This one's for Luisa

I walked into Zona Sul, purposefully and with head held high, meandered to the back of the store and there I met its baleful stare. That big red sea bass - peixe vermelha - was going to be mine tonight and not in any wimpy American way - prefilleted and wrapped in plastic before bringing it home. No, I was going to buy it the honest Brazilian way - barely after its last breath with its eyes only just filming up.

What the hell, I decide to do it the middle class Brazilian way: "Pode limpar essa para mim?" Of course the guy behind the counter could clean it, that's why he was covered in rubber and plastic and sparkled with fish scales. "Enteiro o de costas?" he asked. Ok, he got me. I know what those words mean literally - "Entire or of/from/be (I hate prepositions) the back" but what does that mean? If you're like me and learning a second language, you overthink things. While my first thought was "Oh, entire means keep the fish in one whole fish and not cut in pieces and of the back means cut along the back and split." But then I thought further, maybe it means "entirely done or just done along the back" oh shit, maybe he's saying to me, "do you want me to do it with my entire body or just use the muscles of my back?"

I could have smiled at him, batted my gringa eyelashes, and admitted to being the naive foreigner. I could have smiled and asked him to explain, but he had looked annoyed when I asked him to clean the bloody red thing and now he was just standing there, spiritually tapping his foot and waiting for my reply.

"De costas," I said first, smiling and acting all sure of myself. "Nao, espara, enteiro." I said, changing my mind.

He went in the back room, although I could see him through the glass, and pulled out this mother of a long knife and then another one and then a third. Goodness, Susan, don't try this at home.

And then he bent over and I could see him no more. So I wandered off to pick up a pineapple, some limes, some sweet corn, and a few other bits and bobs, checking every few minutes to see what he was up to. Finally, I saw his head pop up, walked over and then heard the plastic roll going round and round and round and with each rotation, the chunk of a big ass fish hitting the chopper block.

And he gave it to me. And it was a whole fish. And it was still staring at me.

And I brought it home and while Rocki went to pick up Luca from school, I ran to the kitchen and got out my knives. "Have you ever cut a whole fish before?" she had asked and I had nonchalantly replied, "Sure but years ago" which translates to once I helped someone else while I was in college. Come on, I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. Fish to me meant Mrs. Paul's Fish Sticks. My partner was not going to watch what happened when me and the peixe vermelha got friendly.

Of course, before Rocki left, I was on the internet googling "filleting fish" and "how to clean a sea bass" and they all called for special filleting knives and who knows what else so I decided to just wing it.

Even as we speak, I have two highly uneven and very scraggly looking peixe vermelha fillets baking in the oven, covered gently and lovingly with olive oil, sea salt, lime juice and garlic. Luca loves fish. So do I. My Brazilian lover hates it. She's having leftover pasta tonight.

Tenho saudades, Luisa.