In a cozy bar named Trapper John’s in St. John’s, a frozen fish, shaped like a question mark, flies through the air towards Dan’s face. Holding the fish, a Newfie caricature jokingly asks Dan if he is a Newfoundlander, to which Dan responds affirmatively by giving the cod a playful kiss amid cheers and applause.
Witnessing the playful scene, I make a mental note to wait for Dan to freshen up before any kisses. Dan then kneels on the beer-stained floor and is ceremoniously “knighted” with an oar, declared an honorary Newfoundlander to the delight of the bar patrons.
Accompanying Dan on my first trip to Newfoundland since moving from Nova Scotia to be with him, I reflect on the challenges of finding work and love on the island. Despite my fish allergy, which causes severe reactions like rashes and swelling, I join friends for a meal at a renowned pub known for its fish and chips.
Growing up with this allergy has been a lifelong struggle. The irony of being a Newfoundlander allergic to fish is not lost on me, as fish has historically been central to Newfoundland’s culture and identity. While I have fond memories of Newfoundland’s coastal activities, such as trouting and clam digging, not being able to partake in its seafood delicacies remains a bittersweet reality.
Although fish plays a significant role in Nova Scotia’s cuisine as well, the absence of seafood in my diet is less conspicuous there compared to Newfoundland. Walking through St. John’s with Dan, I ponder the differences between the two provinces and reflect on my dual identity as a Newfoundlander and a bluenoser.
As Dan jovially embraces his newfound honorary Newfoundlander status, I smile, acknowledging my own connection to the island despite my fish allergy. The term “deadly,” synonymous with “excellent” in Newfoundland slang, highlights the paradoxical nature of my relationship with fish, a symbol of both inclusion and exclusion in my Newfoundland experience.