Salmon Patties and $2 Hookers

Ok, my daughter apparently has a great love of salmon patties. It would have to be a dish I have never prepared in my life, right? In fact, I have never prepared salmon ANYTHING. My version of having salmon, is having it imported, smoked, served with scallions and little garlic toast triangles, washed down with a very dry champagne. Obviously my budget no longer supports this version of salmon. So I did what anyone would do. I asked my friends how to make salmon patties. I got tons of recipes that called for anything from crushed up oyster crackers to cornmeal. My friend Kat sent me the easiest recipes to follow, so armed with my new found knowledge, off I go to Wal-Mart to buy what I needed. I should have known I was in trouble as soon as I read the label on the can.

"Alaskan Pink Salmon" it declared in large white letters. In smaller black letters underneath read the words "Packed in Alaska". Well no kidding. Now keep in mind that on the front of the can it SAYS salmon, with a big pink fish picture. On the back of the can it says, "Ingredients: Pink Salmon, Salt". Just in case you missed the picture and writing on the front. And for the total idiot, it also says "Allergy Warning: Contains Salmon" Needless to say, I was pretty damn sure it was a can of salmon before I opened it. The label lacked the helpful information I really needed.

Nobody warned me about the bones. They should have put THAT little tidbit on the label. They should also have included the fact that you don't have to actually pick out all these little bones. They didn't, of course, so I spent 45 minutes picking out all these tiny little bones. Along with the spine. It wasn't until after I did that, that one of my friends told me all I needed to get out was the spine. So far my salmon experience was not living up to my expectations.

Another warning that I wish they had put on the label...It is NOT grey snot, it's skin. Actually, it wouldn't have changed what I did with the grey snotty skin, because it was revolting. Skin or snot, it went straight down the disposer the second I scraped it off the hunk of fish and bone. But it would have been nice to be warned that it would be there. I'd rather fondle chicken fat.

And finally, I wish that in big letters on the can, it had advised me to open ALL windows and doors, turn on the fan, light candles, spray Febreze, and beg the dog to pass gas. Because canned salmon smells LOUD. Oh. My. God. I originally compared it to the smell of $2 hookers at a lingerie party, but I am leaning more toward the pungent aroma of a lower than low budget porn movie set. After 10 or 15 movies had been filmed. I honestly can't imagine a woman, any woman, letting herself go that much. And I can't imagine the man that would get close to any woman that did. Well. Yes, I can. Remind me one day to tell you about Red.

Once I finally got past all that, and actually cooked the things, they weren't half bad. I admit, it took a couple of shots of vodka to work my nerve up to actually put one in my mouth though. My daughter proclaimed them excellent, which means I will undoubtedly have to make them again. But I now know what to expect. And I think I'll take Dana's advice and spend the extra money to buy Chicken of the Sea from now on.

Bon Appetit!