It is 11:30 p.m., and I am hunched over my kitchen counter. Placed in front of me is a bag containing the crumbs of what used to be a full box of Wheat Thins, a jar of capers so old that it’s a definite candidate for botulism, some Philadelphia cream cheese, and—the magnum opus of the spread—a small yellow tin of CENTO anchovies. I pull the slimy little filets from their tin, place them carefully onto a pillowy bed of cream cheese spread across one of the more in-tact Wheat Thins, and to top off the amuse-bouche, I add two or three capers (which occasionally roll off of the cracker and onto the plate). 

Let me establish this now: I would say that I pointedly dislike most kinds of fish. So, I think  “why,  if I don’t like fish, would I make the concerted effort to purchase anchovies and create such an elaborate snack?” would be a valid question to ask. I think in the moment, I would have answered by saying, “I may have changed,” or “I’m sure my palette is much more mature now,” or “Is it a crime to try something new?” I really wanted to like this new snack, but now knowing what was to come, I can confidently say that none of the aforementioned statements  were true. 

I think that some context is necessary at this point. How could I have possibly found myself in this situation? Well, recently I stumbled upon a TikTok video where a woman reviewed a tin of fish. Between her soft voice, the clean white background of the video, and the really good flakey bread that she put the fish on (the kind with rosemary or olives in it), I was intrigued. In just a few clicks, I discovered the vibrant world of the tinned fish community. There were so many variations in seasoning and type of fish, so many accompanying adornments, and most importantly, so much joy that the person behind the camera had for what they were doing. It seemed as though this niche brought out genuine excitement and joy in such a simple way. That was what drew me in.

Once I prepared my snack, I eagerly carried my plate to the couch where I planned to enjoy the complex flavors while watching a movie. Once situated, I took the first bite and, disappointingly, was not thrilled by the flavor profile. It was definitely interesting. The tanginess of the capers played nicely with the mildness of the cream cheese, and the cracker provided a pleasant crunch, but the anchovy? The anchovy was a bit much. Too salty, and far too fishy (which checks out given that it is fish). I tried to curb my disappointment and pretend that all was well. I even took another bite, thinking that enjoying this snack might all have been a matter of acquired taste. Maybe two wasn’t enough? I went in for a third cracker. Is “fourth time’s a charm” how the saying goes? At this point, the cracker was soggy with the oil from the anchovy. Each bite that followed was devoid of any pleasure, but yet I kept going, determined to feel some sense of satisfaction from this endeavor. 

Once finished, I found myself staring at an empty plate, clean, except for a few crumbs of Wheat Thin and maybe a drop of caper juice. I could almost see my reflection in that plate: a look of shame, and desperation.

I wouldn’t say that I’m necessarily always the first person jumping on trends that I see on social media, but I do think that a little part of me has always been attracted to the idea of finding community, or experiencing happiness by way of a concrete interest, even if I’m frankly not interested. It was this same trait that led me to collect Disney trading pins in elementary school despite never being terribly into Disney, or when I became extremely invested in makeup YouTube videos, and even attempted the makeup on myself, at age 13, or when I spent north of $100 on “healing” crystals in sophomore year, even though I didn’t believe in any of it.

What I realized in that moment supreme let down after I had finished was that something that makes someone else happy won’t necessarily make me happy as well. I think there’s something to be said for interacting with communities that you aren’t a part of and trying new things, but an anchovy on a stale Wheat Thin will never be the golden ticket to intrinsic happiness, especially if you don’t like anchovies.