Sardines

Mistah's an Idea Man. He's the reason we drove around in our Westy for almost eight years, he's the reason we bought this house in New London, he's the reason we bought our house in Fort Davis, Texas, when we just happened to be passing though.........

And he's the reason we bought sardines through the mail the other day.

It sounded like a good idea, it did. And, frankly, I'm tired of talking him down from his ideas. I figured this was one I could get behind.

Sardines? Our favorite snack? In the mail? Bring it on.

And then they arrived. They were full, whole fishies. With heads on. And eyeballs in.

Huh.

But we bravely undertook it. We did what every red-blooded human being in 2015 would do: we went straight to the Internet and asked: What Do We Do Now?

"Grill them," the Internet told us.

"Do we have to [gulp] clean them?", we asked the Universe.

"Only if they're not fresh," the World replied.

That right there is a Question for the Ages.

We pretended they were fresh, and acted accordingly:
 

Here's the thing though. I am a terrible photographist . . .

. . . and I was the one taking photos.

 Can you believe how bad I am at this?

 My head shadow is in every photo.

Actually, if you look at it another way, I'm really good at this. Really good at having my head shadow in every photo.

Oh wait . . .  

No head shadow . . . !

. . . Aaaaand, also no focus.

Thankfully, we switched equipment . . . .

. . . because Mistah is the best.

And so is Bill Senior's grill.


And even though those sardines were not the sardines we hoped those sardines would be . . .

. . . well, they were the best worst sardines ever.