Bytochky z Tyulky (биточки з тюльки, Odesa sprat cutlets)

The first thing is the silver. Tyulka arrives in a heap of tiny bright bodies, all glitter and sea smell, and you look at it thinking this cannot possibly become dinner. Then your fingers learn the rhythm: head off, backbone out, two fillets opened like a little book, another, another, until the board is full and the pan is waiting.

Odesa knows what to do with a glut. These bytochky, little cutlets, are not minced smooth like factory fish cakes; they keep the fish visible, pressed into small ragged rounds with onion, egg, a little flour, and enough dill to make the whole thing smell green. The one thing that decides the dish is drying the fish well before it meets the batter. Wet tyulka steams and falls apart. Dry tyulka fries, catches at the edges, and tastes of the Black Sea instead of the bowl.

Aunt Nadia wrote only, "fry until it sounds right," which is deeply annoying and completely correct. At first the pan hisses loudly as moisture escapes; then the sound sharpens, the edges brown, and the smell changes from raw sea to nutty fried fish. That's your moment. Serve them hot or room temperature, with potatoes, cucumbers, smetana if you like, and lemon if the day asks for it.