Written by Lindsey Harrington, a Nova Scotian with roots in Newfoundland. Find out more about CBC’s First Person stories in the FAQ.
A frozen fish, shaped like a question mark, is propelled towards Dan’s face at Trapper John’s, a cozy bar in St. John’s adorned with taxidermy.
The individual holding the frostbitten fish, embodying a stereotypical Newfoundlander, queries, “Are you a Newfoundlander?” in a exaggerated accent. Despite the potential offensiveness of the term “Newfie,” it seems fitting in this context.
“Indeed I am!” Dan responds playfully, planting a kiss on the cod as spectators cheer and clap.
As I observe, I mentally note to avoid kissing Dan until he freshens up.
Dan graciously kneels on the sticky beer-stained floor and receives a mock knighthood with an oar.
“I hereby proclaim you an honorary Newfoundlander. May your sails catch the wind for a long time.” Another round of cheers fills the intimate space, including my own.
This marks my initial trip to Newfoundland with my partner, Dan, following my relocation to Nova Scotia. Similar to many Newfoundlanders before me, I left the island in pursuit of employment and companionship. The job market and dating scene on the island are rather lackluster.
Post-Screech-in ceremony, my old high school buddies take us to a local pub renowned for its fish and chips.
“I’ll go with the veggie burger and salad, and please inform the kitchen that I have a severe seafood allergy,” I inform the waiter, closing my laminated menu in anticipation of the ensuing conversation.
My lifelong allergy to fish has posed numerous challenges. The mere presence of fish in the air triggers rashes, swelling of the lips, and puffy, bloodshot eyes. Ingesting fish not only leads to cosmetic issues but also poses a severe health risk, with potential throat swelling and asphyxiation. My frequent visits to the ER over the years highlight the gravity of the situation; Epipens only provided temporary relief.
“We’ll do our best, but we can’t guarantee anything…”
“I understand,” I reply curtly.
This familiar disclaimer, worn out from repetition, stings afresh each time, akin to salt rubbed on a wound. Being a Newfoundlander with a fish allergy? The incredulous response is a common thread. I’m a paradox, a walking contradiction, the punchline of a joke I’m not part of. How can I authentically embrace my Newfoundland heritage when a significant aspect of its culture and cuisine eludes me?
Fishing has always been integral to Newfoundland’s identity. Fish sustained the island’s earliest inhabitants, the Beothuk and Mi’kmaq. The presence of fish drew British and French colonies to the island in the 1600s and attracted waves of European immigrants. While the significance of fish has shifted over time, such as during the cod moratorium in 1992 due to overfishing, it remains a defining element of Newfoundlanders’ lives.
I was diagnosed with my fish allergy at such a young age that I have no recollection of it. According to my mother, my allergic reaction was immediate when she offered me fish as a toddler, fortunately with the hospital nearby. During family gatherings where crab legs were boiled and cracked open on newspapers, I was cautioned to stay downstairs as a preventative measure. Even after more than two decades, I vividly recall sitting on