Sigmund Freud’s Ten Steps to Great Fish
1. Buy a dead fish. When the eye stares at you accusingly, think forbidden thoughts. Why not?
2. Wait until you are alone. Then smear the fish with béchamel sauce.
3. Béchamel. The very syllables take my breath away.
4. Cook the fish any way you like, but serve it with bloody beets.
5. Remove the bones very gently.
6. Lemon makes me pucker. You?
7. All right. How does this make you feel? When fish cooks, the proteins denature and then coagulate.
8. There’s a delicate balance between perfectly cooked fish and overcooked fish. Does this remind you of anything in your goyishe childhood, like perhaps the Christmas morning when you were three and your mother was disappointed to find nothing for her from your father under the tree but mounds of gifts for you, and she cried as she sifted through the balled up pieces of wrapping paper looking for something, anything, but found nothing there? And when you saw her breasts heaving and heaving and heaving some more, you cried, too? And then you ran into your room and looked at yourself naked?
9. Don’t pound the fish. My God, please don’t pound the fish. Just touch the fish.
10. Change your clothes.
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