The weird uncle of the fish family. You can spot a gurnard instantly by its oversized, wing-like pectoral fins. It spreads them out like a flamenco dancer. But the real party trick is the fingers. The bottom three rays of those fins are free and separate. The gurnard uses them to walk along the seafloor. It tickles the sand to flush out buried crabs, shrimp and worms. It looks like a fish trying to play the piano. Bottom-feeders with a grumpy face and a bright attitude. The body is dusty pinkish-red on top. This fades to a creamy white belly. A striking iridescent blue edge marks those massive fins. A bony, armoured head with sharp spines makes them a nightmare to handle if you have soft hands. They grunt when pulled from the water. This is a loud croaking noise made by vibrating the swim bladder against the spine. The old-timers call them the grunting fish. They are greedy and fast-growing. A female can release millions of eggs in a single season. She floats them up into the current like little confetti. This boom-or-bust strategy means that even when fishing pressure is high, there are usually a few survivors left to repopulate the bay. To cook a gurnard is to cook the taste of the sandy bottom. The fillets are firm and pinkish-white. They hold together in the pan. They taste as sweet as snapper, but at half the price. It is the smart shopper's fish. It is the one you buy when snapper is too expensive. You want to feel smug about your bargain. In Māori tradition, the Kumukumu was a familiar sight to fishermen working the sandy harbours and sheltered bays. Its name is onomatopoeic. It sounds like the grunting noise the fish makes when lifted from the water. They were caught using nets and lines. The firm flesh was often dried or smoked. Today the gurnard remains the smart shopper's fish. It is the one you buy when snapper is too expensive. You want to feel smug about your bargain.