40- never say never

I never wanted to try it; I've had enough anguish in my life, I don't need more. Another aphrodisiac from Japan is live sashimi, which I must describe for scientific rigor, despite the nightmares that haunt me when I remember this dish. (If you are an animal lover, please don't continue reading this paragraph). They bring a healthy silver specimen freshly taken from the pond and still alive, unaware of its karma and unaware of the impending agony of the condemned. Then the cook, who usually has a white cloth tied around his forehead and a sinister expression, greets the diners with a brief bow, takes out several knives from his belt, sharp as razors, and makes them dance with four martial arts moves, cutting through the air with snake-like hisses, and then proceeds to slice the fish into thin slices without killing it. Each piece is skillfully picked up with chopsticks and savored with soy sauce.

With each cut, the unfortunate fish writhes as if receiving an electric shock.

As a contrast to such cruelty, we can cite the beautiful story "The Cold Fish" by Lady Onogoro, written in Japan in the early 11th century. Hanako, a beautiful yet clumsy young woman, had a meticulous and clean lover who liked to make love wearing gloves. Before touching her, the man personally supervised her bath and demanded that she scrub herself from head to toe with pumice stone, remove every strand of hair, and soap every fold and orifice of her slender body, all without a single word of affection or appreciation for her charms. Now, in Hanako's garden, there was a pond where a huge and venerable carp lived. Despite its forty years of existence, the old fish did not possess any of the quirks of Hanako's meticulous lover; on the contrary, it was strong as an athlete and full of consideration, as good lovers should be. It is not surprising, therefore, that she preferred its company. The young woman used to sit by the water's edge, calling it by its name, and it would swim to the surface to play with her. One night, after receiving the hygienic caresses of the gloved man, she went to the garden and lay down by the edge of the pond, crying. Attracted by her sobs, the giant fish emerged from the depths and, approaching the languid hand barely touching the water, sucked each of her fingers with its strong lips. Hanako felt her skin tingle and an unknown sensuality spread throughout her, shaking her to the core of her being. She dropped one foot into the water and the fish also kissed each toe with the same dedication, and then the other hand and foot, and then she put her legs in the pond and the carp rubbed the silver scales of its belly against the girl's skin. Hanako understood the invitation and let herself fall into the mud of the pond, open and white like a lotus flower, while the daring fish circled around her, caressing and kissing her, and forcing her to open her legs and surrender to its caresses. The fish blew jets of water on the most sensitive parts, and little by little, it gained ground and led her through the paths of the most sublime pleasure, a pleasure that Hanako had never experienced in the arms of any man, and certainly not from her gloved lover. Later, they both floated contented in the mud of the pond under the scrutiny of the stars. (Only a woman could come up with a story of this nature).

Possibly the synthesis of all the delights that can be prepared with fish is that prodigious soup, bouillabaisse, which according to one version, was devised by Venus to induce Vulcan to new and more ardent lovemaking, and according to another, more Christian, the angels brought it to the three Marys of the Gospels. The best place in the world to eat it is one of the popular restaurants in the port of Marseille. Happy are the epicureans who have the opportunity in life. Personally, I've never had it; on the only occasion that I was in Marseille, I was carrying a backpack and didn't have a penny in my pocket. Luckily, I was unaware of the existence of that culinary wonder and felt fortunate with a sausage and a piece of bread. I speak of bouillabaisse based on references, on pirate and sailor stories passed from mouth to mouth, which have traveled the seven seas to reach my ears. Without knowing the authentic version, I settle for the unnecessarily theatrical imitations that often appear on the menus of coastal restaurants. Naturally, there are as many versions of fish soups as there are ports on the shores of each continent; one of the oldest documented recipes dates back to the 2nd century, during the Roman Empire. In the chapter on soups, we offer one recipe, but Panchita, a woman more determined than I am, decided to also include a true bouillabaisse. She set off for Europe under the pretext of obtaining the secret from the most distinguished chef she could find. She traveled from Chile to Paris and London, where she immersed herself in extravagant shopping for two weeks, and then, on a quick stop in Marseille, embarked on the quest to obtain the coveted recipe. How she accomplished this is something she will not reveal while her husband is alive. It is enough to say that she prepares it with various fishes and, after mysterious processes of heat and love, she obtains a soup worthy of the gods of Olympus, a true aphrodisiac bomb. The advantage is that, if the ingredients are prepared in advance, it can be prepared in fifteen minutes. This recipe is too abundant for a couple alone; it is recommended for an orgy of six diners, no more, because it should be served as soon as it reaches the precise boiling point. There is no time for a larger group of revelers to organize, calm down, and sit down to eat.