While my fish roast, I watch Violet prep others. She splits them down the middle, mixes the meat with onions, peppers, garlic, salt and black pepper, and then returns it to the casing of the fish’s exoskeleton. Hers is a more culinary take, but I can see how, to fishermen, the ease of grilling a whole, unprepped fish would possess enormous appeal. When served to us, the fishes’ “shells” are toasty from the fire. The flesh, a pure white, is mild, moist and pleasantly flaky; the seasoning adds a Creole tang. Accelyn and I eat two each. I’m exuberant, satiated. Ah, a fisherman’s fish in a fisherman’s town on a fisherman’s island. And, you know, after all that, I never even knew its real name.