Day 8: Fish, Fish, and More Fish

I have always hated eating fish.  I just have never liked eating it.  This is mainly because of its “fishy” taste.  Growing up in Utah, I did not get many opportunities for fresh fish, unless, of course, you count the time I was at Lake Powell with my friend Jason’s family.  I caught a rainbow trout—before I learned the “if you catch it you have to eat it” rule.  That fish was fresh, and it was fishy.  It was disgusting. 

Anyway, we didn’t get fresh fish that often in Utah.  About four years ago, I was working at a law firm that had a summer associate program (this is where a law student would get hired for the summer to gain experience as an attorney).  Part of the program allowed me to take all eight of our summer associates out to lunch on the firm’s dime.  It was at that time that I decided that I would use the firm to subsidize my effort to start liking fish.  I chose the nicest seafood restaurant in the area I worked, and I took every summer associate there for lunch at least once.  I ordered fish every time.   The results of this experiment were not good (or, at least, not healthy).  I learned that do not like salmon, or flounder, or sturgeon.  I did find that I like crab (which really doesn’t count as a fish, though it is seafood).  I also liked halibut, as long is it was deep fried and served with a (very) large helping of tartar sauce. 

So, I tell you all this because as I opened up my little Kristi Approved/Live the Life book yesterday, I realized that I have to eat fish for dinner—every dinner—seven times this week.  Not only that, but unlike the weeks that I get to eat five ounces of chicken, I get to eat eight  (yes EIGHT) ounces of fish.  I did not know exactly what eight ounces of fish actually looked like until I cooked it up this evening and sat down to measure it (I have to measure everything by scale to ensure I get the right amount).  I started putting the cooked fish on the scale—fillet after fillet.  In the end, I had almost an entire plate of fish.  It was ridiculous.

I considered for a while whether I could bread the fish, throw it in a deep fryer, and whip up some mayo-based tartar sauce to slather my golden, crispy fish sticks in, but I thought that may be counterproductive to the ultimate goal.  So, I sat down and ate.  I am proud to say that did actually eat it without throwing up.  In fact, I was a bit surprised that I actually liked it.  The fish was mahi-mahi, and it was relatively tasty.  Emily put it in a good marinade and I ate it with a tortilla, some cabbage, salsa and red peppers.  Quite a good little meal for something I have always hated.  I guess I never got mahi-mahi when I worked for the law firm, which is too bad, because it tastes (a little) like chicken.