Todd's Cod Tongue and Britches

As the rising sun illuminates the early morning skies into a glowing pink over Hant’s Harbour, our fishing boat makes its way through the dense fog, past a few jelly bean coloured houses and out into the open Atlantic Ocean. I’m here in the country's most controversial fishing waters, on the hunt for a dish known to locals as Cod Tongue & Britches. A turbulent sixteen-hour ferry ride off the mainland in one of the most culturally unique locations the country has to offer – The Rock, Newfoundland. Nearly lost to America, it might as well be its own country. If it wasn’t for a trying economy, it would have been. ​

I’d taken the overnight ferry from Nova Scotia to Argentia, NFLD, and was lucky enough to sit next to a Newfoundlander who knew the route well; she provided me with one of her blankets to curl up in while I tried to get comfortable in the theater-style chairs and a room full of restless travellers. With the ferry rocking me asleep, then awake, then asleep, then awake. Sixteen hours later, we reached land, groggy and half awake before tracking down Goose unscathed in the belly of the ship, and we set off into the early morning in search of our next adventure.

 Coming from Alberta, a province whose oil and gas workforce is made up of a large population of Newfoundlanders, or as they are often referred to, Newfies, I was well aware of the colorful accents and interesting sayings. However, I learned on the boat that there is a full guidebook for outsiders that translates Newfie English into Canadian English – there was a lot to learn!

    I was meant to meet some friends of friends in Hants Harbour, just under two hours up the road. After the lackluster sleep on the boat, I pulled over on a patch of grass partway there called Rosalind’s Lookout and promptly passed out on a strip of Rosalind's lawn. Waking up an hour or so later, I brushed my teeth on her yellow sun chairs and continued on. 

My timing was perfect and lined up with an annual block party put on by Sherry's SeaSide Convenience store. Even more convenient, Sherry Convenience was going to double as my host. Despite the roads being closed to traffic by a large firetruck when I pulled up, the fireman asked if I was Kix, the Chef, and guided me to Todd, Sherry’s husband, for VIP street party access.

"The street party was in full swing—chili cook-off underway, kids playing Plinko, folks lining up for the dunk tank, and a bonus game I’d never seen before: Guess the Weight of a Cow. When I told Sherry I was going to win it, she quickly clarified that the prize was not a steak!

Things escalated quickly, and I’m thankful for Rosalind’s roadside nap. As the street party started to wind down, a kitchen party at Todd and Sherry’s started to wind up. Friends and neighbours rolled in, and as one Screech cocktail led to another, I quickly found it harder and harder to know what the hell anyone was saying! Lucky for me, Sherry was born in Alberta and knew what phrases required explanation. It felt like I was back in Quebec, requiring a translator.

Let’s have a little look at my verbal struggles... 

• People kept referring to me as a guy who’d Come From Away. ​

Translation: Come From Away = Anyone on the island who is not from Newfoundland.

• A story I was listening to whose plot included a guy who was Shitbaked and Didn’t Get Past The Porch. 

Translation: Shitbaked = Scared or terrified.  
Didn't get past the porch = An unsuccessful undertaking.

• Each time a fact or detail was laid out to reinforce a point, it was agreed upon with the expression Yes B’y! 

Today was a great day of fishing hey Todd? Yes B’y!
Translation: Yes B’y = An agreement or an enthusiastic endorsement.

Even knowing who to call what, required some explanation. For example, in St John’s, the locals did not seem to approve of being called “Newfie”, whereas in the smaller communities, the locals referred to themselves as “Newfies” and people from St John’s as “Townies”. The above references are a small sample of a very colorful, broad, and humorous array of sayings and expressions found nowhere else in the country. As an “outsider”, I was cut some slack for my continual confusion 🙂

    With the kitchen filled with locals for what was Sherry's birthday, as I was the newest arrival who’d come from away, I was in for an eye-opening Newfie experience. The group learned I was there looking for local foods, and the list of must-try items rolled out like a secret scroll of never before heard of local delicacies. 

I was quickly encouraged to get my lips on some Fish and Brews, a Jigs Dinner, to try the Hard Bread, and if I was up for it, try some Cod Tongue and Britches. But first, a bit of outsider business to take care of – the ritual of getting Screeched In.

    I’d heard of being Screeched in before, but thought it was an activity that happened at pubs on the infamous George Street. 
The answer to my inquiry: No sir, If ya comes from away, you’s getting Screeched In! And with that, I was escorted outside along with the rest of the party. I stood next to an ice bath as an individual appeared in what looked like fishing gear, a rain hat, a funny mask with a mustache, and some type of magic mop with a rubber boot at the base, bedazzled in bottle caps that were meant to rattle as I danced with it.

Getting “Screeched In” is the process by which friendly locals make those of us from away honorary members of Newfoundland during our time here. The process includes kissing a cod, drinking the local favorite Screech Rum, a locally blended Jamaican rum, and reciting the Screecher's Creed. Once you’ve successfully completed all of these steps, you are given a certificate as proof of completion to save you from repeating the process at another event.

Surrounded by locals who I could see enjoyed this experience much more than their next victim was about to, I was promptly handed a sou'wester rain hat and then asked to recite the Screecher's Creed. A series of Newfie sayings that come out like a tongue twister of unrecognizable English, that make sure you can talk like and drink like a local during your stay here.

Screeching in goes a little something like this:

Question from fisherperson: Is ye a Screecher?
Reply you’re meant to give: Deed I is, me old cock, and long may your big jib draw!
Translation: Indeed, I am, my old friend, and may there always be wind in your sails! 

I was then instructed to put one foot in a tub of icy salt water, eat a piece of Newfie Steak known to outsiders as bologna, before being presented with a large shot of screech and made to recite The Screechers Creed:

From the waters of the Avalon to the shores of Labrador, 
We always come together with a rant and a roar, 
For those who don’t know, you’ll soon understand,
From coast to coast, we raise a toast, we love the Newfoundland

At which point a half frozen cod appeared that I was meant to kiss. I stalled, but the cod was coming in fast, and instead of a peck on the lips, I ended up licking its face!

With that, I was handed a formal certificate from The Royal Order Of Newfoundland Screechers and told to carry it with me wherever I went in NFLD. You aren’t going to get a welcome like this anywhere else on the planet, and you’re never going to forget it either.

The look right after they pull the cod outta your mouth!

By 5am the next morning, I was hazily making my way onto a cod boat in Caplin Cove with Todd and Sherry to capitalize on a short window for recreational cod fishing. Since the 16th century, fleets of Basque, Portuguese, English, Dutch, Spanish, and French fishermen have come to harvest fish from these abundant waters. Then by the 1950s, advancements in technology made it easier to harvest larger numbers of fish, and this harvest kept growing year over year until it reached unsustainable levels in the 1980s. By the early 1990s, North Atlantic Cod levels had dropped so drastically that they were being harvested faster than they were reproducing. Had The Lorax been based in Newfoundland, the Northern Cod was about to become the Truffula Tree.

Facing extinction, in 1992, the Canadian government shut down the 500-year old fishing industry, putting nearly 20,000 people in Newfoundland's workforce out of a job. It hit every town and village across the island, and it hit hard. 

Nearly a quarter of a century later, three of us are out here on a single boat with a limit of five cod per person per day. The industry is making a comeback, but it is being heavily managed. 

While Puffins and Minke whales splash around in the waters surrounding us, we catch our daily limit in under an hour, then head back to clean the morning's catch overlooking the harbour before breakfast. And what is breakfast, you might ask? Exactly what I came looking for, a Newfoundland original: Cod Tongue and Britches.

While cleaning the cod, Todd first cuts out a triangular section of meat between the cod's mouth and neck known as the cod tongue. Next, he guts and fillets the fish while sifting through the interior organs of the females looking for their egg sack, a sort of ballooned wishbone-looking part that fits in the palm of your hand. Tongues in one pile, egg sacks in another, and fillets in a bucket. We take the bounty back to the house for a hands-on class from Todd who shows us what a traditional Newfoundlanders' breakfast looks like.

Todd Peddle’s family roots run deeper than the anchor of the Inuksuk 2. To give me an idea of the family history, he later took me out to a piece of land marked with a couple of headstones from the 1800s. According to Todd and backed by recent archaeological excavations, artifacts found here date back to the 17th century in a location known as the Hefford Plantation in New Perlican just off Peddle’s Lane. 

The Peddles have lived through it all, including a full economic collapse in the 1930s under a corrupt government that compounded hard times. This led to Newfoundland agreeing to give up their Dominion status in exchange for Britain taking over its finances and politics. Newfoundland is the only nation to ever voluntarily relinquish democracy. 

Then by the 1940s, America had a substantial number of naval and air force bases on the island to strategically defend against the Soviet Union. This employed a large number of locals and the island itself had become largely influenced by the U.S. As concerns for a full American assimilation weighed on both Britain and Canada, it was finally put to a vote in 1948. The options were to continue under their regained independence with growing U.S. influence or to fully join Canada. A result of 52.3% to 47.7% saw Newfoundland marginally become a Canadian province and put on the map with Canada the following year. 

​
​Back inside the kitchen, Todd heats a pan to medium heat before adding a spoonful of butter. The tongues and egg sacks (some full, some empty), sit on one plate while another plate is covered in flour. Once the pan is warm enough, the egg sack, or britches as they are called, are rolled in flour, shaken to remove excess, and placed in the hot butter to fry.

​Next, the tongues are given the same treatment. A bit more butter is added then into the pan. Both the tongue and the britches are cooked for about five minutes a side as the colors change from white to brown, and the process continues for twenty to twenty-five minutes. The tongues shrivel slightly, but the egg sack balloons up as the eggs cook and the inside swells.

Once ready, Todd places these fishy breakfast delights on a paper towel to cool while he pours me a water and himself a Diet Pepsi. It's roughly 7:30 am. I arrived less than twenty-four hours ago. I’ve been to one street party, placed my vote in the chili contest, guessed the weight of a cow, been to a birthday party which required a translator, been screeched in (which included licking a cod), caught and cleaned a daily catch limit of cod before 7am, and now I’m staring down a fleshy sack full of freshly cooked fish eggs for breakfast across from a man whose family has been etching out a life on this island for centuries. It's no wonder those who come here never want to leave. The strong culture and simple island lifestyle are unmatched.

Until this moment, I still can’t put together how this dish got its name. Cod tongue is obvious, but Britches? Maybe it's some local term to make hot fish eggs for breakfast sound more appealing, like, say, breakfast caviar.

 Todd goes first and takes a bite out of a tongue, then I go. It’s light with soft flavors and easy to eat. I like it. Then he cuts into an egg sack, noting that he prefers the ones without any eggs in them. Naturally, I’m given the largest, puffiest inverted heart crammed with eggs. Todd takes a bite of his eggless sack, and we keep chatting. Then I cut into mine and what looks like a piñata explosion of tiny cooked roe erupts onto the plate. I scoop the lot into my mouth along with the section of flesh I’d cut. The eggs pop a little, and the hot caviar rolls around my mouth while I try to chase them down with my tongue before they lodge in my teeth. It’s not your standard breakfast buffet, but it's not bad either. It feels slightly novel and slightly historic all in one bite. 

I’m sure someone somewhere along the way cooked each part of the fish bit by bit, trying to maximize its harvest during lean times, and finally settled on this being more edible than, say, the intestine or liver. While my mind trails off into possible scenarios and my tongue chases eggs around my mouth, Todd looks at me and says; Yes B’y, now you’s know the Cod Tongue & Britches. I look at him and say; Yeah, but why are they called Britches?

Giggling like a kid who knows the punchline to a joke he’s about to tell his parents, Todd holds up a puffy egg sack full to the point of near explosion and flips it over so the longest parts are pointing down. See he says, once cooked, they look like britches, a little pair of pants! 

Ohh my gawd, I start laughing to the point of nearly spitting my mini eggs in his face. Only in Newfoundland could a hot sack of fish eggs be eaten for breakfast and named for something so simple and be so funny!

Recipe

• 10 Cod tongues per person (Or less if you’ve hit your daily catch limit)
• 3-4 Cod eggs sacks
• ¼ Cup all purpose flour
• ¼ Cup butter or margarine
• Salt & pepper to taste

    Be on the water by sunrise. Check local regulations to ensure you are within the allowable fishing dates of your location and what the maximum daily catch is. 

    Harvest the cod's neck muscle, a.k.a. the tongue, and if you’re timing is right, the egg sack. 
    Once clean, heat a pan to medium heat and place half your butter in the pan. Roll the egg sacks in flour and set in the hot, melted butter. Then add the rest of your butter and do the same to the tongues.

    Cook each side for roughly 5 minutes, flipping three or four times until cooked. It’s best for the britches to cook slower and longer, as the heat needs to penetrate right through them.

 Alternatively, you could add an array of seasoning or salt & pepper to the flour first or after they are cooked. You could also cook them in pork or bacon fat, depending on your taste preference. 

    For some more fun, hold up the pants and make them do a little dance, known locally as the jig. Enjoy!