I was having my hair done, reading Bon Appetit magazine and there it was, a fish tale about mastering the art of sole meuniere, a classic French recipe.  Meuniere, means miller’s wife.  The tale described a technique where a whole fish is sauteed and presented standing upright on its side, in a circular fashion, with its tail flipped through its mouth.  I visualized this display and thought of my own tail-in-mouth faux pas’.

I went searching for the technical specs to create this dish for myself and instead found a very touching article about Julia Child, her rescue mirror and being found by Paul.  I’ve heard along my travels that hope floats and there I was, lost at sea.  I drank my own urine to quell my thirst and hallucinated about finding my way back to shore on my very own dream boat.  To celebrate my arrival, I prepared a soul fish dinner, avec des acrobates de cirque, that included my very own signature tail.

“What exactly does a fish think about and is there an individual soul or a shared soul for schooling fish?”  This question was posed on a blog about fish and it had me thinking about relationships; my relationship to my own soul and my relationship to the group soul.  Fresh out of a group experience and feeling some separation anxiety, I wasn’t sure what feelings were my own and what might be a response to group intelligence.  I started feeling exposed and unprotected.  I thought of Indra’s Net, the Bushman life, everyday soul and I am still integrating.

When it comes to fish, I learned the difference between schooling and shoaling fish and the oddity effect.  The oddity effect tends to homogenize shoals for the protection of the individual.  Shoals are social, mixed breeds and due to earlier imprinting tend to be “shoal-mates” with fish similar in appearance.  Schools are close knit and tightly organized with references to swarming behaviour.

I remember an old flame calling me a barnacle.  All my boyfriends make some reference to me being “too this” or “too that”. ” You’re just a touch too much Trish,” were the words of my first boyfriend.  I’ve noticed over the years that I do attach myself to my lover.  I’m not feeding from him, I’m just hanging out and enjoying the whole body experience.  I do the same with my pillow, it’s nothing personal.  My lovers like this affection, but maybe not all the attention.  Maybe I am a barnacle

Barnacles are from the crab and lobster family.  They are suspension feeders, permanently attaching themselves to a hard substrate.  They’re also hermaphroditic and because they can’t leave their shell to mate, they have a very long penis to facilitate genetic transfer.  Barnacles have the largest penis to body size in the animal kingdom!

Back to the fish.  I can make a fish dinner, but nothing out of the ordinary.  Coincidentally, there was a fish boot camp happening at a cooking studio up the street from my place.  I dove in and loved it!  I tried food I never would have otherwise and I am no longer intimidated by creating a seafood dinner.  I wrote this fish tale about my experiences, to help keep my creative juices flowing.  I hope you enjoy it, Bon Appetit!


“A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”  The first half dozen times I read this quote, I was mystified.  I understood the woman needs a man part, but the fish needing a bicycle wasn’t registering in my little two inch brain, until Sunday at Fish Cooking Studio.

It was late Sunday morning and I was the first to arrive for Fish Boot Camp.  I scoped the available seats and perched myself just left of centre, where I could see everything go down.  I’ve been enjoying Fish’s gourmet delicacies for many moons, but this was my first venture into the studio.  I was feeling open and vulnerable and giddy all at the same time.  Fish Boot Camp was outside my comfort zone, yet it was starting to feel warmly inviting and familiar.

Our chef’s name was Leeza Poll, but I was feeling more PollLeeza, from her delicate tomboy appearance and the patient, yet commanding, presence she maintained in her kitchen.  I watched and imagined myself spreading up against the wall for her.  Leeza had thin moist lips and her grey-blue eyes were close together, giving her face a slight fish-like appearance.  She compelled me to make more than my usual eye contact and she responded in kind.  Leeza casually moved her hand, slowly, over the blue speckled Arctic char, commenting on its natural beauty.

After learning the techniques for filleting and skinning whole fish, pulling heads and fingering the guts of squid, we were paired up and given recipes to prepare.  I kept my fingers crossed for Thai crab cakes with lime aioli,  but it was Arctic char with lardons and red wine butter sauce for me.  “Holy fat,” I thought.

I felt the sparks fly when Leeza spoke of chilling the butter and cubing it properly, not chopped in half-hazard chunks like the example in the station next to mine.  Slowly and gently I reduced my red wine and added a pound of butter, one cooled cube at a time.  It was a slow and very delicate process.  I let my imagination dissolve into thoughts of her warm breath and hot lips nibbling on the back of my neck and I sent a loving spoonful into the melting pot.  My burner was the perfect temperature for red wine butter sauce and I was reducing to a rich and rosy nectar.

At the next station, Jules, the French Bread Boot Camp chef, was saving the day and I was marvelling at his very natural culinary talents.  Not to mention, the mini baguette he was permanently packing in his tight European jeans.  I thanked heaven for the woman next to me, she couldn’t contain her heat and it caused her butter sauce to split.  Jules, an obvious master at the whisk, had a way with his wrist that had me thickening in no time.  I’m not sure if they use a whisk in bread making but, whatever the tool, I was moving it to the top of my recipe short list.

All of us gushed when we shared and indulged in our hand cooked entrees.  Arctic char, Thai crab cakes, seared scallops, grilled squid with brown butter, cornmeal-crusted Whitefish and the most tasty shellfish pan roast with chorizo sausage and fennel I ever had.  The best was still to come and wild guess, it wasn’t on the menu…

Time went a little overboard and Leeza asked for a volunteer to help clean up the galley.  Still swooning over the rich creams and sauces, I lifted my hand and took the bait.  Where I come from, Sunday is for lovers and soon I would discover Leeza’s passion for Christ.

It wasn’t long before the sexy beats were pumping and the boxed wine was flowing.  If we cleaned up quickly enough we would still have time to enjoy yesterdays desserts while the sun was still shining.  We were having an abnormally early spring in the city and any chance to lap up some sun-rays after the long cold winter was a welcome invitation.

Jules and Leeza were polyamorous lovers and very sexually open-minded.  Leeza was saucy and didn’t hold back using her slotted spatula on my behind while I washed the dishes.  Jules made us laugh when he wiggled his butt and sang French love songs as he sanitized the butcher blocks with bleach.  The bleach, eventually, accidentally fell to the floor, splattering all over our pants.  “Quick, get them off and into the dishwasher!” Leeza ordered.  Lickety-split, we were down to our panties and Jules in his red thong.  Not my usual chicken-of-the-sea I thought but, neither was fish for that matter…

Leeza snuggled up behind me and let her soft body sink into mine.  Her hands and arms were all over me like an octopus, squeezing and stretching and opening me to unknown pleasures.  She grabbed my hair and moved her hot mouth slowly over my neck, sending bolts of electricity up and down and across my back.   Whispering in my ear, she slid her fingers into my hot and hungry mouth, inching them to my aching buds.

I especially liked it when she pulled my heart-pillows from the top of my tank, keeping them buoyantly bound and accessible to her horny hands.  She was pinching and pulling on me until I was delirious in my sopping wet panties.  I closed my eyes and imagined two Big-Mouthed Bass fish-lipping my cakes and my waters started flowing like a high mountain stream.  Leeza continued working her magic on my treasure chest, while she all-purposefully palmed my puffed passion pastry to perfection.

It was no wonder Leeza needed extra help in the kitchen, Jules’ cock was now the size of a Salerno salami.  He could feed the world with his charcuterie.  I now understood why they were polyamorous, it would be a sinful waste to hoard all that meat to herself.  Little did I know when I woke up that morning, I would be their dessert of the day.  Leeza never let go of my nipples and soon I was coming holy rhythms from God’s sunny kitchen and buoy was I happy for the lighthouse that day!

With his electric eel in hand, Jules dropped to his knees and gave me exactly what my hot cross bun was begging for.  Lightly licking my quivering lips, he had me gasping for his delicious French kisses.  His soft wet tongue was diving deep into my freshly baked Bundt as he smeared glistening white icing all over my luscious round mound.  MMMMM, his mouth was a delicious sweet treat but what I desperately needed was some holy cured meat, to cool my kitty’s perpetual heat.

Jules laid back under the demonstration mirror, his throbbing hot rod would be the hub of our wheel.  Leeza assumed her place, reverse cowgirl style, in pole position.   I took mine on my knees, inside his champion stallion legs.  Shifting his stick between our glistening spinner spokes, we revved our engines, going from 0-100 in split seconds.  My body was purring as my hips hugged the corners of his track.  We were officially off to the races.

Ten thousand RPM and my rump was humping to meet Leeza’s magnetic key holder.  That girl was so hot, she melted Jules’ steel from the inside out.  She injected her fuel into his crankshaft, keeping that Jean-Guy forever young.  It was a site to behold my eyes.  Together, we motored a religious-like rhythm with pistons of passion and glory Hallelujah, I saw the light!

With every knot and sway of our ships, we navigated his pulsating prick so our honey lips could kiss.  Rip tides and undertows abound.  Jules held on to Leeza’s life-preservers as we mercilessly took turns tossing his moons, ebbing and flowing his tide into our carnal caves.  I stopped counting at around twenty-six but we made enough butter for at least forty sticks and if that wasn’t enough… It didn’t stop there, we still had a lot more loving to share.

Wiping ourselves off the counter, we cut a path to the garden patio and took refuge inside a luxurious pyramid lounger.  I was thrilled with the scene but Jules needed a nap, so Leeza and I took another lap around the culinary map.  She told me to spread myself against the outside of the pyramid wall and for the second time that day, I was feeling open and vulnerable and giddy, all at the same time.  The resin coated rattan was ruff on my soft skin but that didn’t stop me from rubbing my erect nipples over the corse banana leaf wall.

Leeza insisted on massaging my bottom with coconut and Shea, to prevent me from chaffing and used her expert hands to rub gobs of the beauty butter all over my backside.  Turning me around, she did the same to my front, rubbing the creamy coco into my thighs and torso.  She smothered herself against me, slipping and sliding, making sure we were both slick and moist.  All that butter made for some good nonstick cooking action.

We kept our fires burning steady and gently let ourselves reduce, until we were rich and thick into each other.  This was just the technique we needed to start this recipe right.  Letting our tongues dance and sing over our kissing lips was enough to set our sails blowing in the breeze.

I was eager to feel Leeza’s puffy labia and oversized clitoris against mine the moment I saw it.  Her body was buff… Maybe she did steroids or maybe she was an Inter-sex.  I didn’t know and I didn’t care to ask.  She had a clit the size of a baby carrot from root to tip and I was about to do the rub-a-dub, with my very own dance hall queen.

Leeza held my wrists over my head and started shimmying her body over my sweet spots.  With every twist of her hips, she passed her pulsating gherkin over my happy patch causing me to buck and buckle.  The jiggly slick softness of our jello desserts created a sticky love tack on our ice cream sandwiches that was like pulling salt water taffy.  Pure pussy pleasure.  We were in a convulsive fit when she started pumping the air between us, creating a sexually charged sine wave around our glistening hot bodies.  It sounded like we were the ocean being fucked by the wind when she started spraying her sea foam all over my conch’s pearl.  Aphrodite was born-again!

Back in the triangle, Jules was striking a tune with his Tit-Fer, summoning us for dinner.  After all that potato mashing, I was ready for some beef tenderloin au jules.  Slithering onto the futon, I laid back and rested my head over the edge.  My garden was already watered when I unhinged my jaw and Jules lowered his succulent leg of lamb over my coffin-shaped head.  Intoxicated by his scent and overwhelmed by the softness of his dumplings against my eyes, lips and cheeks, I fainted.

I licked myself back to consciousness on Jules’ mineral stick at the same time he was tuning his instrument with the back of my throat.  His wild creativity poured from his wellspring and he sang a melody of love while performing deep knee bends over my central sense organ.  This inspired Leeza and she picked an English cucumber from the vine, stuffing half into her gapping cunt and the other half into mine.  She proceeded to seesaw the man-root deep into my velvet flower until we were both grinding our meat pies, swallowing the Cucumis Chate whole.

My shipmates then started pawing and biting each other as they drilled into me and together we formed Scalene.  I was losing my grip when Leeza maneuvered her seedless serpent deeper into my sinking ship.  I kept shelling her plump pussy pods, making friends with her pea and she kept churning molten mush from my hot and holy burning bush.  Phoenix was rising!

Maestro prodigiously conducted our symphony orchestra to an all bodies orgasmic crescendo.  He modulated my synth with low frequency oscillations, subtly phasing my random and rectified waves as they crashed the shores of Mount A-bun-dance.  I was moving in stereo and shaking in Tremelo, when they generously filled my belly to the brim with their coq au chambertin.  Amen! Amen! Amen!

Learning: Bread and butter always come together and catfish don’t have scales.