Eating Down the Bones

  I have at last became an adult. It was a long time coming, but Saturday I ate a fish with the bones in it. Not only that, I cooked it myself.
   When I was about five years old, my father got a bone stuck in his throat at the dinner table. My mother was upset and anxious, and I developed a lifelong horror of small bones in my food. I'm certain it was a chicken bone, but fish became the object of my fear.
   Last week I discovered a wonderful family seafood market in Cedar Point. They park their boat right behind their house, and everything is fresh and local. (Can you believe that much of the seafood you eat here is imported? Boo! Hiss!) On my second visit, I wanted to try some local fish.
   Sea mullet was the fish de jour. I was dubious. Sea Mullet hasn't the allure of stuffed fillet of flounder, but the owner assured me it was his favorite fish. His wife cheerfully demonstrated cleaning and gutting the fish, but not one word about filleting. She did tell me how to cut slits across the fish so that the meat would fall easily away from the bone when cooked.
   Truthfully, I did not want to get a reputation as a fish-wimp, especially as I am working toward an image of "local" as opposed to "dumb-tourist." Like they wouldn't know! So, I smiled knowingly, took the fish as is, and pictured dumping mine into the garbage.
    I came home, cut the slits, dredged the fish into a mixture of flour and a bit of yellow corn meal, and plunged those suckers into hot oil. They obligingly sizzled and turned crispy golden brown, just as my instructor promised.
    I served them up to my incredulous husband, and timidly raised my fork.
To my infinite surprise, the tender white flesh fell obligingly away from the bones, and the fish was mild and sweet. I loved it, and survived!
   Yes, I should have faced this phobia long ago, and I regret the succulent whole fish I have avoided all those years. Now that I am living at the coast, I plan to make up for lost time.
    I am reminded of an occasion when I was at a family-style dinner. A man I know and had dated long ago was seated across from me. I sat there staring at the platter of beautifully cooked whole fish before me. My friend, deep in conversation with the person to his side, was calmly filleting his fish. When he finished, he smiled and quietly passed the filleted fish across the table to me. For me, this tops my list of truly romantic gestures in my life.
   Fish with bones.... what a concept. I'm ready for the Swansboro Mullet Festival.