Dinner time has morphed over the years since we have gotten married. In our newlywed days, I served hamburger helper on TV trays. When we started a family I knew I would have to start cooking “real dinners”, however, when our children were still young I was often pressed for time and I would need to prepare something that was quick.
It was during those early days that I introduced my family to the almighty fish stick. More than just a crunchy vehicle for tartar sauce I felt that it was an ingenious part of American cuisine. A wondrous food that was inexpensive and easy to prepare. Something that everyone would eat without complaint. A glorious golden stick of fish that was tasty and, darn-it, downright American! Serving this iconic food while humming a few bars of “America the Beautiful” I felt that I would have made June Cleaver proud.
It was just one such Thursday evening that I had prepared a scrumptious meal of fish sticks when I noticed my eldest daughter made a face at the table. Being the Picky-Pearl that she was, I ignored her and continued conveying the remaining dinner items to the table. Within minutes she began gagging and appeared to be on the verge of getting sick. No stranger to the symptoms of Picky-Pearl-itis, I calmly told her to stop and finish her dinner. She replied that “it tasted bad – like fish scales.” Assuming that she was exaggerating and knowing that she had never eaten fish scales and therefore couldn’t make that assessment I told her again to eat her fish sticks.
After finally getting everything on the dinner table, I sat down. I looked over at my husband. He had a very odd look on his face. It was quickly changing color to a sort of sickly pale green. He looked as if he might choke, and then, he too began to gag. “This. Fish. Is. Bad.” he managed to croak. “Really. Bad.” My youngest daughter sat frozen at the table not daring to take a bite. As a witness to this fish-stick-fiasco, she was now looking apprehensively at me. “You try it mom!” she blurted out.
Now I love America and I love fish sticks but I know when to cut bait and that time was now. I stood and quickly cleared everyone’s plates. I dumped the offending fish down the disposal. This particular dinner was over. I did what any respectable mother would do. I promptly called Dominos for delivery.
“One large pepperoni pizza, please. Hold the anchovies!”
