One of our "favorite" paradoxes: How can something dead be fresh? By fresh fish, what they actually mean, of course, is freshly dead. It's just another of those charming idioms that festoon the halls of suicidefoodism.
And this "fresh" fish drums up business wherever he goes, urging one and all to follow him to the home of the famous fish sandwich.
He's like a newsie calling out the headlines of the morning paper—and they're all about him! "Extry extry! Read all about the famous fish sandwich!"
Such eagerness! Such enthusiasm! He knows the power of a positive attitude. A fish like that could really go places. (Well, one place.)
But Joe Tess has more to offer the world than fish seeking fame as a sandwich filling.
There are also the catfish who leapt directly from the pages of a Tennessee Williams play, dignified, yet conflicted. Catfish, renown as bottom feeders, the marine world's lowly opportunists, are here represented by a tuxedoed gentleman of impeccable breeding. He's as high-toned as they come.
All fish can be eaten here, the low-born and the noble, the working stiff and the idle rich. There's room in the skillet, and the bun, for all!