodation. Yet each fish purchased is meticulously scrutinized over, like the search for the perfect Christmas tree. “This one’s to fat, this one’s too skinny, that one’s missing an eye.” The Carp’s mysterious whole-hardy following provoked my culinary curiosity. Perhaps the United States is missing a Christmas dinner of true divinity. Jesus did use fish to feed the poor. Maybe a departure from gluttony is in order. The abandonment of our overstuffed Butterball birds in turn for a lighter fare, the other white meat.

The traditional Czech Christmas dinner starts with fish soup (of the Carp variety) and a basket full of bread. Knowing that the main dish would be more than enough tradition to sustain my Christmas Carp curiosity I opted out of the appetizer and went straight for the entrée. When the fish dish arrived, there was a gasp of shock at the table. Where the gasp came from I am not sure. Cultural sensitivity prevented my lungs from actually inhaling any unordinary amounts of air, but its utterly unattractive appearance was surly the cause of such a stir. Bland, drab colors and a mound of dome-shaped potato salad formed by the distinctive mold of a cafeteria-style serving utensil, which recalls to the refined epicurean the utter repulsiveness of trough style cuisine that plagues all children in the American public school system. The Carp, covered in flour, egg and breadcrumbs, was fried in oil on par with the most common fish frying practices. And that was all. No garnish of redemption.

Like the presentation, the overall meal was insipid. The potato salad tasted like supermarket potato salad; a soft flavorless substance covered in mayonnaise with the occasional crunchy and sweet piece of relish. The Carp, oh sad horrible bottom dweller that it once was, was awful. I had such hope, such high expectations, only to have them tumble down around me as I ate. While not bland by any means, the carp had a pungent old-fish-left-out-in-the-sun character. With more bones than meat, I spent most of my meal searching for slivers of fish, that once found, I had to force down my throat while holding back the urge to gag. I gave up on finishing the Carp about halfway through the meal and focused on the potato salad. But soon the potato salad was dulling my senses, I had to stop and regretfully throw in the napkin.

On the walk back to my pension, post Carp letdown, I puzzled over my initial disappointment with enlightened humor. Tricked by my American dream of European grandeur, I assumed that the traditional Christmas Carp was a delicacy of refined European taste, when in fact it resembles something more like post-war American green bean casserole. Traditional American foods taste like cardboard but they have a special charm. They remind me of the days when America was moral, clean and in Technicolor. Quaint and absurd, I keep coming back to pineapple upside-down cake and grandma’s potato casserole, not because they are tasty, but because they are the epitome of kitsch Americana that I love. Tradition is tasty. It must be the same for Carp. Perhaps it is a leftover from an era of wartime thrift, like spam in America. After years of eating Christmas Carp maybe I too could love it with the same fervor as the Czech people. Maybe next Christmas, Carp will taste more like spam.