Be bold, be brave, be blasta

Feel the fear and eat it anyway

I come from a family of avid fishermen. Growing up in the American Midwest, they fished in the lakes for blue gill in the summer and went ice fishing in the winter.

In Florida, where they now live, my brother and his son fish for bass. We still laugh about the time my brother caught a baby alligator when he first moved there. My nephew’s Instagram feed is nothing but reels of him fishing on his stand-up paddleboard. He even makes his own lures.

Even my father-in-law has taken up fishing in his retirement. My in-laws split their time between the US and Sligo and plan their time here based around his fishing licenses. My husband and son are going out west this weekend to fish with him.

But me? I’m afraid of fish. Terrified.

It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing. And yet.

The first time I knew it was a real phobia, I was 16 and on holiday in the Bahamas with my dad. He suggested we go snorkelling. I was fine for a minute or two, when I could see the fish in front of me.

But as I got a little further out, the fish were now in front of me, behind me, all around me. I shot up out of the water, spluttering seawater and snot-nosed tears. I couldn’t get back to shore fast enough.

Fast forward to the Costa Brava in my twenties, willing myself to give it another go. Look at all those people having a good time. You’ll be fine!

Reader, I was not fine. I spent the rest of the holiday reading a book on the beach.

Or the time we went to the local beach here with friends one hot summer day. I  volunteered to hold everyone’s towels, but then the tide started to come in. Fast.

Not only that, it was one of those days where the beach was covered with dead jellyfish. I was suddenly up to my knees in the Irish Sea, crying and half-hyperventilating, terrified of stepping on one in my bare feet.

It’s not just live fish in the water. I will happily eat most seafood but I can’t face a plate of Dublin Bay prawns, with their beady little eyes.

When I saw a friend’s holiday snap on Instagram of a dish of baby eels, I could feel my heart start to pound just looking at it.

Even cooking a fillet of cod or salmon with the skin on will make me involuntarily shudder every now and then when I have to touch it before putting it in the pan.

I’ve ceded defeat. I don’t wade in the sea past my ankles anymore. But I take the sea trout that my father-in-law catches and gives to me, gutted and whole, to cook. I hold my breath, stuff it with lemon slices and put it in the oven as fast as I can and consider it a small victory.

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I’ve been thinking about fish a lot because last week I published the newest Blasta Book, Whole Catch by Aishling Moore, which is all about seafood. The team had a girls’ weekend in Cork to celebrate the book launch and eat at Goldie, Aishling’s seafood restaurant.

My favourite illustration in the book is the one of Aishling in her chef’s whites, holding a huge fish and beaming – even though the thought of touching fish skin makes my own skin crawl.

A couple of years ago, at the photo shoot for the cover of the And for Mains cookbook, which is a riot of food – we even had a live pig and chicken on set! – I sheepishly told the photographer I’d do whatever was needed to help … except touch the Dublin Bay prawns and mackerel.

But a few months ago, when I stumbled across this mackerel brooch, I knew it would be just the thing to wear to the launch. It was so perfect, in fact, that as soon as I got it, I ordered one for the author and all the rest of the team.

Now that the book launch is over, I’ve pinned the brooch to my spring coat to wear every day. I’m still as afraid of fish as I’ve always been, but I think of it now as a talisman, as my reminder to feel the fear and do it (eat it) anyway.

It’s how I’m building my publishing house. I’m operating so far outside my comfort zone lately, I don’t even know myself. Who is this woman giving speeches, doing P&Ls and regularly popping over to London for work?

I have a mantra that I haven’t told anyone else about before now: be bold, be brave, be blasta. It’s what I tell myself when I’m hesitating about a decision or want to play it safe.

Be bold, be brave, be blasta.

Do the hard thing. Make the risky choice. Jump into the deep end – you know, the one with all the scary fish swimming around in it.

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A version of this piece first appeared in Scoop Issue 02: Eat Your Feelings.

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About me

I’m Kristin Jensen, the founder, publisher and editor at Blasta Books and Nine Bean Rows. Before I started my publishing house, I was a freelance editor and food writer for over 20 years and I’ve co-authored three books. I pretty much eat, sleep and breathe books and food. You can also find me on Instagram @edibleireland.📚