They're overfed, oversexed, and they're all over here.

Across from Verdanturf Town to the west is a small area of land covered in dense green vegetation. It's so insignificantly small that it doesn't exist on the Hoenn Map, and only the town natives really know it exists. There is a large variety of Pokémon there—mostly bug-types—but near the tiny stream of river that run through the woods, there are thousands upon thousands of tiny Corphishes; they're as red as Cheri berries and small enough to fit perfectly in a person's hand. And they're not there for trainers to come and capture to be pets or companions, either.

About fifty years ago, Corphish meat was the absolute craze. People absolutely adored it for its sweet-flavored meat; its texture could only be described as balanced—it wasn't chewy, and it certainly wasn't flakey either. It was usually served with butter which makes the meat that much softer while adding some much-needed fat to lean protein.

The only problem was that original Corphishes were massive. Standing at almost two feet high and weighing almost twenty-five pounds, they were incredibly hard to capture and butcher. Their immense size also made them difficult to cook and serve, rendering their price to skyrocket as well. Only the wealthiest could afford dishes made with the Corphish's delicate meat. Thus, farmers looking to strike rich started breeding smaller yet meatier Corphishes. These bite-sized crustaceans immediately hit off and began appearing in just about every other restaurant as appetizers.

Unfortunately, trends never last long. When the mini Corphish business started crashing, frustrated farmers began to dump all of the "screwed-up" Corphishes into the rivers of the unknown Verdanturf Woods, hoping their creations would perish and be forgotten. However, as a hardy species capable of surviving even in polluted waters, the numbers of these tiny Corphishes instead grew enormously.They thrived in the rivers and dominated the small forested area, even driving out many other species that lived there. And while the population growth has been steady the past years, Corphish fishing is still encouraged heavily in an effort to bring back the original Pokémon inhabitants.

Now, anyone looking to grab some fresh seafood could drop by and set metal traps along the riverbank, although a proper license is required from environmental-protection agencies. I got myself a license knowing that the cost to catch fresh seafood would always be free this way.

But I haven't had the chance to use it in a long time.

And yet, yesterday, three of my closest friends from high school called and asked me if they could come over to my humble home in Verdanturf Town. To see me, they said was the reason. I was to provide lunch. I couldn't refuse, but I was angry that they had told me so late.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to cook," I told them over the phone. "And on a last minute notice? Really?"

"We're sorry for the inconvenience, Cory," they said. "We all thought the other informed you, and tomorrow is the only time we could all arrange to meet at your place! At four o'clock!"

I eventually agreed after a long moment, but I wasn't too pleased.

I want to make a dish that I can guarantee they've never tried before and for it to still be uncostly and reasonably easy to prepare. Fresh Corphish salad clearly and immediately comes to mind. I'm not a cook, really, but I did go through a long cooking phase back when I was a younger where I learned a few recipes. I think I stopped after it was announced that nearly forty-five percent (possibly more) of the entire region had started taking oaths to become vegetarian. Truly, I think that might as well be saying that cooking is going to disappear off the face of this earth which is pure horror in my eyes. Cooking should never disappear.

This dish is among a few that I (somehow) can still recall how to prepare. Of course, I remember all the history behind the mini Corphishes, so I know serving it would also serve a good cause, but for all I care, my friends could just come over and have some peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. The sad thing is that I'm too nice of a person to do that to them.

I wake up seven the next morning to go to the woods and lay some dry Pokémon kibble along the bottom of the metal trapping cage—just a handful is enough to lure in close to twenty kilos worth of mini Corphishes by mid-afternoon.

At about one o'clock, I sprint back into the woods with a large bucket. The weather is humid and warm at this time, an indication of warm waters which is ideal. I locate my trap and carefully haul it out from the light-green waters. I smile when I open the latched door.

Fifteen? No, more than that. I'd say there are at least twenty-two or three of them.

I reach in with my bare hands—big mistake. One of the Corphishes seizes the chance to clamp down on my middle finger.

"Ow, ow, ow," I cry out as I frantically pry the obnoxious creature off my finger. I'm lucky the wound isn't open to allow for any bleeding. This Corphish is unusually large for its kind. With that kind of strength, there's bound to be a lot of claw meat.

I carry the fresh catch home. Then I set the bucket down on the kitchen floor and walk over to the sink to wash my hands with as much soap as possible.

Two o'clock.

I first preheat the oven three-hundred and seventy degrees. I prepare about one-and-a-half kilos of ripe, plum tomatoes with one-fourth cup of extra virgin olive oil, three finely chopped garlic cloves, and about one-and-a-half tablespoon of fresh, chopped thyme. I stem the tomatoes and slice them in half vertically. I move fast to remove the seeds with a cleaned spoon. I drizzle the tomatoes with olive oil and slam them into the oven to roast for forty minutes.

The salad is already dry. It's set from earlier and contains a mixture of lettuce from a fresh-cut head, bell peppers, and carrots among other things.

Three o'clock.

Finally, I arrive to rinse the live Corphishes one by one, making sure to scrub their underside with an old toothbrush to get out any dirt and debris. With this, I take extra precaution by wearing gloves.

Fresh Corphish straight from the river. It really can't get any better than this!

I race to grab a large pot and turn the stove knob to high heat. Then, I quickly pour in water and wait for it to start bubbling in about ten to fifteen minutes. Clouds of clear steam begin to rise from the boiling water which tells me that it's time to cook. I drop in the Corphishes one by one. It's astounding how quickly they cook; in a matter of minutes, the dull-red colors of their outer shells has drastically transformed into a bright, vermillion shade with perhaps even a shiny hint of apricot. And the smell is just delightful.

I strain the cooked Corphishes. When they're warm, it's easier to peel them away from their hard shells. I manage to pull out the magnificent tender meat along the spine in one whole piece.

At last, I put the dish together: fresh green salad, slow-roasted tomatoes, and cooked Corphish tails, topped off with a thin layer of vinaigrette. Presentation is bordering perfection.

I glance up at the time.

Four o'clock.

I reach for a cloth to wipe my hands just as the doorbell rings.

I stop and smile.

Right on time.

Hopefully, none of them are vegetarian.