We recently went camping at Cape Cod's Nickerson State Park. The weather was unbelievably gorgeous, an extension of the flawless weather we had all summer: warm, dry, sunny. Such streaks make me feel like we're going to pay come winter. Think Pompeii, but with snow.
Meanwhile, back in paradise, Husband enjoyed fishing in the nearby pond, where he caught a pickerel and a rainbow trout.
Husband always throws the fish back after the obligatory Kodak moment, and they immediately dart away. But the trout was having issues. His hook had been stubbornly lodged and it was difficult to remove. I'll spare you the details, but he wasn't going to make it despite Husband's heroic attempts to revive him, stopping just short of mouth-to-mouth.
But we were camping, after all. I waited a few seconds out of respect before I brought up the concept of dinner. My kind-hearted husband looked mildly disgusted, but, I mean, the fish was already dead. I can't think of any more appropriate camping food than local trout. Sure, I'd just driven to the local fish market and bought a couple of swordfish steaks and a pound of mussels for the grill, but, you know, free trout!
I carried the fish back to the campsite in a bucket. I cleaned and gutted the fish, removing the gills and the blood line along the backbone, and then stuffed the cavity with lemon slices and herbs. Then we grilled it whole over the campfire. It took a little time to remove all the bones in the dark with my miner's headlamp, but the meat was mild and tasty, and went nicely with a green salad.