A Fishy Tale

Fish, anyone?

I love eating fish.

If I could have the chance, I'd cook fish every other day. P. likes eating fish, too. The catch is, he absolutely abhors the smell of fish cooking. He hates the fact that the whole apartment stinks for at least 3 days and the fishy smell sticks and clings to his clothes and jackets. Spraying them with Febreze just seems to make it worse. Oh, and he draws the line to dried fish. The only time I cooked it, he went nuts looking for a rat's carcass in the apartment.

"It's just daing". I tried to explain.

"Dying?! It smells like its DEAD already!" was the reply.

So in short, whenever I crave for dried fish and vinegar, I reach for a jar of Connie's Gourmet Tuyo instead. A week before Christmas, he specifically requested that I not fry fish. Being the ever compromising wifey, I filled up a small saucepan with apple cider, chamomile flowers, cinnamon sticks and whole cloves. Simmered it all throughout the day for days - just to have that "Christmassy" smell infusing our home.

Well honey, Christmas is over. And I want my fish! So I trudged down Chinatown, and got me 10 pounds of porgy and butterfish. Since I can't fry often, I'm frying the whole batch - enough to feed a small army. It's below 50 degrees, all windows are open, the AC is on full-blast, I'm wearing a jacket in the kitchen, and I'm happy as a clam. I'm sure I'm gonna hear a few protests once he gets home - but its his turn to compromise.

Because today, whether he likes it or not -  the fishy smell is going to hit the fan!