Le mouching, fly fishing, redfishThis morning, right after a small drink to pick up my spirits (half Philippine Rum, half dry white wine) I received a message from Stan, our celebrated spy in Niceville, Florida (one doesn’t invent a name like Niceville!).

“My dear Flèche,
Come right away, the Gulf of Mexico is filled with Redfish. Even you will be able to take them!”

It’s true that the last time that I made a round-trip from Brooklyn to Niceville to go after Redfish, it was pathetic.
“Flèche, Flèche, whispered Stan, look over there… Under the dock, near the pillars… REDFISH… a fucking big one… cast your fly to the left, toward the beach… now slowly strip, strip, strip your Clouser minnow!”

I don’t remember if I’ve already said, dear readers, but I’m pathologically clumsy and added to that, I have the eyesight of a mole… that which will arrive, arrived. My nasty fly landed on the other side of the dock and promptly scared away the laughing fish.

At that moment I saw gray smoke shooting out of Stan’s ears. A little like what comes from the chimney of the papal conclave when they elect a new pope. Stan, well-mannered like most Floridians, restrained himself from flooding me with insults, which were entirely merited for on top of my clumsiness, it was our lunch that passed under our noses.

I can already imagine the hackles rising among you: “What! One of the creators of le Mouching eating a fish? Mercy, shame on him and all his descendants!”

To which I respond, with my operatic voice: “You gang of… (censored). It’s clear that you have never tasted a Redfish (a species that is not endangered, as the video that follows will easily prove!). There is nothing better in the WORLD! Heavily grilled on the outside and almost sushi in the inside, it gives you will have a small idea of what certain oriental sages call “Nirvana”. Even a torrid night with Cameron Diaz is nothing next to a mouthful of Redfish.

The message of Stan was accompanied by a “very amateur” little video which made me understand that, without skipping a beat, I had to break my piggy-bank and get myself on a plane to Niceville, Florida.

Stan, my friend… get the rods ready, put gas in the tank of your boat, HERE I COME!!