It was a sweltering summer weekend in Hunterdon County, N.J. I was just out of high school, and after cutting the grass for Mrs. Scheier, our former high school health teacher, Chris “River Rat” Lido and I had big plans. We “borrowed” a half-empty bottle of Jameson whiskey from the Scheier’s liquor cabinet and set up tent stakes on the muddy banks of the South Branch of the Raritan River for an overnighter. There, we rigged up and cast out nightcrawlers, gently laying our rods down on V-sticks broken from the nearest oak tree. It didn’t take long for the excitement to begin. Almost immediately, Lido reeled in a 2-foot-long slimy, slippery, snakelike creature. Excitement turned to pure elation a short time later, when the thick chunks of eel meat hit the bacon grease in our cast-iron skillet. We eagerly picked the meat off the thin bones, added a whiskey topper, and feasted like kings. It was a righteous meal.