This morning a friend, for reasons known only to her, asked that I write something about salmon. Additionally, and probably due to my sushi addiction, Christine told me that I was not allowed to write about raw salmon. This makes my task much more difficult.
What can I say about non-raw salmon that hasn’t already been said? They’re a fine and noble fish, and particularly slippery if you try to bring one into your boat with your bare hands. I think very highly of those creatures, even if I can’t be certain what they think of me.
What would they think of me? What would they think if they knew that, somewhere out there, in the fishless wastes known as “dry land”, there exists a creature that particularly enjoys soaking their flesh in sauce for a couple of hours before cooking them over a barbecue until their flesh is firm and pink. I would guess that they wouldn’t appreciate the whole barbecue experience the way I do. If they had a brain larger than a pea, they might take exception to my eating habits, and possibly take action against me, legal or otherwise.
Thankfully, salmon are unlikely to think about these things because they’re preoccupied with finding that perfect shoal of herring that loiters in the shallows near that rock with all the seagulls on it.
So that’s my blog entry about non-raw salmon. I wonder how Christine is doing with her blog entry. I asked her to write about bubbly soup.