I grew up with herring and hate the odious stuff. Enough small bones to choke a cat. The pickled version always reminded me of the portions of dissected snakes in jars we had at school. Not as bad as gaspereau, though, a fish best left to the seagulls. No quantity of fiddleheads can make it palatable.

When I went up to Boston
They served me fish with frostin'
But heavens it was costin'
Too much for the likes of me.
Give me herring and potatoes
Herring and potatoes
Herring and potatoes
Is enough for the likes of me.

Or:

What we eat until we're bustin'
Manitobans find disgustin'
For it seems salt cod's upsetting
To their dainty western tongues
And with faces stern and stoney
They say herring's too damned boney
But there's nothing for dissolving bones
Like good Jamaica rum.