On the rare summer day, my brothers and father would travel to Rock Hall MD, charter a boat and go deep-sea fishing with a group of men and boys. Evening would bring the country men home sunburned, with a mess of gleaming rock fish. I suppose Mother simply floured them and fried them in Crisco. However she did it, they were delicious! She would always urge us to eat them with a piece of buttered bread in hand to guard against bones getting stuck in your throat! I remember clearly the occasions the sticking happened and how terrified I was until they dislodged and went down the chute! So the rare fish was a mixed blessing.
Last night I had rock fish that tasted like that childhood derivative at a restaurant that just opened up in town. I'm hoping it wasn't a fluke because I'm up for many return engagements.
So, no bones, no sunburned relatives, no heroic stories, just lovely tasty rock fish melting in my mouth.
And no accompanying Sunbeam (with the little girl with golden curls piled on top her head, gathered together with a blue bow) white bread slathered in butter! Focaccia dipped in garlic oil somehow suggested a different era!
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