PRAWNING 



parsley, shalots, nutmeg, seasoning, and the juice of 

 half a lemon, and cover with puff-paste. Bake for one 

 hour, or rather more. Make a quarter of a pint of 

 bechamel sauce hot, and pour it into the pie. 



I first learnt the virtues of conger pie years ago at 

 Westward Ho, in North Devon, where, from the end 

 of a rickety iron pier long since destroyed by the sea, 

 we used with hand lines to catch great store of cod, 

 skate, congers, and other good fish. Some of the 

 congers were monsters ; one I remember weighed nine- 

 teen pounds — a pretty burden to drag home with other 

 goodly fish on a dark night between 12 and i a.m. A 

 smallish conger, say from five pounds to ten pounds, 

 makes, in my opinion, the best pie ; and readers who 

 have not ventured upon such a dish may take my word 

 for it that it forms (hot, of course) a most excellent 

 dainty, rich, savoury, and of delicate flavour. There 

 is another fish pie I know of which is even more allur- 

 ing. This is hot lobster pie, a luxury I have only 

 tasted in the west of Ireland. Here lobsters are extra- 

 ordinarily cheap, and you may get as many as you 

 want from the fisher-folk of Galway and Mayo, in the 

 country districts, for fourpence apiece. A dish of 

 greater excellence than hot lobster pie it would be 

 hard to find. 



Now, driven off by the freshening tide, we quit the 

 rocks, climb up through the cliff gap, and upon the 

 grassy slope count our bag. Six hundred and ten 

 prawns is the score, variously composed. The lad with 

 the spoon-net has the best record, contributing as he does 

 a hundred and sixty to the total. This is one of the 

 good days, and the prawns run mostly large. Among 

 wielders of the gin-nets ninety-six is the biggest total ; 

 the second best score is made by a lady who brings 

 in eighty-three prawns. Two small lobsters have also 



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