I am trying to take the right attitude after my husband rolled in from a weekend south of Ensenada, Mexico, carrying his weight in yellowfin tuna.
I waited anxiously for his return at midnight, secretly hoping he would report that he had a terrific time, but darn, the fish just weren’t biting.
No such luck. He apparently found the spot where all the fish, reportedly dwindling in other parts of the ocean, have gone to hide. It seems they come to dine on nutrients brought in a current from Alaska, yet somehow they can’t resist the fakey lures my husband offers them.
Try as I might, I have trouble getting enthusiastic over enormous quantities of any foodstuffs, except perhaps chocolate. My husband loves nothing more than a trip to the big box store where he can score 10-pound cans of sliced olives, 4 quarts of salad dressing, an industrial drum of dill pickle slices and a bag of rice that would sustain several Third World countries for a month.
I see only two things when he struggles in with his terrific buys. I see my already limited pantry and refrigerator space vanishing and I see me throwing out lots of mildewed olives, pickles, dressing and rice. Now I am seeing freezer shelves full of raw fish daring me to hold a cookout for 500.
At least they filleted it into tidy squares, but we will never consumer all that fish, even if we were to eat it every meal for several fortnights. I supposed I can offer some to our friends and neighbors, but I fear that they will just take it to be polite and then all our garages will smell to high heaven until trash day. The cats in the neighborhood will go berserk.
Our barbecue may well be working overtime. Think of all the money we saved with all this free fish. Heck, all we really need are a few dozen baskets of cherry tomatoes, onions, peppers and squash to make a mountain of fish kebabs. Or several hundred dollars’ worth of shrimp, crab legs, clams and scallops to turn it all into a delicious cioppino.
I wonder where I can find the number for the Star-Kist purchasing department.
Jean Gillette is sleeping with the fishes. Contact her at email@example.com.