Smoked Fish Pie

June 25, 2002

Never plan to renovate a house you are about to move into. Never underestimate how long it will take tradesmen to do their job.

Three weeks ago the packers came into our Christchurch home and converted the contents into 300+ individually wrapped items, cartons of goods and loose odds and sods.

The intention was that the goods would be shipped up the South Island and across Cook Strait and delivered to our Wellington address a few days later. By then the Wellington house would be renovated and redecorated, work having started back in April.

Ever since the packers arrived I kept seeing visions of winged pigs.

When I walked into our Wellington home the pigs came home to roost, to mix metaphors. Sure, the wall had been knocked out between the study and an adjoining bedroom to accommodate a new library/study. The 50 odd cartons of books in the kitchen were testament to some action on that front. The new room was taking shape with extra windows almost in situ, a support beam in the ceiling, extra power points.

The carpet in the living areas and master bedroom had been pulled up, the hallway re-lined. What about the wallpaper stripping elsewhere? The plastering? The new fireplace?

I kept stalling the moving firm and leaving our goods in storage as long as possible as we chose carpet, a fireplace, colour schemes.

In the end the furniture was delivered and now remains wrapped in various rooms round the house. Fortunately the cartons were well labelled so I was able to locate and unpack the kitchen goods. There were some unexpected bonuses there - the full garbage bags that had mysteriously vanished by the time I went to put them out in Christchurch, turned up neatly packed into a carton. The spare touch-up paint I had left in the garage for the new owners also made its way north along with the Christchurch phone directory and the local council rubbish bags.

As I motored four hours north to take my car across on the interisland ferry, I had visions of the cleaning people I had engaged to make the vacated house spic and span toiling their way through my list of instructions. Son Ben went to check out the results at the end of the day. As I waited to catch the ferry, he phoned to say that if the job that indeed been done, it had been done once over lightly.

My blood pressure was rising as I called the cleaners and requested that things be put right. Fortunately I had left the new owners a note to say cleaners had been engaged, and had given the contact details, so at least they knew the place was intended to be sparkling.

By the time I installed myself in the lounge on the ferry, I was well and truly ready for a medicinal wine.

Consuming that glass of wine proved to be something of a challenge. The ferry journey involves a journey through part of the Marlborough Sounds then out onto Cook Strait which separates the South Island from the North Island of New Zealand. (See http://www.travelpass.co.nz). The picture shows one of the ferries on a good day. But that night there was a fair-sized swell in Cook Strait.

I am a pretty good sailor and was quite comfortable sipping my chardonnay and watching the waves crash in on the windows. Nearby were a young couple with a wee boy of about 18 months. Dad suddenly looked a little green and disappeared somewhere aft. A few minutes later Mum rushed back down the lounge to the reinforced bag dispenser.

Junior then realised he had been abandoned and started heading out of the lounge in search of parents. As the nearest able-bodied person, I thought I had better go rescue him. But then the dilemma. If I put my glass down on the table, it would be less than 10 seconds before it hit the deck.

Well, I probably looked a little strange doing a lurching waltz down the heaving lounge, scooping up the staggering infant and pulling him safely into a seat beside me. But I am proud to report not a drop was spilled.

For the next 15 minutes or so, the wee lad and I had a deep and meaningful conversation. He was quite happy repeating everything I said to him because he could now see his mother in the distance with her nose in a bag. We admired his pushchair, his clothes, his toys. We discussed the weather, the ship, the waves. He was deeply interested to learn I had two grown up boys as big as his Daddy who were once little boys like him.

I probably subjected him to information overload because when his mother returned and I led him over to his pram, he hopped into it and was soon nodding off. And no sign of his father until the end of the journey.

With all this mayhem in my life at present, not helped by a dose of the latest winter bug, there comes a need for some satisfying comfort food.

Fish pie fills the bill quite nicely. You can add to the basic recipe to suit your mood. Suggested extras are hardboiled eggs, quartered lengthwise and placed in the bottom of the dish, lightly cooked cauliflower florets, whole kernel corn, etc.

Fish Pie

450g smoked fish
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons flour
250ml milk

Remove any skin from the smoked fish. Cut the fish into chunks.

Saute the onion in butter until tender then stir in the flour and cook a minute or two then gradually stir in the milk and stir until the mixture thickens and bubbles. Turn the heat down and cook, stirring, for 2-3 minutes. Stir in the smoked fish. Season to taste, bearing in mind the smoked fish may already be salty enough.

If you are using additions place them in an oiled ovenproof dish then pour over the fish mixture.

Spread on a topping of mashed potatoes. Decorate the potato using the tines of a fork.

Bake at 180C until the pie starts to bubble and the topping begins to brown. Serve with a green vegetable or a salad.