“Aberdeen Fishing Dreams”

Inspired by the seafaring heritage of the Southern District’s boat‑dwelling community, “Deep Food” presents an immersive culinary art performance and mobile installation “Sea of Colourful Memories” aboard the kaito ferry, connecting the present with the community’s fishing traditions and offering echoes of the district’s rich fishing culture.

Aberdeen Harbour’s Shared Tastes

The storyteller says: on a small fishing boat, there was a child who loved to climb to the very top of the mast and gaze out at the sea from about ten meters up. In his eyes, the view from there was more moving than any luxury home’s sea view. Before him stretched nothing but deep blue — the sea on all sides.

Standing in that “one-foot VIP” spot, he was in charge of “spotting fish,” searching for and fixing his gaze on great dark shoals larger than the boat itself. Those shadows were like clouds — expanding, contracting, gathering and scattering. When he found his target, he would skillfully make a hand signal to his sister on deck, and the boat would head toward where the shadows were. That was when his sister would “listen for fish”: if her hearing was sharp enough, she’d press her ear to the deck, and if the fishes were beneath the boat, she could hear their calls — the sound drawing nearer, like listening to the sea breathe. Then down go the lines, up come the lines, haul in, haul again, until the boat brimmed with the catch. Day after day, that was how they made a living, feeding everyone on board.

“In the old days when we boat-dwellers fished, the best of the catch always went to market. Only when we grew up did we realise what the finest fish really tasted like.” As for soldierfish, mantis shrimp, crabs, and the like, they were often shared by nearby trawlers or sold cheaply. That was the boat-dwellers community: you lent me a hand, I shared some good things with you — everyone enjoying the bounty of the sea together.

Foggy Days Are for Nourishment

The storyteller says: if you head out to sea every day, it’s impossible to expect fine weather each time. The ocean won’t always oblige. Sometimes the weather changes faster than you could ever imagine — one minute the sky is cloudless, and the next minute a violent squall blows up. Boat-dwellers have their own vocabulary, especially for weather that’s closely tied to life at sea. That sudden “stone-lake strike” refers to fierce winds with thunder and lightning — fierce in its onset and arriving without warning, powerful enough to capsize a boat. Or you might be sailing along when the fog begins to thicken...

At first, the world around you turns hazy, a cool dampness settling on your skin. Then the moisture gathers and thickens, as if you’ve stepped into a cloud — you can practically taste the water in each breath. Before long the fog congeals into a blank white wall, and you can’t see a thing ahead.

Usually, when a foggy day sets in and the sea lies calm without a swell, “slow sea snakes” appear. Sea snakes live in the ocean, and when they turn up they love to coil around a boat’s rudder — perhaps because the hull is smooth and there is little else to cling to. A sea snake can grow to several catties in weight; once it wraps itself around you, the boat’s speed drops sharply — hence the name “slow sea snake.” Sometimes you will see one spinning lazily across the fog-shrouded surface, its black-and-yellow banded body easy to spot.
Sea snakes look quite distinctive, rather different from their land-dwelling cousins. Perhaps because they need to swim like fish, their tails are flatter, their heads narrower than their bodies, and their trunks can be thicker than an arm. When sea snakes appear, there’s no need for a hook — catch sight of one, scoop it up with a net, and you’ve got yourself a delicacy.

Secret Remedies Sought Amid the Waves

The storyteller says: even boat-dwellers get seasick. I remember going out to sea as a child — sometimes I’d feel queasy even when the water was calm, and it was worse when the boat was still. But if the boat had just “opened new” (set sail), how could you justify turning back to shore just because you were sick? At that point, it wasn’t just feeling like you might puke — you were really about to lose it.

So we turned to a family folk remedy based on “like nourishes like”: weak legs, eat pig’s feet; need brain power, eat pig’s brain. For seasickness, we relied on brown-spot grouper. Groupers of this kind hug the seabed year-round, steady and grounded. Haul one up, simmer a pot of mud-spot grouper congee, and it naturally calms the spirit and stops the vertigo. I’ve even wondered whether making anti-nausea pills from grouper might work too. One spoonful carries the hazy wooziness of seasickness; the next the grounded steadiness brought by aged tangerine peel; another spoonful and you’re in a fresh, pleasant state. It may not sound very scientific, but when you think about it, it just might do the trick.