I Don't Care if You Don't Like Fish

I like fish. Actually, I like to eat fish; my feelings toward the animals themselves are fairly neutral.

As a liker of fish, I have to say that I am often ashamed of the lack of tolerance expressed by some of my fellow fish-likers. Why must fish-likers insist that fish-haters keep trying fish? “You’ll like this fish”, they say, “It doesn’t have that ‘fishy’ taste.” Well, if one of the criteria for a food to taste good is for it not to taste like itself, then there is an implication that that food is inherently not good.

If I was to tell a friend that I don’t like chocolate cake, he might think I was a little wrong in the head, but he wouldn’t try to convince me to eat it by telling me it didn’t have that ‘chocolaty’ taste.

Truthfully, I don’t believe that fish-likers really want others to like fish at all. I think they’re convinced that liking fish puts them in an elite class of fine food connoisseurs. (This is especially true of sushi-likers.) Their constant insistence that fish-haters keep trying fish is merely an excuse for them to raise an eyebrow in mock surprise and say, “Really? You don’t like it? To me, the moist flakes of buttery light meat are reminiscent of a Tuscan sunset. . . " Then, with the tone of a mother talking to a toddler, they ask, "And how do you like your hamburger?”

Since when did having an affinity for a particular type of food make anybody sophisticated? Whenever I see fish-likers exhibiting this kind of behavior, I inwardly question whether their fish fetish is even genuine. I think often times people develop a tolerance for fish just so they can lord their pseudo passion over everyone they encounter. In fact, the more outwardly exuberant someone is about fish, the less likely it is that they truly like it. Anyone who says, “Man, I could just kill for some cod right now!” or, “I’d chew my own legs off and drag myself through a pit of asps to get to some halibut!” should not be trusted.

There is even a hierarchy within the fish-liking community. As a fish-liker, your rank is determined by the outlandishness of the food you’re able to ingest. Those who are only willing to eat cooked salmon are no better than peasants. Eat a live blowfish, however, and you’re immediately hobnobbing with the upper-crust. I have no doubt that if I were to open a restaurant in Beverly Hills that sold nothing but aged raw sea urchin spleens, my patrons would be considered royalty.

It’s ridiculous, and I’m sick of it. To all you fish-haters and only-cooked-salmon-likers: On behalf of my insensitive, elitist and bigoted fish-liking peers, I apologize. Eat whatever the hell you want.