Somehow, it feels like fish sticks should be good for you.
Sure, they’re typically fried, and in most cases compiled from various parts of fish that couldn’t make it into the big leagues, but they seem like they should be part of a healthy, well-balanced meal.
I don’t think that it’s the relatively recent allure and popularity of fish consumption that lends itself to this phenomenon, in fact I think that the pop culture cachet associated with eating fish is largely propagated by a crowd which detests fish sticks, and the people fish sticks represent. After all, the primary audience for sticks of mechanically-separated-and compressed fish is likely the crowd that enjoys them with ketchup…or when they’re feeling _really_ frisky maybe a little mayonnaise or relish (or both!!) mixed in to keep things spicy. Not exactly the Nobu constituent.
And that, in fact, is why I think many people (read: possibly just me) believe that fish sticks represent an aspect of Americana to which, regardless of our upbringing or social status, we can all somehow connect. You may not like them, you may not want to consume them now or anytime in the future, but you have eaten them - at least once. It’s that kind of a shared, common experience that we all long for in life, and despite their humble construction and dubious nutritional value, fish sticks scratch that wicked subconscious itch.
Fish sticks are good for you. I don’t care what they say.