Originally Posted by
bmac
I put on my trench coat and pulled my ball cap down tight on my mirrored shades, prayed for my grand daddy's forgiveness and skulked into a local fish store hoping no friends or neighbors would see me, just to buy some wahoo. You see, a small skiff owner like me can't go out and play with the big boys. So what's an addict supposed to do???
So I drive all around Sneads Ferry and Topsail Island to Surf City and not a piece of fresh hoo to be found. The first local fish monger I approached told me he tried carrying it a few years back but nobody bought it 'cause it was too oily. I backed out of the place, hand on my belt knife knowing that I was talking to an insane man. But I pretty much got the same answer everywhere I checked. I thought I was in Bizarro World for a while. You just can't tell me that nobody in an ocean front community won't eat or sell the best tasting fish there is. I was stunned. But not deterred.
I finally navigated my way to civilization-- Hampstead-- and found me a nice fresh tenderloin. The guy got a little agitated when I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him-- "Do you got any more!!!!" He just said, check back again next week you lunatic! and reached onto his hip for something. So I decided it best if I just backed out of that store and then I made a run for the truck.
I played it cool all the way home and got that chunk of hoo in the sauce and spices, wrapped in bacon and coals fired up about as quick as a jackrabbit on a date. Couldn't have been any better.
Do I need help?
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