A Fish Called Salmon

Seemingly, in 1993, households across America suddenly discovered the taste, health benefits, and availability of salmon. Children and families who had previously defined fish entrees by their canned tuna foundation, were delighted to unveil the wonders of this beautiful pink fish. Two households that joined the mass salmon migration were mine and Peter's.

When I was in fifth grade, my family became salmon aficionados. About once a week, my dad would brush  it with either his honey-mustard or lemon-dill sauce, grill it and serve it alongside couscous, sugar snap peas, and Breadworks rustic sourdough. I loved it and asked for it again and again, celebrating the fact that it had replaced my Dad's go-to fish dinner, fish with a coat of tan. (As little brother so boldly said, 'woof.')   

As fortune would have it, that same year I hit another culinary milestone. As my family gained admittance to the Pittsburgh Golf Club, I gained a golden ticket into the world of old-school, hoity-toity food culture - a wonderful world of vichyssoise and lobster bisque with Sherry; hollowed tomatoes filled with creamed spinach and servings of asparagus held together with carrot rings; table side bread service and little finger bowls of lemon-scented water; tiny gooey macaroons whose size allowed more than my three cookie limit; and the creme de la creme - salmon, seasoned, buttered, wrapped in puff pastry, and roasted till perfection - salmon wellington.The most epic entree - the most cataclysmic discovery of my petite palette - that I could have possibly imagined in fifth grade.

About 500 miles west of the corner table where I was devouring my new favorite food, in the village of LaGrange, Illinois, an eighth grader named Peter was sitting down to a salmon dinner of his own, the fourth that month. Concurrently, his family was having their own salmon bonanza. And while my love for salmon was reaching new heights with the inclusion of puff pastry, Peter's hatred was reaching new lows. Something in the repetition ruined the appeal. Or perhaps it was the fact that he hadn't caught it himself that made it undesirable. Or maybe it was just its color, pink, a girl color. But whatever the reason, he developed into the 'Sam I Am' of Salmon.

I, the salmon lover, married a salmon hater. And rarely, if ever, am I allowed to put it on the menu. I've tried a variety of recipes, but the reaction is always underwhelming, so I've basically given up.

That is, until I thought back to fifth grade. And puff pastry. And my introduction to the divine. Last night, I tried to sneak salmon into puff pastry and serve it for dinner.

But ... on the way to the Seafood counter at Whole Foods, Peter sniffed out my sneaky plan, and made me call an audible. A couple minutes later, I was adding a stop to the meat counter to my grocery getting duties. And we were not only having salmon wellington for dinner, we were having beef wellington as well.

So, it's back to drawing board. And I'm thinking that getting the smoker involved is my last hope.

Lo.