You know when you move to a new neighborhood and even the establishments that have been open for decades seem brand new? As if you personally opened them? As if you’re Captain Vancouver, pulling up to Coast Salish and saying: “Hey, queen, look what I found!” and all the first peoples who had already lived here and created a beautiful and stable life for centuries were like… “Uh, hello?”

Okay, this metaphor has a bad start. But my point is: I recognize that what I am about to say is not news to the good people of Kitsilano. I am not a “researcher”. They may even be angry with me for telling you this! But I feel like it’s my civic duty to tell you that I am obsessed with our local fishmonger, FISH (an acronym for “Fresh Ideas Start Here,” which is an incredibly awkward mix of words to put in your mouth even if your mouth isn’t full of the store’s excellent Thai coconut chip soup).

Is it probably the most vague, Google-unfriendly name you can give your business? Yes, it is. But more importantly, they’ve undercut their poké bowls by about $5, and I don’t see how that will hold up in the long run, so it’s very important to me that you please come and support the establishment so they don’t close due to bad business practices.

That being said: FISH has been in the hood since 2008 and seems to be doing pretty well without my help. It offers many local restaurants with Oceanwise seafood that can be tracked and seems to sell out of great homemade onagri every day (like cooked wild tuna and sweet smoked wild salmon). The miso-sake black cod has become our favorite dinner, and I’m sure wiser locals do the same given the turnover of the counter.

But back to the poke bowl. The surprisingly robust “appetizer size” costs $8, and it’s the most delicious little bowl of fish I’ve ever had the pleasure of inhaling between Zoom meetings. Top it off with seafood and toppings your little pescatarian heart desires and you’ve got yourself the best-priced, most nutritious lunch in town. I go there once a week. At least. I can’t afford not to be.

You know what? Maybe instead of feeling stupid for pointing out this 13-year-old Keats gem, I should be mad at all my new neighbors for not directing me there the day I moved in.