I’ve always suspected my weekly fish consumption wasn’t doing much for my brain, mainly because the “fish” looked suspiciously like beige Lego bricks hiding under breadcrumbs. Enter Wild Alaskan Company, promising that I could finally trade those freezer‑burned fish sticks for wild‑caught fillets that allegedly knew the ocean personally. As someone who will happily pay for convenience (and will then complain about paying for convenience), I signed up faster than you can say “Omega‑3 guilt.”
The Sign‑Up Waltz
The website greeted me with curated box options that sounded as though a seafood sommelier had hand‑written them on artisanal driftwood. I chose the Wild Combo Box—12 individually vacuum‑sealed portions—because if I’m committing to this relationship, I want variety. The checkout process was painless, although my wallet emitted a small whimper. Spoiler alert: premium fish isn’t Costco‑aisle cheap, but at least the order confirmation arrived before the regret did.
Doorstep Delivery: Chill Vibes Only
Roughly a week later, a cardboard cooler the size of Manhattan’s average studio apartment landed on my porch, packed with dry ice and the type of eco‑friendly insulation that resembles seagrass yoga mats. Everything was rock‑solid frozen—excellent for freshness, less excellent for my freezer‑Tetris skills. I spent ten minutes rearranging popsicles and assorted mystery leftovers to make space, silently questioning my life choices while ice fog billowed dramatically around me.
Taste Test—Or, How I Learned to Respect My Frying Pan
First up: sockeye salmon. After a quick thaw in the fridge, I pan‑seared the fillet with minimal seasoning, certain I was about to ruin a perfectly good piece of fish. Shockingly, I did not. The flesh was firm, buttery, and—dare I say—tasted like salmon instead of “generic fishy protein.” Even the Pacific cod behaved, flaking politely without that usual detour into rubbery sadness.
Mission, Meet Mouth
Wild Alaskan Company bangs the drum loudly on sustainability, and frankly, I appreciate the noise. They source exclusively from responsibly managed Alaskan fisheries, a fact they remind you of often, like a friend who “casually” mentions their marathon training. But I prefer sanctimonious seafood over shady feedlot fish, so the soapboxing works for me.
They also oppose the Pebble Mine project in Bristol Bay. As someone who gets emotional over baby salmon documentaries, I’m on board. Still, it wouldn’t hurt if they included a small explainer in each box instead of another membership flyer. I’m already subscribed; I don’t need more convincing—tell my dinner guests instead.
Flexibility…Sort Of
In theory, you can tweak shipment dates and box sizes in your account dashboard faster than you can misplace your AirPods. In practice, I found their “skip‑a‑box” option hidden deeper than my childhood Tamagotchi. When I finally unearthed the setting, it worked, but why make me feel like I’m defusing a bomb to pause a seafood delivery?
The Price of Principled Protein
Let’s talk numbers. My 12-portion box rang in at roughly $5 per six-ounce fillet, once you factor in shipping. Competitive with supermarket seafood? Not exactly. Competitive with my peace of mind that dinner didn’t come from a fish feedlot disaster reminiscent of a reality‑TV hot tub? Absolutely. Still, if you’re feeding an army (a.k.a. teens), you might want to mix in some budget‑friendlier proteins or sell an organ—your call.
Final Cast
After a month of culinary experimentation, I can’t deny the convenience of having pristine salmon and whitefish lounging in my freezer, ready for 15‑minute weeknight heroics. Sure, the subscription dashboard feels like a Choose Your Adventure novel set in bureaucratic limbo, and yes, my bank account occasionally side‑eyes me. But for now, I’m keeping the membership—partly for the taste, partly for the smug environmental satisfaction, and mostly because my inner gourmand finally has something better to brag about than canned tuna.