Bass-O-Matic

Remember Dan Akroyd doing the Bass-O-Matic skit during SNL's heyday? It was gross and juvenile and over-the-top funny.

My father loves to fish. If there's a stronger word than "love," it applies. At this time of year, he's in his heyday. He brings his catchings home, cleans and fillets them. And he really enjoys eating them the old-fashioned way:

Fry those babies up!

I don't fry. I could be all holier-than-thou and pretend it's a health thing or a weight issue. It's neither. If someone else wants to fry food, I will eat it.

My mother has significantly cut down her frying since my childhood. (I'm sure my memory is skewed but I remember fried chicken, fried pork chops, fried cubed steak, fried whatever plus mashed potatoes and gravy and mushy vegetables.) Lucky for my father, she loves him enough to stand over hot grease and fry his fish.

I announce, "I'm not cleaning up!" while I shovel it in.

The fisherman of this family has been reeling them in. The cook of this family has a new appliance. It's better than the Bass-O-Matic. It's a big ol' deep fryer. One big batch and we're in no-greasy-stove-to-scrub heaven.

All I have to do is show up and eat.