I love fish. I love cooking fish. I love eating fish. I do not love catching fish. And neither does Jake. Sitting on a boat, quietly, waiting for fish to bite. Ugh. Did I mention the silent part. Ugh. I'm just not that patient...or quiet.
Jake has fishermen on his Swedish and his Portuguese sides. My ancestors are from the Philippines; they ferment fish and sprinkle it on everything. So, even though the fishing gene obviously skipped us both, the boys have fishing in their blood...and they love it.
So, the first morning we were at Blue Lake with my in-laws, the boys were up, dressed, and on a boat before 6 in the morning.
Jake and I dragged ourselves out of our cozy tent, spent the morning on a canoe, and paddled over to see what they got. Back at camp, with the help of their cousin, the boys gutted and cleaned the catch.
Then I sprinkled them with herbs, drizzled them with olive oil, wrapped them in parchment and foil, and put them in the fire.