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“Thank you, Frank.”
Canidy glanced around the cabin, and his eyes settled on the cutting board with its fish and spices. At that moment, his stomach growle
d.
Nola could not help but notice.
“Would you care for some?” he said.
“What is it?” Canidy asked.
Nola reached farther back beyond the cutting board and from a spot out of Canidy’s view produced a glass bowl. It appeared to have mixed in it a little bit of everything that had been on the board. Nola then reached back to the same spot and came up with a half loaf of a hard-crusted bread. He broke off a piece, ran it through the mixture in the bowl, then offered that to Canidy.
“Thank you,” Canidy said, taking it.
He sniffed at the mound of food that was on top of the bread. It smelled sweet, mostly of citrus, with a strong spice he could not recognize and with the olive oil that he could. There were cubes of meat cut to the size of his pinkie fingernail and this he recognized as the fish, although it was more translucent, as opposed to the ruby red of the filet on the cutting board.
“Eat,” Nola said, smiling. “Is very good.”
Canidy nodded, then took a bite of just one corner of the bread and its mound.
The tart juices of the lemon and lime immediately made his cheeks involuntarily pucker. With the war, any citrus—any fruit, period—was extremely hard to come by. It had been longer than he could recall since he had enjoyed the tart taste…and the reaction it caused.
Then he tasted the delicate flavor of the fish.
Tuna. Tender, full of flavor but not fishy.
And that then was countered by a short-lived, searing-hot spice.
The red pepper!
He popped the rest of the bread into his mouth, hoping the starch would ease the fire. It did. And as the citrus caused his cheeks to pucker and then the hot spice flared again, they seemed more subtle this time, his mouth becoming more accustomed to the bold flavors.
He looked at Nola and smiled appreciatively.
“See?” Nola said, tearing another piece of bread from the loaf. He dredged it through the bowl and handed that to Canidy. “Is good, as I said.”
Canidy took it, and said, “I could eat this all night! What is it?”
“Sibesh,” he said. “The Spanish, who claim they originated it, call it ceviche. But my family has been making sibesh since my ancestors first took to the sea to fish.”
“Very nice,” Canidy said, nodding.
“It is a natural marinade. It gently cooks the tuna as it flavors it.”
Canidy nodded, wolfed down the second offering, then, with his mouth full, asked, “What is the leafy stuff?”
“Leaves of coriander,” Nola said.
Canidy shook his head that he didn’t immediately recognize it.
Nola added, “Is also called cilantro.”
Canidy nodded.
“One more,” Canidy said, “and then I’ll stop, before I eat the whole damn bowl.”
“You are welcome to the whole damn bowl.”
