Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

No that is not dandruff on my comforter; merely fish scales. Papa Bear brought home some rainbow trout this weekend and I was tasked with the post-frozen fillet debacle. I’ve watched plenty of times when I was younger, about time I did it myself doncha know? Did you say that thinking of Sarah Palin? I know I wrote it that way. Contrary to what I should have learned in my youth, I still had never filleted my own fish, even in Alaska when my job title included the word.

Call me overzealous, but today when I was presented the opportunity I was really excited to give it a try. I mean, it had to be a monumental task when most of my memories consisted of the men swearing and bleeding as they filleted any amount of fish on the ramshackle plywood table. When I started down the backbone of the smaller trout I was mentally stoking myself as I went, thinking things like oh yeah that wasn’t so hard, or just run the blade against the bones; easy peasy. Surprisingly, the first half of that first trout went the best, with the bones being picked clean and only a thin sliver of meat left on that side of the carcass.

At that point, I must have overestimated my knack for filleting.

The second side looked like I’d chewed a good portion of the fillets center portion and my fingers might have poked through in a few places. But man did I feel awesome just totally doing it all on my own. Apparently I was paying attention at critical moments of my childhood after all. Theoretically though, I should have left the skin on the trout because we were planning on grilling it, but I was unaware at that moment so we ended up just battering the pieces and frying them to a golden spicy deliciousness.

Cha ching! I have learned a new skill. Looking down on my work I’m sure I wore the same expression as the fish, but mine was the contemplative, hey-I-did-a-better-job-than-I’d-imagined-look.  Though, if I was entered into a speed-fillet contest I would most definitely be both the loser and the laughingstock of the competition. In a pinch, you can always point me to the chopping block and I’ll dive right into that scaly mess of slime. Maybe next time I’ll put on my processing boots though, to really get into the mindset of the fish worker.