Smazheni Bychky (смажені бички, fried Azov gobies)

The smallest fish asks the biggest confidence from you: eat it head to tail. These little Azov gobies go into flour looking plain and stubborn, then hit sunflower oil with a dry angry crackle and come out bronze, salty, and crisp enough that the bones stop being a problem and become part of the bite.

This is not polite seafood. It belongs to the Azov coast, to Berdiansk and Mariupol kitchens, to seaside flats with sand still near the door, to a plate set down in the middle where everyone reaches at once. My father would call this enough for eight guests or one hungry Ukrainian, then take the best tail himself.

The one thing that decides the dish is dryness before flour. Salt the cleaned fish, let it give up its wetness, then pat until the paper stops sticking; wet fish softens under its coat, dry fish fries. Listen for the oil, lively but not smoking, a steady rush around each fish. Aunt Nadia wrote only "until it sounds right," which is rude in a recipe and perfect in a pan.

If you can't find gobies, use smelt, sprats, small sardines, or whitebait. It is a bit more modern, and not the same coast, but the method still knows what it is doing. Fry a heap. There is no tradition of a polite little plate.