Hoarding Halibut 2

I’ll admit it: I was selfish. Greedy, even. The halibut landed in front of me—golden, flaky, practically glowing like it had descended from the seafood heavens—and I knew instantly: no one else was getting a bite.

Fork poised like a shield, I fended off curious friends. “Just a taste?” they pleaded. Nope. Not today. This was my halibut, my moment, and I wasn’t about to split it six ways like some communal pizza.

Every bite was a victory. Crisp edges. Buttery flakes. A squeeze of lemon so bright it practically sang. I hoarded that fish like a dragon on a pile of treasure, unapologetic and unapologetically happy.

Would I share next time? Doubtful. Some things are too good to give away. This halibut was one of them.