I do not know where my liking for fish came from. I do not think I ate very much fish as a child. What I did eat came in the form of fish fingers. There was however an exception -Scotland! We would stop by a strange house by Loch Fyne and buy kippers straight from the smoking house. Then there was Mackerel fishing. Long nights, florescence in the water, Gannets plunging and the primal shock of Mackerel taking the darrow.  Back to the cottage to eat 30 minute fished Mackerel at midnight. Thanks Dad.

Freshness has become an imperative. I cannot bear frozen fish. This is one of my few complaints about life in the USA. It is almost impossible, even in ocean-lapped San Francisco, to buy fish that has not been cellularly busted by freezing.

Frabjous day to discover the fishing port in Yomitan where I now live. They do not freeze. You stumble into the fish landing place and with the usual duh-sorry-i-am-a-nice-guy-but-unable-to-speak-sensibly-body-language. I buy a squid, fillets of some kind of fish and get the guy to slice some steaks from a big lump of fresh tuna.

Is that fresh? You looking at me, Pal?

$10

So I think I have arrived. I can buy very fresh fish just down the road at very low prices.

Haii!

Other stuff. I suppose it is the slimy weirdness of fish that turns people off

Delivery vans parked outside the shop.