Granted, I’m a little biased. My love of eating perch stems from childhood summers spent on Leech Lake, where I learned to fish off my grandparents’ dock. I would either steal all my grandfather’s night crawlers, or go dig worms in the woods. Then I would head down to the dock and drop a plain hook with a chunk of worm on it under the boat lift, and catch perch until I had filled a stringer with them. During the spring, just before the ice would go out on the lake, I would take a small chunk of bacon, place it on a small jig, and proceed to fill 5-gallon buckets full of perch. So it’s no exaggeration to say that I have caught and eaten thousands of perch.