I have just put two beautiful brown trout and one slightly smaller rainbow trout into the oven along with the roasting asparagus. Wild rice is simmering on the stovetop. It promises to be a lovely dinner.
I learned to cook brown trout in the first year of my marriage. Steve went fishing then, as now, and brought home two lovely brown trout. Always a learner, I decided to go to the library and get a recipe (obviously before google.com and internet learning) so it could be delicious.
So it was on that day I learned about cooking fish, and I learned some things about life too. The occasion of those trout was the first time in my short married life that a man other than my husband tried to get me to 'be' with him. Funny how I think about him for the first time in over thirty years while I slice lemons and drizzle butter on these beautiful creatures.
As was normal, I took the city bus downtown to the library that day. Standing at a bus stop waiting and waiting, a man in a car with real estate signs on the side stopped and offered me a ride to the city center. I took it. (Come on - it was the seventies! Simpler times. Whatever.)
He was old. Probably 35. He seemed nice. I told him I was going to the library to get a recipe so I could cook my husband's brown trout and make supper for him. He asked me if I would stop for coffee at the hotel up ahead. I said no, I didn't have time. He put his hand on my leg and started to move it up, if you know what I mean, and smiling (creepily) said he thought I did have time. I felt scared. At the next light I jumped out. The bus was only a minute in coming. I was relieved to sit on its miserable hard bench and look out the dirty window as it bounced me toward the library.
So I came home that day slightly changed, and cooked a beautiful trout (that like this one smelled amazing) and I didn't say anything to my husband about it. The trout was so good it just didn't seem to matter. My lovely husband still brings me home brown trout to cook. And I hope the other man has hemmorhoids.