One More Off the Bucket List:
I Finally Tried Caviar and I’m Absolutely Fuming I Waited This Long
You know the kind of bucket list I’m talking about. Mine’s not written on some Pinterest-ready journal with glittery pens and rose gold headings. No, mine’s more like a chaotic mental scroll of “must do before I pop me clogs” sort of chaos.
I want to see every loud, gritty, beer-soaked punk gig from legends like Sham 69 or the Sex Pistols. I want to feel the floor vibrate under my feet at an AC/DC concert until my ears are ringing and my heart’s keeping time with the drums.
I want to eat the world, literally. Weird food, posh food, stuff I can’t pronounce, the kind of thing you'd find on a plate that costs more than your car insurance.
And yes, I’ve already had a cuppa inside Windsor bloody Castle, so don’t think I’m playing.
But one thing kept staring at me from that list, waving its fancy little finger: Caviar.
"It’s Fish Eggs, Mate" – My Inner Monologue for Years
Caviar always sounded a bit… extra, didn’t it? Like something you only eat if you’ve got a butler or casually say things like “fetch the Bentley”.
And every time someone offered it, I’d think: “You want me to eat fish eggs? On purpose? Are you having a laugh?”
I’d picture a smug fish giving me the side-eye like, “Oi, those were gonna be my babies.”
That image haunted me. So, like any classic British person faced with the unknown, I politely declined, shuffled off, and thought maybe next time.
But today, the universe shoved me into action. I looked at it. It looked at me. And I thought:
“Sod it. Life’s too short.”
The First Taste: Salty, Silky, and Posher Than My Entire Wardrobe
Honestly? I was fully prepared to hate it. Thought I’d do the polite “Mmm yes very interesting flavour” while secretly wondering if I’d just licked the inside of a fish tank.
But no. The moment it hit my tongue, I had this full-on “ohhh hold on” reaction. It was salty, yes, but in a posh, bold, I-know-I’m-fancy sort of way.
It reminded me of smoked salmon – not the dry stuff you get from a meal deal, but the good kind. The kind that turns up at Christmas on blinis with dill and makes you feel like you’re on Come Dine With Me.
The texture?
Smooth. Silky. Melts in your gob. It’s got that ooh la la about it that makes you want to call everyone "darling" for the rest of the day.
Would I Eat It Again?
Are You Having a Laugh?
Not only would I eat it again, I’d slap it on toast, whisper “get in my face” and go full goblin-mode on it.
I’m furious—genuinely furious—with myself for not trying it sooner.
Why did I wait until now? Why did I let the idea of “fish eggs” spook me? Why did I deny myself the joy of this salty little miracle?
Honestly, what a knobhead.
Here's the Truth: Don’t Wait Like I Did
This is your sign. If there’s something on your list—be it caviar, seeing a gig, eating in that posh restaurant you always walk past, or booking that trip you keep bottling out of—stop faffing about.
Do it.
Do it before the excuses stack up like takeaway boxes and you wake up one day wondering where all the time went.
Today, I can officially say:
I’ve eaten caviar. Properly. Willingly. Happily. And it was bloody brilliant.
Tomorrow? Who knows. Might try snails. Might crowd surf. Might finally go to that mad little place in Cornwall that serves sea urchin lattes and oysters for breakfast. The list is long and getting shorter, one bite at a time.
So go on—eat the weird thing.
Book the ticket.
Say yes to the experience. And then come back and tell me, so I can add your adventure to my list.
Because if I can eat fish eggs and fall in love with them, you can do anything.
