The poor monkfish. What did he ever to do receive the ugly stick? Why was he not blessed with the beautiful graces of the squirrel, the chipmunk, the deer?
I felt bad for him today. No one wanted him at the fish market. The others, they wanted tilapia, salmon, swordfish. I took the monkfish home. I massaged him in olive oil, soothed him some chunks of garlic, bathed him in lime juice, tickled him with freshly ground pepper. And then I coated him with an eclectic robe of riches: salsa that I made with mango, cucumber, sweet red pepper, cilantro, and this overpriced pineapple core that came from Wegman's.
Upon his completion, the once plain swimmer now stood on the winner's circle, basking in his glory.
He was, indeed, divine in all of his paleo-centricity.
Speaking of which...I had a neat experience at Mr. Bill's where I was trying to find organic turkey bacon. Unfortunately, no one at the Farmer's Market carried the brand which I wanted. But the butcher noted what types of meats I was requesting, to which he asked if I did endurance sports. Yes. Ah, he says he could tell because he provides the same organic, free-range products to numerous Ironman competitors. And then he said he was friends with Sharon Mongrain, a woman from Philadelphia who I know by proxy. Small world, it is. And it was a sign, I think, that I am moving in the right direction.
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