I’m about to head out on a 600-mile venture back to Arkansas.  It’s time to go home and visit the family. 

There’s nothing like the South.  Good food.  That world-renowned hospitality.  And catfish.

I love me some catfish.  My aunt makes the best catfish in the world.  Can’t wait to get by, visit her, and have some good grub.

You wouldn’t think you could mess something like that up.  Let me tell you… it’s possible!  I recommend leaving the cooking to my aunt.  Just the right amount of seasoning, the perfect dip in cornmeal, and that dunk in a bath of hot oil provides me with an angels-in-the-heavens-singing experience of deep fried goodness.  Not to mention the home fries she makes to go along with all that.  Yummo!

I remember as a kid, someone gave me a catfish.  He was fairly good sized, and that joker was alive!  They told me to take it home, clean it up, and cook it.  So, I exuberantly took it home and planned to do just that!

One problem.  I’d never cleaned a catfish before.  And to add to my list of never-before’s, I wasn’t quite sure how to, ‘em, help it see the light.  You know, send it to that golden pond in the sky.

So, I jabbed a knife it’s head.  C’mon… I was just a kid.

It seemed to work.  It wasn’t moving anymore.  But very quickly, I had a tough time getting that knife back out.  So, there in my kitchen sink, I turned the faucet on and much to my surprise, the thing came back to life.  At least that’s the way I remember it.

Several minutes and a black out later, it was dead.  And, I cooked it.

All I know is that it wasn’t as good as I know my aunt’s catfish to be.

There’s a great lesson in this.  For one, some things are better left to the pros. 

Secondly… there’s got to be an easier way to kill a catfish.