That Metaphysical Poet John Donne (1571[?]-1631) with his inimitable poems-cum-pickup-lines (remember “The Flea”?) penned a short poem entitled “The Baite,” which is addressed to a woman that he was presumably hotly—emphasis added—pursuing. The third stanza is as follows:
When thou wilt swimme in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channell hath,
Will amorously to thee swimme,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
It is doubtful that many women would be flattered when equated with bait of any kind, but when the enticement is to be caught and not to catch and by libidinous fish no less, the prospects of finding such a female drop to nil. Nevertheless, should such a baiting beauty acquiesce and decide to perform a hootchy-kootchy for prurient piscine, a mere glance at the monkfish would see her abandon her role in a campaign-promise nanosecond. This fish is exceedingly ugly. But, oh, oh, oh, what exquisite pleasures there are therein for the savvy diner!
We recently drove up to Ibaraki Prefecture, whose coast is famous for the big-mouthed critter and consumed our fair share of the fish. Our primary target was an-kimo, or monkfish liver. This is a delicacy that can easily compete with beluga caviar. It is often served in ponzu sauce, but for our money, the best way to consume it is with a pinch of a high-grade sea salt. The sushi and nabe (hot pot) have their charms, of course, and the latter is obviously a welcome entrée in winter.
Drinking Japan 