At 65 years of age, there are some things I don’t like. It’s that simple. As I child, I was forced to try fish. “Just one bite”. A thousand times of “Just one bite.” Gagged every time. As a young woman, I was bullied into trying it. Left it under my napkin every time. As a mom, I felt it was my duty to introduce my boys to it, always eating a sandwich before dinner. As a Senior Citizen, there is no reason to torture myself with something I find awful in every way. I hate fish.
The smell. The texture. The preparation. The odor when opening the package. The slimy appearance. A lone scale here or there. Spiny bones secreted in flesh. I could go on. Everything about it disgusts me. Fish is not allowed on my counter or in my refrigerator. Certainly not on a plate I’ve paid good money for at a restaurant. I make my own rules now. I hate fish. That’s not going to change a this stage of the game.
As a college student, and later as a young mom, I did fish. With a hook. With a line. With a sinker. The least offensive of the bunch is fresh trout, but those need to stay in the lake, as well. I doubt I’m alone in my distaste for this food group. Face it. McDonald’s didn’t make their first Big Mac with fried Tilapia. It would’ve been curtains for them.
Many things have solidified my elimination of fish from my food group. One might surprise you. Fish are relatively innocent little beings. All day they just swim in their three dimensional world, being nothing other than the fish they are. They don’t harm things anymore than any other animal. Hidden, they just do their little fishy thing. Silent and out of sight.
Eating is everything for them. It seems they eat anything within reach that’s smaller than their mouth. Hence, a pea-sized brain get them in trouble every time. They’re not sharp enough to know worms don’t swim. Especially worms impaled on something shiny, like a barbed hook. Finding themselves facing a certain death, it’s too late. If death isn’t from the jagged hook, then, it results from horrors that come after being ripped off the hook.
Being pulled from water appears to be the reverse of human drowning. Terrifying and painful. I remember the look one trout gave me when I’d “caught” it. How silly. I did nothing but hold a pole, line, and hook. The worm made the ultimate sacrifice. Flopping around and gasping, my immediate response was to throw it back in the water. Of course, others in my group caught plenty that weren’t so lucky.
Fish don’t have a long shelf life. Ordering fish in the high desert of Northern Nevada takes trust in all those that handled it from boat to plate. In this day and age, I can’t trust the bagger at the grocery store to put my belongings in the bag without breaking something. I’m not trusting the hundreds of people it requires to process fish. Food poisoning is not a fun thing to experience. Old fish is even worse than fresh fish. Unless standing next to a coastal fish market, none of it is fresh enough for me.
People that LOVE fish are insistent little cherubs. Insistent that you haven’t eaten fish prepared in the right way. Quite sure that you just haven’t tasted the one variety you’ll crave the rest of your life. Positive their meal choice will change your 65 year old brain forever. Don’t even get me started on oysters.
If you know someone you love who hates fish, let them be. Swim proudly with your own preferences. Especially if the person is question is 65. We know a few things about what we like. If fish isn’t on our list, FERGETABOUTIT.