Bringing home the halibut (ah! First-time fish buyer!)

Holy halibut. I just bought fish.

Perhaps that's not earth-shattering news to you - someone who probably eats fish and knows how to cook it - but for me, today was a life-changer.

With help from Chris at Browne Trading Market on Commercial Street in Portland, I decided to buy halibut. Chris recommended it for multiple reasons (The season's short, he said, so take advantage. And Halibut isn't as oily as, say, salmon, and a higher oil content is what gives fish that "fishy" taste), and when you don't know what you're doing, it's typically wise to take advice. At least that's what I've heard.

So, having zero fish expertise from which to draw, I took Chris' advice. Halibut it is.

Chris removed the skin (halibut skin is thicker than other fish, so people don't tend to eat it, he said) and cut it into portions.

I picked out a seasoning, too: Seven Seas Seasoning from spice merchants Gryffon Ridge in Dresden, Maine.

And while Chris wrapped the fish (and I played it cool while chanting, "I'm buying fish! I'm buying fish! in my head) he passed on a few words of cooking wisdom: When cooking halibut in a pan, cook on med-high heat. Use grapeseed oil if you've got it (oddly, I do) because of its high smoke point. Two and a half minutes on each side should do it. People tend to overcook halibut, he said, so right when you start worrying that you might undercook it - stop cooking it.

Halibut takes on whatever flavors you cook with it so there's no end to the options.

So yes, I just bought a piece of fish. No big deal. Except I've never brought home a fish before, which means this must be serious.

Grocery shopping: Source of bliss or burden akin to tooth extraction?

It's been a long time since I cried in a grocery store - probably since the Parent vs. Child Skittles Fallout of 1982. Or maybe it was the time I fell and split my knee open outside the 7-11 and my older brother told me "it'll be fine. Just spit on it." So I did, then I went inside for some Big League Chew and had to stifle tears in the candy aisle.

But otherwise, the grocery store doesn't tend to elicit much emotion. Though I suppose I'm not usually inside long enough for it to toy with my mental state. Read: I'm too fast.

I get in, I get the wine, I get the couscous, and I get the hell out of there. But some people adore the store. They peruse, they wander, they meditate on the munster. According to a 2009 survey of grocery store shoppers in the U.S., a solid 53 percent of them like or love it. Three percent would rather have a limb removed. At least that's my interpretation of the data. (How do you feel about grocery shopping? Take the poll below.)

[More on the survey by The Nielsen Company]

I'd like to like the grocery store, but I wanted to take it slow at first, really get to know each other. If things went well, we'd have a talk, discuss our feelings, and then mutually agree to take it to a more serious, committed level.

But then the Mill Creek Hannaford started changing.

One day the cereal aisle became the beer aisle, which was moved near cosmetics, which are now down aisle 16 instead of 14, near the organic soups, which used to be in aisle one, where the tortillas, rice, and salsa currently reside. Tomorrow they'll be moved again.

On the downside, searching for unfamiliar products in a grocery store that changes its layout with the same frequency as the grand staircase at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry can be frustrating. It can raise a shopper's blood pressure, increase stress levels, or incite tears.

On the upside, it's kinda like a scavenger hunt (I prefer to compete against the clock or sometimes against fellow shoppers who become my unwitting nemeses for the duration of the shopping experience). And I'm discovering things I never noticed in the store before (tomatillo? Muy adorable!).

So I'm endeavoring to show the aisles a little more appreciation.