Why I Don't Eat Fish
I don't eat fish. Or, hardly ever.
This is a different thing from not liking to eat fish. In fact, I have no problem with that. The taste is fine, the texture is fine. I'm quite fond of salmon steaks, actually. But I don't eat fish.
It's not some sort of PETA sea-kittens thing. It's quite simply this: Fish smells like fish.
The smell of fish is distracting, pungent, always-there. Unlike most other people, I'm unable to ignore it, and it distracts me for as long as it is detectable--which, for me, is apparently longer than it is for most people. There's a phenomenon called "sensory adaptation" which I apparently don't use as quickly or strongly as most people. Sensory adaptation is what happens when you don't notice your clothes on your body twenty minutes after you put them on; when you don't notice the smell of formaldehyde halfway through the biology lab; when you get used to bright sunlight once you've been outside for ten minutes; when you listen to loud music and only people hearing it leak through your headphones realize how loud it is. I adapt to some extent, but I must be on the low end of the curve for it, because whenever the smell of fish exists in my vicinity, I notice it.
Whenever I eat fish, and I finish my meal, I have to wash the dishes immediately, and wash out the sink. Then I have to throw away cans, wrappers, napkins, and disposable plates, and take out the trash. I probably got a drop of the fish smell on myself when I prepared or ate my meal; so I have to change my clothing and wash the laundry. And since the smell lingers in the air, I have to leave the house to go on errands for a few hours, or open the windows if it's a nice day.
No matter how nice fish tastes, it's just too much trouble to eat unless I am really craving fish--or, for that matter, quite a few other foods, including onions, some kinds of pickles, home-made stew or soup, and pretty much anything that lingers in the air. It's not that I don't like the taste or the smell; it's just that I can't concentrate on other things when smell-of-food is intruding. If I had to deal with that constantly, after every meal, I'd be allocating mental resources that could be used for something else.
Sometimes, the fish is worth the cleanup; or, like with my last fish dinner, I need to clean my apartment anyway and might as well eat fish; but there are other things to eat, and other ways to get protein that don't linger in the air like a cloud of ever-present miasma. So... I don't eat much fish. It's simpler that way.
This is a different thing from not liking to eat fish. In fact, I have no problem with that. The taste is fine, the texture is fine. I'm quite fond of salmon steaks, actually. But I don't eat fish.
It's not some sort of PETA sea-kittens thing. It's quite simply this: Fish smells like fish.
The smell of fish is distracting, pungent, always-there. Unlike most other people, I'm unable to ignore it, and it distracts me for as long as it is detectable--which, for me, is apparently longer than it is for most people. There's a phenomenon called "sensory adaptation" which I apparently don't use as quickly or strongly as most people. Sensory adaptation is what happens when you don't notice your clothes on your body twenty minutes after you put them on; when you don't notice the smell of formaldehyde halfway through the biology lab; when you get used to bright sunlight once you've been outside for ten minutes; when you listen to loud music and only people hearing it leak through your headphones realize how loud it is. I adapt to some extent, but I must be on the low end of the curve for it, because whenever the smell of fish exists in my vicinity, I notice it.
Whenever I eat fish, and I finish my meal, I have to wash the dishes immediately, and wash out the sink. Then I have to throw away cans, wrappers, napkins, and disposable plates, and take out the trash. I probably got a drop of the fish smell on myself when I prepared or ate my meal; so I have to change my clothing and wash the laundry. And since the smell lingers in the air, I have to leave the house to go on errands for a few hours, or open the windows if it's a nice day.
No matter how nice fish tastes, it's just too much trouble to eat unless I am really craving fish--or, for that matter, quite a few other foods, including onions, some kinds of pickles, home-made stew or soup, and pretty much anything that lingers in the air. It's not that I don't like the taste or the smell; it's just that I can't concentrate on other things when smell-of-food is intruding. If I had to deal with that constantly, after every meal, I'd be allocating mental resources that could be used for something else.
Sometimes, the fish is worth the cleanup; or, like with my last fish dinner, I need to clean my apartment anyway and might as well eat fish; but there are other things to eat, and other ways to get protein that don't linger in the air like a cloud of ever-present miasma. So... I don't eat much fish. It's simpler that way.