My daughter, kind and loving soul that she is, invited me to dinner tonight. And not just any dinner, either. She and her fiance' had picked up some Famous Daves. Excellent ribs, fabulous buffalo wings, amazing beans, terrific fried chicken... and fried catfish! I love catfish, and I got all of it because neither Maria nor David likes it. I don't know where I went wrong with that girl, but more for me, right?
I asked my grandson if he had tried the catfish yet, and he informed me that he hadn't. I pulled a small piece of fish off one of my fillets and handed it to him. Of course he gobbled it right down. Kid'll eat anything, including squash and sauteed mushrooms; why would he balk at catfish? He liked it, so we put some on his plate.
As he and I sat there eating our food, he picked up a strip of catfish and after taking a bite, looked at the meat, pondering. He looked a little worried, really, and I thought maybe he wasn't enjoying it all that much. Finally:
"Gammaw, this is catfish, right?"
"Yep. Do you like it?"
"Yeah, it's good. But, is it fish? Or is it cat?"
OMG!!! Where's Fluffy?
