Something Fishy

Growing up, my family had a yearly ritual that included "Smelt." For those unfamiliar, smelt are tiny fish that resemble salmon, are normally caught in the Spring, and usually fried and eaten whole.

My father was an avid fisherman, and would get up very early on the perfect day for smelting, and meet up with his buddies to net schools of these little gems. My mom would always drag out a long extension cord and set up her cooking station out in our back yard, her electric frying pan full of searing hot Crisco.

Donned in her house dress and flowered apron, she would dredge the smelt in seasoned flour, shaken up in a large brown paper grocery bag. I imagine that it must have been quite a site for the neighbors, as my lovely mother set about frying up enough of these babies for a family of seven.

Well...make that six. I never ate smelt when I was young, and have never eaten them as an adult. Eating whole fish, complete with heads, bones, and eggs (when present), is not part of my diet. Regardless of their petite nature and coveted roe, I will continue to take a pass, thank you.

Today at the market, I had to do a double-take as I passed the frozen fish and headed towards the back of the store. When I whipped out my iPhone and started snapping photos, I received strange looks from fellow customers. Was I a spy from a competitive smelt-seller? Was I from PETA? Why was I photographing a package of frozen smelt?

For you. For my Blipfoto friends, who I have neglected recently because I am working on a big project that drains my brain and leaves me exhausted at the end of the day. But, work is not an excuse to ignore The Love Child Chronicles. After all, this is the place where I examine who I am, and where I am going in this journey we call life.

These smelt are frozen, not fresh. Headless, not whole. I doubt they were caught in Upstate New York. My parents would be mortified by them.

A family tradition that I do not share. Sorry Mom & Dad.