Pick up a red cod and you will notice something odd. The flesh is soft, almost jelly-like. It is nothing like the firm white fillets of its blue cousin. This fish spoils faster than almost any other in New Zealand waters. You need to eat it the day you catch it. Or freeze it immediately. No exceptions. That softness has given the red cod a strange reputation. It sits somewhere between a legitimate catch and a disappointment. It looks like a cod, at least at first glance. A chunky, deep-bodied fish with a prominent chin barbel. That little whisker gives it character. The colour is reddish-brown to pale pink. Hence the name. But the similarity to true cods ends when you get it to the kitchen. The Māori name Hoka captures something of its nature. It is a deep-water fish that occasionally appears in shallower bays. Soft-fleshed and better suited to drying or smoking than fresh eating. Red cod are bottom-dwellers with a scavenger's appetite. They eat anything they can find. Small fish, crabs, worms, dead squid and the bits that fall from the tables of trawlers above are all on the menu. They often gather in large schools. They hover just above the mud, waiting for something to drift by. This habit makes them easy to catch. It also explains why the flesh is often soft and watery. These are not athletes. They are opportunists. Old-timers say that if you catch a red cod, you have been fishing too deep. There is truth to that. But if you cook it properly, battered and fried fresh from the water, it is a perfectly good feed. It is the fish of the working class. Cheap, honest and best enjoyed with a squeeze of lemon and a cold beer. The Hoka gets no respect. It sits at the bottom of the chilled cabinet, waiting for someone who knows a bargain when they see one. That someone should be you.