A Fish Tale

Yesterday in a fit of pique I posted a rant on FB about my hatred of halibut.  I suppose it was partly caused by my queazy stomach.  Perhaps my husband's continuing absence contributed because after about a week of his being gone I start to get really cranky.  But I was really getting tired of dealing with the smell of  fish in my house.  I do not cook fish at home because it never comes out right.  However, my mother in law regularly cooks fish--frequently halibut-- and last night, at least on FB, I  succumbed to my latent desire to  reclaim my house so I can control its smells and the foods I am being offered to eat.

But then again, even without all the psychological explanations, I simply dislike halibut.  I remember that my mother made a creamed halibut dish frequently on Fridays when I was a child, back in the pre-Vatican 2 days when good Catholics did not eat meat on Fridays.  One day she sent me to the fish market (remember those?) to buy the halibut and my 7 or 8 year old memory could not recall the fish that started with "H" that she had asked me to buy.  So I told the fishmonger that I wanted haddock and proudly trotted home to find out my mistake.  Luckily my mother used the haddock anyway in the dish.  We decided the dish tasted better with haddock and thereafter never had the creamed halibut again.  Perhaps my lack of memory was in fact a sign that my distaste for halibut (chewy and dry even in a cream sauce) needed to be addressed.

My disdain for that fish has only gotten worse over the years.  Occasionally at a restaurant I have thought that I would try it in a different presentation and it never fails to disappoint.  So I resolve to eat halibut no more and to do my best to get it out of my house.  Otherwise I will need to buy stock in scented candles and Febreze.