Not bad. Joel nods in approval, scoots in and gently lifts the knife away from her grip, setting his palm flat over the side of the fish.

"The rest is about what you got in there already." And to make that point, he slides the blade up the underside of its belly, pulling the loose, bright purple insides out with his fingers and scooting them off to the side. Usual routine.

Head's cut off, fillets sorted and trimmed, scraps saved with the rest while he tries to figure out how in the hell he's going to pull out the pin bones. It's an obvious, pensive, finger-drumming pause.