It is touching how much faith the fish has in the skill and handiwork of his servants (or are they his masters?), Saltshaker and Vinegar. The fish isn't even dead yet, but he lies with complete confidence on his bed fashioned from fried potato fragments.
He knows he doesn't need to micromanage the activity going on around him. He doesn't need to offer suggestions. He doesn't need to do anything at all, but lie there, smiling and waiting, at last, to die.
(And he won't have to wait long. He must already have been out of the water for several minutes.)
So while he dreams gaspingly of his eternal night, Saltshaker brandishes his spork and leers within his nimbus of sodium, and Vinegar pokes a drowsing tomato and spurts with all due pungency.
(Thanks to Dr. Toasterinthebathrocks for the referral and photo.)
Addendum: A plaice is a type of European flatfish, Pleuronectes platessa.