Being the culinary notes of Mrs Beaten.

The shark was not an overwhelming success, I am sad to say. When reports of it, washed up on the beach came in last year, I was initially somewhat excited. Mrs Ephemery and I arranged a little team of workers to prepare the shark. I gutted the shark myself, a smelly and visceral process. Mrs Ephemery undertook the beheading. I was not previously aware that she had such a great fondness for that process.

We buried the shark in sandy gravel, as I have been informed is traditional. Although it is rather a lot of work. There were those who said we should eat what could be salvaged from the shark at once. There were others who said it was too far gone and that we might as well try something else. There were those… (and I hesitate to quote them) who said that the shark would taste of (something terrible) no matter what we did with it.

Mrs Ephemery cheerfully assured us that the meat at this stage would be poisonous, and that anyone daring to eat it before she had processed it would be likely to go blind. 

After the fermenting process, we had to dig up the shark – which to my great astonishment had not been eaten by anything else during the months of its being buried. We then cut it into strips and took it to The Crow to be dried. At this point the shark had a discernible smell, and it was not the smell of decay, but of something else altogether. It put me in mind of my late husband at his most beastly.

We waited for a further four months, during which time Mrs Ephemery and I discussed the shark on a number of occasions. I have found her to be an excellent companion. We share a passion for unusual food, and have sampled all kinds of meat together. I did not think that at this stage of my life I might find a friend, but it has come to pass. I shall remain ever grateful for the day that I saw the board outside The Crow announcing “Dead Mans Fingers” on the menu. They turn out to be an edible mushroom with only mild side effects.

I approached the day of the shark testing with great excitement. Mrs Ephemery and I worked together to remove the crust from the outside of the shark meat. She reassured me that she had been expecting this, as it was mentioned in her great grandmother’s kitchen notes. 

The texture was inoffensive. The smell… pungent and reminiscent of my late husband. Of the tasters gathered, three did not make it past the stage of smelling the meat, even though we were samping it outside. Mrs Ephemery had informed us that despite the snowstorm, outside was the best choice for eating this dish.

Of course I partook of the shark meat. I have tasted worse. It was not wholly impossible to swallow, although I seem to be the only one who could manage much of this. Mrs Ephemery only ever tastes small amounts of food and seems to enjoy food more in terms of preparation and as a spectator’s sport. 

One of the Scientific Gentleman kindly informed me that the correct technical name for the flavour – which has the merit of not being uncouth – is ammonia.

(Written by Nimue)