I fought some squid and lost!
The fishmonger in Castres had no squid for sale—a warning sign I should have respected.
SuperU is usually good for fish but was too far out of my way.
Leclerc could be on my way home.
Why do we do these things?
I had that sneaky feeling I should leave them and try the fishmonger in Lautrec in the morning but Meredith expressed interest in squid stew.
We are up to our eyes getting things shipshape to leave and I couldn’t face having to think about dinner any more.
I stop off at Leclerc.
I normally accept the fishmonger’s offer to les nettoyer (clean them up and take the skin off ) then finish the job myself at home, but the fish assistant doesn’t want to do anything but wrap them up.
I get them home and and start to skin them–or at least try.
Very soon they begin to get under my skin as I failed to get under theirs.
And the tentacles felt tougher than usual.
I cut one squid on the tentacle side of the ‘eye’
and a swoosh of black squid ink shoots across the kitchen, hits the back door and covers the floor.
Do I really want to eat these recalcitrant mariners? Not much, but am reluctant now to give in.
I’m in a the battle with the squid!
My frustration increases and I’m in danger of nicking myself with the knife I’m using.
There’ll be more than black ink on the floor, but I persist in this madness–until my back starts telling me no dish is worth this amount of hassle.
The four fennel bulbs in the fridge that have been metaphorically tapping me on the shoulder for a good fifteen minutes–finally manage to persuade me that there’s more to life than skinning squid and…
we have fennel soup and cheese instead for supper!–quick to do and a healthier option at night.
Squid! watch out –I’m looking for a return match!