I. The fish.
When I was young, I thought canned tuna was only for cats. I watched my ginger kitten jump onto the mantle and paw at Fred, the class fish, who had been left in our care for the weekend. On Friday night and all through Saturday she simply swatted at him like a fly. But by Sunday, Fred was dead meat. I wasn’t fazed: This was simply the circle of life, a concept I had recently learned via The Lion King. I had no interest in competing with the cat for her lunch. My teacher, however, was not so readily appeased.

II. The tinned fish.
It’s sort of hard for me to talk about tinned fish because we’re still in our honeymoon phase. What I mean is, for years I was disturbed at the thought of adults eating sea creatures out of cans. Then I became an adult myself and had some catching up to do.

This morning an anchovy drifted by in a little silver sailboat. I picked him up and placed him on avocado toast. Then I had tuna salad for lunch on a Court Street bagel. Before dinner I paired my cheap wine with even cheaper sardines on rye — a feast. My mother would say, You are going to wake up with gills! To which I would say, Yes, please.

III. A recommendation.
Open your tin of sardines slowly, like a present. Select your ‘dine. Pull out his spine — a string of buried sea pearls. Spread him out on a sturdy toast. Add horseradish, mustard, and a slice of fresh tomato, juice spilling out. Sprinkle sea salt and fresh dill. Crunch. Wash down with a glass of white wine, one ice cube.

IV. Notes.
Tuna in oil, rather than water, tastes better on the tongue. Anchovies are best served roasted, with garlic. When you encounter a special tin, buy it to adorn your kitchen shelf.

V. A holiday with the in-laws.
It is Thanksgiving in New York. It is cold. I’m standing in a grand co-op apartment on the Upper West Side, dressed head to toe in velvet, touching my necklace every 5 seconds because I am unsure of where to put my hands. I listen with half-hearted interest to an apology directed at me, but my attention is drawn elsewhere. As one man chokes out a meek “Sorry” for calling my work clickbait, another man arrives bearing a sparkling tray of pickled herring, arm outstretched. I make my selection, indulge, and continue nodding at man number one. Suddenly I am saying — yelling! — “It’s delicious!!” instead of, “It’s ok.” Neglecting to correct myself, I reach again for the golden tray.