So Much For My Salmon!

Yesterday I shared my horror at discovering that the guvvy is mucking about with the food supply again–this time in the form of “GMO” giantized salmon.

At the very moment of that writing, a fillet of what looked to be perfectly normal Atlantic salmon reposed in my fridge.  I purchased this, mind you, before I had any idea that Frankensalmon could be even now glaring at me through the fish counter window.

After reading the GMO fish article I reflected a moment, then decided not to pitch it based on its petite proportions.  After all, I am petite (?). 

So this evening I decided to eat it, despite the fact that I was not at all hungry.  I have been struggling with this damn depression for many months now, which has ruined my appetite and made me even more petite.  But I gathered my resolve.  I must eat if I am to have strength to fight this monkey off my back, right?

So I took a pack of this yummy gluten free rice ramen, which tastes like cardboard soaked in hot pee.  A nice piece of fresh salmon will flavorize it, right?

Removing the fillet from its brown paper wrapping, I inspected it for signs of illegitimacy.  There were none.  I smelled it.  It smelled like fresh salmon.

Atina, my now-20-month-old Belgian Malinois, was driving me crazy humping her fleece blanket.  She does that.  Often.  She is a sex-crazed teenager.

So, to get her mind off of humping for two minutes, I cut a strip of raw salmon skin into tiny bits, made her sit and look deeeply into my eyes, and handed her a bit of salmon.

You would think that any dog would be in ecstatic transports, being the lucky recipient of a piece of salmon, no?


Atina rolled it around on her palate, gave it a cursory chew, and spit it out on the floor with a look that said, “Awww, wadja do THAT for?”

“Girl,” says I, “You have just become the Royal Tasteress.”

I threw the rest of that fucking fish in the freezer, to be disposed of next time I go to the dump. 

I really think this is a sign that after our Thanksgiving duck I need to become a better vegetarian.

My main problem is motivation.  No, wait.  My main problem is that I’m too fucking depressed to care whether I eat or not.  It’s a vicious cycle, because the less I eat, the more my nutrition suffers, my body falls apart, my brain doesn’t work right, and everything sucks more.

If I had a lovely dark skinned South Indian kitchen staff cooking for me, I bet I’d eat.  There is nothing that will make my senses happier than dosai (a crepe made out of lentil paste) filled with spiced potatoes, with sambar (a piquant soup served with dosai and related dishes), coconut/green chili chutney, tamarind chutney, and slurping it up gloriously with the hands.

I think of my beautiful brown friends in South India who fed me so lovingly, and begged me to stop crying because it was making them sad.  But I couldn’t stop crying because no one had ever been so kind to me before.

One woman in particular touches my heart to its core.

She is a big woman in a culture that values petiteness, and she feels this acutely.  Also she is very dark, and Indian women are obsessed with trying to make themselves fair.

I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world.  When she wraps you up in her soft-strong hug, chuckling from somewhere in her soul, you feel embraced by the Cosmic Mother.

When she confided her sadnesses to me, I said, only half joking, “Oh my dear, you are so beautiful, can I come and live at your house?”

She looked very seriously and long, her deep brown eyes into my mood-ring blue hazel ones, and said,


Unlike myself, who live in a tin can with a bathroom in it, my friend lives in a mud hut with no bathroom in it.  Cooking is done over an open fire.  Panthers, tigers, snakes and rabid domestic animals are the local hazards, not counting the men.  My friend’s husband beat her because she miscarried her baby, then he left her for another girl.

I have to think of her more.  A large part of me wishes I hadn’t left.  Another, larger piece of me wants to go back and find her.   I would learn how to cook dosai, iddlies, vadas, biryani…anything to make those deep brown eyes light up.

But no salmon.

I don’t believe my friend has tasted salmon.

Leave a comment


  1. Thank your texte help me

  2. misericordia

     /  November 22, 2015

    Ah masala dosa. When I had my first one I was in very heaven. My friend Michael devoured them and invited me to a restaurant to try one. In India, in Simla, which is in the north, I didn’t expect to find any. But this “snack,” as it is called, even though eating one will make your ribs creak, has found its way even to this remote Himalayan fastness.

    Right now in my larder there are neglected packets of gram flour and rice flour. The plan was to storm heaven from my kitchen. I forgot that dosas are ideally made on a large, flat griddle, and these are nowhere to be found in my Quaker town.

    • A Quaker town? In North India? You must tell us all about this. I’m not mobile at this point, but the future never knows, and besides I want to hear about it. Certainly although there are store bought versions of dosa griddles, I’m sure that most are improvised, as most things are outside the more affluent villages. Or hop a bus. Maybe another of our readers can help! And if that doesn’t help you can always make tiny ones in your frying pan!

      • misericordia

         /  November 22, 2015

        Oh no! The Quaker-founded town I live in in the UK, Letchworth Garden City. There are quite a few Quakers; there is a large, well-attended meeting house. The UK’s oldest resident community of Sikhs live here, but there are no Asian markets save for one tiny store, and no South Indian restaurants.

        Now you have made me think, and I can see I was conjuring nonsense, though it is true that I abandoned my dosa plans for want of an authentic griddle. I could and should use a heavy-bottomed skillet. I could also write more clearly.

        • Oh that’s funny. Well, Punjabi food is also good. Don’t these Sikhs cook??? Get yourself invited!

          I went to Quaker meeting for five years. Liked the silence. Then it started going in the “popcorn” direction, where suddenly everyone was inspired to speak, and then the elders started putting pressure on me to officially join, and be on committees, and other unpleasant things of that nature, so I stopped going.

          Are you a Quaker yourself?

          Let me know how your dosai turn out. I used the mix with a heavy cast iron tortilla skillet, and it was a terrible flop. The mix did not ferment properly, even though it was a warm day. Oh well.

          • misericordia

             /  November 24, 2015

            Thank you for your thoughtful reply. I will let you know about the dosai. I have thought about going to a Quaker meeting, though I am not one myself. What I really should tell you is that last month I received confirmation of a tentative diagnosis of bipolar I got in 2009. Now three weeks in to a course of lamotrigine. It took 36 years to finally get proper treatment! I truly believe I have turned the corner.

            • Wow, I’m glad you’re getting treatment, and I hope you feel a LOT better on the lamotrigine!

            • If you haven’t been to meeting, it’s worth a visit. They vary hugely from week to week, though. One week might be entirely silent, which is wonderful because you have a whole room full of people in deep silent meditation and the vibe is incredible. Another week might be a “popcorn” meeting, so named because different people keep standing up and telling things they’ve been divinely inspired to say. Sometimes it’s something truly inspiring, but sometimes they just want to expound their political agenda…argh! But that has a lot to do with the nature of the meeting. They’re all different. The old ones tend to be more silent, so you’ve got a better chance 🙂

  3. Midwestern Plant Girl

     /  November 22, 2015

    Not that there isn’t already crazy crap in that fish… but the Franken-fish won’t be out for 2 years. Ask the butcher, they will know. Just don’t buy frozen.
    Pretty crazy when a dog won’t eat what is supposed to be meat. I worry when my two don’t look interested in my food. If a dog doesn’t recognize it as food, neither should we! !!

    • Good to know the fish-o-tron is a couple of years out. Do you mind letting me in on where you discovered this? I want to know everything about this, without taking time out of my busy schedule (ha!) to pester Professor Google.

      Yes. If a dog won’t eat it, it’s not food. In fact, dogs eat many things that I would not consider food, including poop and rotten things, furniture, items of clothing, galoshes, etc, so if they won’t eat a piece of fresh flesh there has to be something wrong with it, if the dog is otherwise healthy, which she is for the present. Do you really think the butcher will know what they send in those brown cartons labeled “toxic, do not eat or touch with bare hands”?

      • Midwestern Plant Girl

         /  November 23, 2015

        Here is the article I read:
        I thought it was fairly non-bias. I asked my Jewel butcher and she said she would most likely know by the labeling. The only company that is making now is AquaBounty. Remember the name!

        • Thanks for that! I’m disappointed that our government, unlike most of the remainder of the “civilized world,” refuses to require labeling indicating the source of our food. I doubt that the fish will be labeled as AquaBounty, either. I think the claims of “more food for less” will apply only to the producers, who plan to market it simply as “Atlantic salmon,” according to the article. So, it will cost them 25% of the net pen method cost per pound, plus import duties (unless covered under NAFTA, which I think it will be) plus transportation, marketing, etc….and will end up being sold for the same $12.99/lb as the salmon we now don’t eat. Such is the way of the world, these days. I miss my big garden and canning outfit.

  4. Sending you my love, Laura. We often get Indian take-out, still more expensive than cooking yourself. Hope that you regain your appetite and find some tasty food.

    • Thanks, Kitt. I don’t know, if you think about the time it takes to make these things, it really is prodigious. I hung out in the kitchen where I was staying in India and the work it took to make dosai was phenomenal, plus you have to ferment the batter, and have all the spices on hand. In South India every household has a special grinder for the rice and hulled black gram. The place I stayed had a thousands of years old stone mill in the garden! Modern ladies have electric powered stone mills. I was dying to get one, but the thought of getting it back to Israel was too daunting. I’ve tried making dosai from a mix but it didn’t ferment properly. Wrong atmospheric conditions, perhaps…who knows.

      Thanks so much for your support and love, Kitt.

  5. Sending love. ❤


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