FOOD

Fried Fish…Bread…Cold Beer

A spiritual awakening of the soul

It’s a spiritual thing to fry fish.

i head to the neighborhood fish market. the fish man is latino. he speaks no ingles. this is his first day. my spanish is horrific. i have never needed ‘espanol’ until now amongst all this croaker, bass, catfish, perch and whiting, rows and rows of whiting over ice

‘Hola,’ i say then ‘filet, three times before i realize the word for filet in spanish is not filet and whatever it is, it was not part of my spanish classes in school. i have never been lucky enough to be in a fish market where people talk food either. i look around for someone who looks like they speak spanish and english. a public translator. there is no one. this is an asian market anyway; english is the third language here.

I want filet though because my family doesn’t like bones so this has to happen on some level. they like filet. the safe life. i don’t care. i eat fish with my hands. and some bread. my mother says bone fish is best, she used to clean the fish, chop off the head and fry deep into the night on fridays, look for the bones she said to us.

Eventually, i just point to some croaker and say — Tres. i know that means three. i know how to say — ‘gracias’ too, and como mucho? i got the bones. you…