Just as quick follow-up to yesterday's post: So you want to know what she did with the smoked salmon, do you Dawn? Do you really? Well, for Dawn, and for the strong of stomach amongst you, I present this brief exchange:
"Oh, we ate your smoked salmon while you were away," my mom told me offhandedly upon my return from the beach, in the tone of having done me a great favor.
"Oh, really? The unopened package of smoked salmon that I bought that was good for another three months?" I said. "How did you eat it?"
"Well, I cooked it and..."
"Wait, wait, wait...you cooked it?"
"Well, I put it in the microwave..."
"You put it in the microwave?!! And then what?!"
"And then...we ate it."
"You just...you just...ate it? Like that???" I shouted in a strangled voice, my stomach churning and a vein in my neck pulsing.
"That was expensive and...I bought it and...you ruined it! I mean...that can't have even tasted good!"
"Well, your dad said it was salty," she offered, wrinkling her nose.
"Yeah! Yeah, it is salty, that's why you're only supposed to eat one thin slice at a time, as a garnish, and not the whole..." (muffled, close-mouthed swearing). "Gahhhh!!!"
"Well I didn't know..."
"That's why you shouldn't have eaten it!"
To be clear, I wasn't so much upset that they had eaten something that was mine than I was that they (my mom, really) had ruined a perfectly good bit of fish. I would have been quite happy to donate it to the cause if it meant that my parents' first taste of smoked salmon was the way it was meant to be tasted: in pasta, on a salad, with eggs benedict, or on a bagel with cream cheese. But now that salmon's life was in vain. I just hope the rest of his buttery delicious flesh went to better homes.
I mean, I bet she didn't even use lemon. I mean, really.