I'm sorry, but I hate fish

Well now that the cat's out of the bag, I should elaborate a little. It's weird and I can't help it but fish really, and I mean really, gross me out.  I don't even like standing next to fish tanks.  Those slimy creatures with their flappy gills and their buggy and beady little eyes...no thank you, I'd like no part. Gross times a thousand. (Ironically, I love the ocean though. Explain that to me, please.). When I saw on my school syllabus that I'd have to spend three hours in a seminar on fish butchering I tried not to think about it, but tonight was the night and I had to face it.  (Before I get too into this post, I should warn you (especially if you really like fish) that this post might get a bit gory.  I'd understand if you don't want to keep reading.)

I went into tonight talking myself up.  Reminding myself how I wasn't grossed out in the least about deboning a chicken, even when asked to do so by barely using my knife.  I've always been fearless in the kitchen, why should this be different? I psyched myself up, telling myself that no one would even have to know about my strong feeling towards sea creatures.  I can do this.  I'm tough and that's that.  I'm going to show that fish who's boss.

I started to feel a little queezy as a giant striped bass was slapped down on the cutting board in front of me. With a shaky hand, I took my boning knife and started to slice through the belly of the fish.  Out slid a mass of slimy and unidentifiable organs and whole lot of what I'll politely call "goop".  My face got hot. My throat went bone dry and then I knew I was in trouble.  I flung off my apron and ran to the bathroom. And vomited. Three times. At culinary school.  It was mortifying and it's the type of thing that is real easy to beat yourself up about.  How can I be in this profession if I can't break down a fish without getting rid of my lunch in the process?  I felt like I was in there forever.  I finally straightened myself up and sheepishly walked back out there and tied my apron around me.

At this point, I'd love to tell you that I conquered my fear and I gallantly picked up that knife and gutted the next one without missing a beat.  I did not.  Instead, I swallowed my pride and begged my friend Simone to remove the head and innards of the next fish and I shot the chef an apologetic look.  My other friend Genevieve cracked jokes that made me laugh. "You can do this" she then said with such conviction I almost believed it.  I did pick my knife back up, tried to think happy thoughts and cut fillets from the flesh of the fish. I was at least doing that and that has to count for something, right?

While I am disappointed because I couldn't seem to get past it, I'm proud of myself for at least facing it to the best of my ability.  I tell you this story because, although embarrassing, it's important to my development and kitchen education, thus important to the story I tell of my experience at culinary school.  Often times people think that culinary school is easy and that it's "just playing around in a kitchen all day".  While it's awesome and I appreciate each and every last minute of it, it constantly challenges me to be better and to get a better sense of my strengths and weaknesses and for that, I know I'll be even better in the kitchen.  Through tonight, I also got a better understanding about kitchen life.  You see, it's totally a team effort on all fronts, sort of like playing sports and even though I felt a little defeated, I felt such a strong sense of camaraderie with my fellow kitchen mates that made this night feel like it's not a total wash.