Die, Gindara, Die!

( May contain graphic details not intended for the weak of heart and tumtum.)

Don’t get me wrong. I am not anti-gill-bearing, finned creatures. I love tuna (with my rice! not as a pet!).

But, gindara? I wouldn’t care if you’ve been wiped off from the face (or waters) of the earth! How could you do this to me, you sick little effin’ fish! I thought I had some weird disease but it was just you. All you!

This is what happened. My mom bought some kilos of gindara and had them cooked in garlic and butter. It’s a delicacy, she said proudly.  Yum, I thought, as the fish’s flesh felt (say that a couple of times without trippin’ over your tongue) soft and smooth and delicate in my mouth. But it was an entirely different story when the chewed fish flesh went down to my tummy and journeyed  to the rest of my digestive system and out of that southern exit. There were these alarming orange-ish drops of oil floating in the water. I thought my internal systems were malfunctioning and I was going to die a ghastly, stinky, and humiliating death.

I found out, after some googling, that there is something indigestible in the fish’s composition or something and the result would be those drops of orange grease, similar to the effect of some diet pills. If I were dieting, I’d be grateful. But I’m not. So, Gindara, I will never eat you again!


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