Something Fishy

At the end of our long journey to Hawassa—long in terms of time (10 hours), not distance (167 miles)—I was hungry. I was feeling liked I’d been a really good sport all day through miscommunication; dusty roads; sunburn; changed plans … I wanted to reward myself with pizza, something that we can actually find here fairly easily and, while pretty tasteless, is a comfort food of sorts. Yep. Pizza. I want pizza, I want pizza, I want pizza.

Sigh … or a dead fish on a plate in a tent on a plastic table with nothing to drink … that’s almost pizza. Okay.

This was the little family-owned fish restaurant that we settled for because we were too tired to walk toward town. Thankfully we were the last guests of the evening so there was no waiting and we got the best table. Well … the only table. 

This is the family who owned the restaurant. 

Made to order, but I think the only item on the menu. Actually … there was no menu … fish just showed up on the table.

I think I’ve never been tested so relentlessly and with such complete success: I look happy here, right?! This ain’t no anchovy I’m about to spread across my Papa John’s pizza but I'm smiling! “Be in the moment. Only this moment exists. Breathe. Your purpose at this moment is to eat this dead fish in joy.” Ta da. Honestly … best damn fish I think I’ve ever eaten with my dirty fingers. I had two. J