Over a year ago I went deep sea fishing with a boatload of men I didn’t know.
I was the only woman there and I was keenly aware that I NEEDED TO CATCH A SALMON, OR ELSE BE THE DISGRACE OF MY GENDER!
Fortunately, I managed to catch one big fat salmon and you can read all about it HERE.
I’m happy to report that I’m going out again, this time with Sole-Man (can’t you just hear the Blues Brothers play?).
Okay, fishing kinda sucks because you have to get up at butt o’clock in the morning and drive all the way to the boat for a 6:00 am launch. And I have to take dramamine because I’m prone to motion sickness. And you have to bundle up because if you think San Francisco is cold, that’s nothing compared to the temperature when you’re on the bay.
But I’m totally excited this time around because I’M NOT GOING ALONE!
My friends are going with me!!
So far there’s just the three of us but we’re trying to load the boat with women so we have a boatload of women fishing in the SF Bay.
We’re fishing for shark, halibut and STRIPPERS.
Or maybe it’s stripers.
I’m kind hoping I catch a stripper!
I’m just going to come out and say it:
My sons aren’t necessarily the most courteous men.
I raised them.
If they’re not polite and thoughtful, I have no one to blame more than myself (except perhaps their father who has spent our ENTIRE divorce being disrespectful to me).
In any case, they tend toward laziness and boredom.
So imagine my surprise when I cooked a nice dinner for them last night and as he was leaving the table, my oldest son said to me, “Thanks. “
He said thank you.
I had tears in my eyes.
Oh fuck, maybe I HAVE done something right.
My younger son chimed in, “Yeah, thanks mother.”
[He always calls me mother, I have no idea why.]
In any case, if you want to know the formula to get your bored, lazy sons to take a moment to appreciate what you do for them, all you have to do is cook:
- Seared tiger prawns with a beurre blanc sauce (made from scratch)
- 4 pounds of King Crab legs served with clarified butter
- Homemade creamy mashed potatoes with veggie gravy for your vegetarian son and beef gravy for your meat eater son
- A salmon filet grilled with dry garlic and herb spices
- A caprese salad made with fresh mozzarella cheese and basil
- A selection of artisanal cheeses (again, for the veg head in the house)
- And a white chocolate raspberry bundt cake with cream cheese frosting.
I have to admit, I’m SO VERY PROUD OF MYSELF for impressing my sons.
But I’m baffled that it took this long.
Don’t they realize that their mother is AWESOMENESS PERSONIFIED?!
I signed up to go salmon fishing off the California coast in April.
I’m going out on a boat with a captain, first mate, and 8 wanna-be sailors/fishermen.
10 people. That’s a small boat.
Small enough for Jaws to devour it and everyone on it when we’re 6 miles out in the ocean.
But I’m not thinking about that.
I’m actually thinking about my seasickness and hoping that I don’t disgrace myself in front of a bunch of men.
Also hoping I don’t “ruin the experience” for a bunch of men who never envisioned that their all-guys fishing trip would be invaded by a tenacious and adventurous blond.
The captain has already welcomed me and made it clear he’ll teach me the ropes of salmon fishing.
Which is great because I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING. But when has that stopped me?
I think the biggest fish I caught to date is a little two pound trout in a pond in Redding. Talk about shooting fish in a barrel.
This will be very different from that. I hope my dislike of smelly bait doesn’t get the better of me. I hope no one thinks I’m weird for bringing baby wipes to clean my hands before eating. No nasty bait residue for this girl. I hope I don’t cross lines with anyone else – literally or figuratively.
I hope I catch a fish.
But most of all, I hope if I do catch a fish I have the stomach to go ahead and kill it.
I hope I don’t feel sorry for the little bugger and release him.
That’s unlikely to happen, though.
Because I am dreaming of salmon steaks.