Feast of the Seven Tinned Fishes
The story of a presentation about how to be heard...at least by the fish
Initially, I didn’t care much for tinned fish. Not many Americans do, really.
Maybe we had a grandfather who enjoyed sardines on crackers, and that didn’t sound very appealing. Maybe we heard, too many times, someone order pizza “with everything, except anchovies.”
So when I opened my first specialty food store and was presented with the opportunity to sell them, I politely declined.
The line that goes from that particular point in time, to me hosting a special tinned fish dinner event and documenting it for a major assignment in my Master of New Food Thinking program, well, that line becomes understandably weird and wobbly.
The short story of that line involves a second specialty store with more opportunity for a wider variety of products, and a pandemic with lots of social media influencers promoting the health benefits of these shelf-stable delectables. It also includes my trip to Portugal in January 2024, which, quite by accident, became somewhat of a tinned fish pilgrimage for me.
Tinned fish — fish in general — are huge in Portugal. A bit less, but still quite big, in Spain, and much less but still present in Italy and France. These coastal countries consume plenty of fish caught from their coastlines, and you find those fresh fish at every market and grocery. And with the familiarity of fresh seafood comes a liking for the canned varieties, readily available for a meal or snack.
Kate and I started offering tasting classes named for the question often asked as people puzzled over the dozens of varieties we offered: What’s The Deal With Tinned Fish? We busted the myths (no, tinned fish are not smelly), overcame the resistance (yes, the heads have been removed already), and introduced new recipes (yes, this dip is made from smoked mackerel).
Fast-forward to my studies at UNISG, in the Master of New Food Thinking program, where I had to create a Portfolio Presentation, a 15-minute synopsis of what I’ve learned in our Arts, Crafts, and Design module. Tine Galatius, Yael Raviv, Marije Vogelzang, Pedro Reissig, Giula Soldati, and Maddalena Borsato (you will not regret checking out the links of these amazing people) all taught us so much, about not only art but expression and communication and creativity and life. I do not consider myself an artist, and approached these classes with not a small amount of trepidation, but also these were some of my main reasons for joining this program — to stretch and learn and try completely new things.
So I took the familiar presentation of tinned fish and applied many of the lessons from these instructors: where and how food and art intersect; using a dinner as a social experiment; how to ask the right questions; thinking about food like a designer; the power of What If?; and, most important, how to use art to change the world.
Oh, and foraging! For some reason, this module also included our classes on foraging.
And so I began. I worked from a Feast of the Seven Fishes theme, a long-standing Italian-American tradition that actually only dates back to the 1980s. Designed the menu, all-new from classes back in St. Louis. I sourced tins locally in Italy but also on trips to Spain. In a huge creative stretch, I even made a “pond” for the table.
I invited guests — my tiny flat can only hold four! — and set the table for them.
I traced and cut out dozens of fish shapes, provided colored pens and pencils, and put them to work. While I fed them delicious morsels of tinned fish, and told them about the health benefits and my own journey, they colored and attached paper clips to the fish, and had a grand creative and yummy time.
Along the way I told the story — thanks, Meg, for making this connection for me! — of St. Anthony of Padova (home also of Aperol, also served at the event), who was actually from Portugal, but we’re not here to quibble. St. Anthony was sent to Rimini to preach, but they wouldn’t listen to him, so he went to the shore and spoke to the fishes, who came to the surface and listened attentively. The villagers saw this miracle and gave him a second chance, thus turning from their evil ways. (We can only assume the fish also were better behaved for having listened.)
Which led us to the main action of the evening. I brought out the surprise fishing rods — made from foraged sticks! — and the fishing began. No points, no prizes, but still the participants became quite competitive!
Such a fun evening! And great reviews!
“He showed us ways to elevate these humble pantry ingredients into fun and delicious party food, while keeping us entertained with stories of his own tinned fish journey.”
“It was not what I expected, but that was amazing because I love being surprised. I learned new recipes that I cannot wait to try!”
“The way you wove canned fish into the Feast of the Seven Fishes — with both knowledge and playfulness — made this dining experience all the more memorable…There’s an entire world inside that can.”
The presentation of the dinner was nearly as fun, as I gave extra cut-out fish to the instructor-audience to color, and then the fishing poles to catch their fish. Pictured below you can see Prof. Nicola Perullo, philosopher, designer of our unique program, and head of the entire university, very much enjoying the foraged fishing pole.
In the end, the story of St. Anthony includes at least three of the roles we sometimes play. In some instances we are St. Anthony, with something important to say, just trying to get our message out. We might get frustrated, and try something unusual, and it even might work.
Sometimes we are the villagers, skeptical at first but then attentive and eventually sold on the message.
And sometimes we are the fish — not the planned audience, but accidental benefishiaries of the message.
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