Smazhena Tyulka (смажена тюлька, fried Black Sea sprats)

The sound comes first: a whole handful of silver fish hitting hot sunflower oil at once, bright little bodies crackling until the pan changes its voice. Tyulka are small enough to eat whole, head if you keep it, tail, bones, everything. That is the pleasure, not the trick. You pick them up with your fingers, pull one through dill and onion, and the sea gives you salt, oil, crunch, and a little bitterness at the edge.

On the southern coast, this is not a special-occasion fish. It is the fish you buy because the market woman tipped too much into your bag and nobody argued, because a weeknight still deserves something hot and golden. My aunt's letter only said, "flour, salt, pan, until it sounds right," which is terrible recipe writing and also exactly correct.

The one thing that decides the dish is dryness before heat. Pat the fish until the skins feel tacky, flour them only at the last minute, then give them a wide hot pan so the coating crisps before the tiny flesh has time to sulk into oil. If the pan goes quiet, you've crowded it. Take a few out, pour tea, pretend that was the plan.