Oh Jalima you've no idea what you've missed ... I dream of them. One of the most soothing, subtle, and unique flavours ever. Just the tiniest bit smoky and gamey but in a soft way, if that makes any sense. Rich but delicate and satisfying in a different way from anything else. Even when they were still widely available they had something of the taste of memory about them. The magic of times past - time in its kindest form - and ... this sounds daft ... the essence of companionship. It's impossible to separate the taste-memory from the people you remember sharing them with. Only crumpets, proper old muffins, and Baxter's Potted Shrimps conjure up friend-and-family nostalgia in quite the same way. There was a spiritual quality to the humble bloater. (Not for nothing am I known as a daft ha'porth!) I feel a bit guilty whenever I eat fish fingers because they basically killed off the enormous bloater industry which gave employment to so many ... but at least I waited till it was basically dead and gone before I caved in to the clutch of the finger. Not that I don't adore them - especially in sandwich form! - but bloaters were from some magic realm. You know the feeling some old childhood book illustrations, or sepia photos, can surround you with? That's bloaters and bloater paste. I've heard there's one place left in Great Yarmouth that still has the real thing but I haven't been able to get there. I truly must make an effort and partake of the mystery again.
I really hope you don't go on a bloater-trek and then end up despising the things! 