“We need to control them,” he said. “If you can catch millions and tens of millions of pounds of them, it’s going to help, and the only way to do that is to create a demand for them.” He took the strips he’d cut, rolled them in breadcrumbs, and deep-fried them. It was a warm late-summer day, and by this point he was sweating profusely. When the strips were done, he offered them around as samples, to general approval. “Tastes like chicken,” I heard one boy say.
