11/25/12 – St. Peter’s fish

Our group was scheduled to have lunch on the shore of the Sea of Galilee at a place that served St. Peter’s fish.  Peter was the region’s most accomplished fisherman and St. Peter’s fish is the colloquial name for the type of fish that he most often caught.  In a cruel twist that serves to remove any mystery or excitement I found out that St. Peter’s fish was actually tilapia.  Yes, tilapia.  The same boring bland fish that is now commonplace in North America because it has the uncanny ability to taste like whatever sauce you happen to put on it.

The restaurant was run by a bunch of surly Lebanese men who barked the menu at their patrons who were essentially captive.  With an exclusive focus on the tourist market, there was zero chance of repeat business and little incentive to provide even the most basic of customer service.

I decided to have St. Peter’s tilapia anyway and dad had the chicken proving in the process that even the power of St. Peter couldn’t convince him to eat fish.  He’s disliked fish ever since he nearly choked to death on some fish bones in his childhood.  Dad’s experience reveals two important facts: 1) fish bones can be deadly; and 2) dad has been eating quickly right from childhood.  We’re talking about a guy who’s so anxious to get nourishment into his body that he will eat boiling hot soup, scar his tongue in the process, and then claim that it was tasty even though no human who has ever walked the planet could possibly sense the flavour of something so hot.

Call me a skeptic, but there was no way that the claim of the fish being local was true.  I simply didn’t believe that a rude tourist trap like this gave even half a thought about authenticity.  This was strictly a business and profit was the only motivator.  When the fish hit the table I proclaimed it to be “the best Chinese tilapia I had ever eaten”.

St. Peter's Tilapia

Whatever its provenance, whoever raised this fish must have had it genetically modified to produce extra bones.  Dad had good reason to be fearful.  Even so, he tried a carefully deboned piece that I offered him.  Even though he liked it, he was relieved he got the chicken.

Mary Ellen’s claim that she cut her finger on a date, a soft fresh date, was enough to drive me from the table.  I brought dad down to the water to take a picture.  Some small rocks sitting just under the surface would provide me with a platform to make it look like I was walking on water.  But I hadn’t counted on the algae being that slippery and I was left with a soaker for the rest of the day.  Serves me right for trying to imitate J.C. on his home turf.