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From my answering machine last night:

"Hey there! It's Dad. I have a slab of freshly smoked salmon for you and in a couple of days we will have a batch of fresh canned for your pantry. Also, I have a lovely fillet here if you would like it for dinner. If not, I will throw it in the smoker. Give me a call back!"

The father is an avid sports fisherman. He has been since he was old enough to hold a fishing pole and stand up in a boat without dropping his catch. (For me this skill was honed much, much later in life... like about a year ago)

Every spare moment from his job was spent charting tides, checking the down-riggers on the boat and planning for the next day out on the open water. And every spare moment I had growing up was spent on his heels watching and learning and anxiously awaiting our next day on the water.

I loved it out there.

I still do.

I have fond memories of seing my first Orca so close I could touch it. And of seeing porpoise and seals.

I remember catching my first ling cod and screaming bloody murder for assuming I had caught a monster of the deep. (That's one ugly ass fish) And seeing my first halibut, wondering who poked out the other eye. (So much to learn out there)

It was a common site for me to come home from school to find multiple King Salmon laying on the front lawn, being sprayed with cold water and having their pink-fleshed bellies packed with ice.

We would always eat a fresh filet that night. And it would always be simple. Fresh minced garlic, paper-thin slices of onion, fresh dill, salt, pepper, a few other herbs and spices I am not at liberty to share, fresh lemon, and lots and lots of butter.

The rest of the fish would be divided between the freezer, the smoker and the canner.

Have you ever had home-canned salmon? Oh, my. It's like eating candy from a bell jar.

And see, the thing is, I just assumed these kinds of luxuries were the norm for everyone.

And I became a real snob about it, too. (Imagine that) We didn't eat things like fish sticks at my house, unless they were freshly cut strips dipped in a tempura style batter. We never did something so silly as to buy fish from the store. I mean, how gauche!

Anyway.

So, cut to a few months ago when The Friend in El Paso was discussing the last time she made salmon cakes for dinner and was talking about being grossed out by the skin and bones that came out of the can.

"The What?"

I wondered who was giving her that salmon and why they didn't know that you skin it and de-bone it, first.

Sheesh.

As the discussion went on, it finally dawned on me this was not a gift from a friend. This was something she purchased from the grocery store.

"Wait, they sell salmon in a can?"

I mean, I know tuna comes in a can. Sardines come in a can. Smoked baby oysters. Pickled herring. Anchovies. But I really had not given a thought to the concept that salmon was sold the same way.

I didn't need to.

I had a pantry full.

I just sort of assumed everyone else did, too.

You know, I have far too many moments in my life where the elevator doesn't quite reach the top floor.

It's a good thing I'm cute.
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Posted by Foodwhore at September 2, 2004 12:41 PM