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I had quite the excursion this week at the prompting of an inside source, who informed me that a brand new restaurant had just been opened in the Old Port area, just off of the dock where the fisherman finish their fisherwork. A sushi place with a unique, gothic, grunge twist. It’s called The Unholy Mackerel, and it’s located at the end of one of the blocks facing the sea, just next to the rotting corpse of a building that used to be the combination jazz dance-silversmithing studio.

The joint was rather unremarkable when I laid eyes on it first. I spent a good deal of time observing the sign outside and thus the artwork on it. A seafish with deep black lipstick, bored empty eyes and a lace choker below its gills. The illustration was rather inviting and filled me with a feeling of dread and quiet nihilism that I usually only experience when engaging in a heated game of “Go Fish” or while finally filling in the six foot deep holes in my backyard. Reveling in the self-centered expression of individuality through dark pretentious ideologies did get me in the mood for raw fish! 

Stepping through the threshold of the place was a bit jarring at first. I was hit in the face by a metaphorical baseball bat made of the smells of seafood, heavy incense perfumes, and phthalate that made me stagger back against the large oak door I’d just entered through. In no time at all I was accustomed to the smell. The decor of the place was about as you’d expect- but darker in shade. Several taxidermies hung on the walls, with a few fish mounts sprinkled in.

The joint was empty mostly. Several detailed velvet booths, worn thin and dim in color by visitors, lined the small interior longing to be filled (or perhaps cleaned). There were some waiters playing some fashion of pattycake with each other at a booth because of the lack of customers. None of them seemed to note me as I entered the door. They kept chanting away to themselves in hushed tones. I have never heard the children’s rhyme chanted in Latin before, but I’m assuming that’s what they were up to. I don’t know many other activities that could have someone smiling so widely. 

I talked to the fellow in the kitchen through the long, slitted window above the countertop for a while. I was desperate to get the recipe for their signature- “a little bit spicy medium sized lizard” roll. I got to sample a bit of it, and the crunchy, bitter, wriggling sensation it left in my mouth had me craving more. I explained to the chef that he must share some insight on what magics and passion go into this delicacy with the world. He stared at me awhile, and I continued to convince him. Eventually, he took a pencil from beside him, and scribbled something sharp and quick onto the back of an old grease stained receipt. He handed it to me with his left tentacle. It read:

A Little Bit Spicy Medium Sized Lizard Roll

Ingredients: 

1 wretched, ungrateful life form, with whom our lord has found fault and thus must punish; 2 ½ mega tablespoons unmatched, blind rage

Instructions:

Pray.

I thanked the odd looking bloke and left whistling a tune triumphantly because of the gem of culinary knowledge I had received. Normally I try recipes I collect myself before publishing them. But embarrassingly enough, I could not recreate the ethereally agonizing dish I had at the restaurant. I suppose my measurements were off. Perhaps after watching enough news coverage and attending enough little-league ball games I can scrape together a sufficient amount of rage to make a sushi roll as splendid as the one I had at The Unholy Mackerel.

-EA