30 Days of Sue - Day 4 - What I ate Today

Okay, so this one is going to be really short... I'm behind anyway so this one ought to be nearly as exciting as Jo Ann's blog... and then I'll move on to the next one. No one said that they had to be consecutive days, anyway. So if I skip one, or twelve, whos counting, right?

So, what did I eat today...

Does coffee and creamer count? The creamer does because it was a solid - before I liquidated (I always wanted to use that word  and I don't care if I used it right) it.

So I had creamer for breakfast.
Then I had a Kit Kat - snack size.
For lunch I had a couple of bites of fish and a little bit of red-rice. Fish makes me nervous. I dread getting one of the little bones in a bite because once I do, that ends the entire enjoyment of eating fish...
We grew up on Bream, Red Breast, Catfish, and Crappie. 

This is Daddy and my brother with some catfish caught in The Hatchery, Moncks Corner.

I didn't like fish as a kid and it had nothing to do with the bones. I would eat, and still will, coleslaw and hush-puppies and be satisfied with that.
My parents never forced me to eat fish. (Thank you Mom and Dad). But neither did they reward me by offering me an alternative. Or they did... It was "Eat what's there. Or don't."
My Aunt Molly used to come down with Uncle James and her kids. We'd have fish. They were plentiful. Daddy used to go catch the Spots out at Breach Inlet on Sullivan's Island all the time. That's where the boat capsized that time and where Mr. Guy drowned... You can read about those in my other blogs - I think you know the links.
Anyway. Aunt Molly loved fish - absolutely adored it!! But she wouldn't trust herself to get the bones out. And she wouldn't let her kids eat one bite! She was adamant that they would get a bone caught in their throats and they'd choke to death right there at the table.  It was frustrating for my parents because we were all sitting around, picking bones out of our fish ( even I succumbed to a small catfish now and then), happily munching away, and her kids were staring at us with this look of eager, and somewhat dreaded, anticipation. Oh, yes, they knew, thanks to Aunt Molly's dire warnings, that kids who ate fish invariably choked on the bones and died. It didn't matter that NONE of us knew anyone who actually had died from choking on a fish bone. I am sure it has happened, though... We just didn't know about it. So we ate our fish and disappointed our cousins. I'm sure though that for a while after they went back home they were curious as to whether or not perhaps one of Uncle Tucker's kids might not have swallowed the bone and that it might possibly even now be working it's way through the "innards"...
I digress. Aunt Molly, as I said, loved fish but she didn't trust them - dead or alive. So she would pick through the platter of fried fish, supposedly and speculatively looking for the least boney one. After she'd made her choice, it was lifted off the platter and set on Uncle James' plate. He diligently and carefully, poked, prodded, plied and pried and picked out anything that even looked like a bone. Satisfied, and with Aunt Molly carefully supervising the operation there was no room for error, he pronounced her fish " safe"...
I think, in some small way, that scarred me. If a grown woman wouldn't let her kids eat the fish and if she couldn't trust herself to get all the bones out, then what were MY chances of success? Slim. Slim indeed.
So I muddled through, and avoid eating fish with a lot of bones. I like fillets of any kind of fish (except Bass)and I love shark. One bone per steak. Yes!
Still, sometimes you just see that golden brown, fried crisp, flounder or baby catfish and you are, pun intended, hooked.
Still... I hate bones and love fish so... I compromise.
I have to eat it somewhat strangely. I pick it apart, flake by flake, and if I am in doubt, I just don't eat that bite. I know, it's weird. It's the same way with egg salad or deviled eggs. If there is a bit of shell in a bite, it's finished.
My mother, bless her heart, loved fresh water fish. She loved Spot - the salt water fish. She wouldn't eat shark if she was starving to death and it was served on a silver platter. " They eat dead people." It was the same with crabs. " They eat dead people."  When had all these people died and where were secrets only she seemed to know. Regardless of where the fish were caught, or the crabs, the waters had apparently been teeming with dead people. When we tried to reason with her that eating catfish was far worse than the crabs or sharks, who had probably never even SEEN a dead person, she would have no part of that. "Catfish are bottom feeders, Mama... They eat anything that drifts down... including fish poop." She shrugged. " That's natural."  "Mama, sharks don't eat dead people."  Her answer; " Hmpf."
Forget crabs! She, as well as we, knew they did feed from the bottom and they fed on the detritus that drifted down to the sea floor. We caught them on rotting chicken necks so ... they weren't particularly picky eaters. Daddy and Joe and my brother went shark fishing one day. Mama didn't know where they were fishing. We didn't tell her. But they caught several and cleaned them and cut them into the little steaks before they came home. We agreed to tell Mama that they were "salt water catfish". She fried them and proclaimed them the best catfish she'd ever eaten and constantly pestered daddy to go out and see if he couldn't catch some more of them. We never, EVER, told her different.
As for the crabs... she ate them too. And loved them. My sister came out from Arizona one time and wanted seafood. We packed up and headed out to the Lorelei which was a very nice seafood restaurant, famed for it's crab dip. We all were seated, and the waitress brought our tea and several bowls of crab dip and club crackers. Without anyone actually saying it, we all let Mama dig in first. She professed that it was deeeelicious! She nudged a bowl of the dip closer to her and made herself quite happy dipping and snacking on the crab. One bowl was quickly finished, and the waitress, seeing it, promptly removed and replaced it. Again Mama dug in and helped herself to the dip. The waitress came by to fill our glasses, and Mama asked the waitress "What kind of dip is this?" even as she was putting a bite into her mouth. When the waitress said "Crab" out came that bite and into the napkin it went and away went the bowl, pushed down to whoever else wanted to eat something that ate dead people.

So, here I am, and supper is a piece of fried Whiting  from lunch, along with my red rice and turnip greens...
So, yeah, its a little more than "What I ate today" but honestly, how interesting can a piece of Whiting be?