Something really strange happened to me last night. The philosophe was out of town for the night, and Mogwai and I were looking forward to sharing a nice big girly bowl of popcorn in front of the box, like we often do when we’re alone.
I put the kernels in the pot, turned on the stove, poured myself a glass of wine, and then I stopped. And looked at dinner:
I was unmoved. Truly and deeply unmoved. Which is a sad state to be in before you eat.
Then I did the most doctoral thing I may have done yet. Calm, but swiftly, and with surgical precision I rolled a cigarette, lit it, had a sip of wine, went to the fridge and got out a side of lightly smoked salmon that happened to be lurking in there, along with some salad leaves, little crunchy cucumbers, peppadews, and horseradish. I put a pan on the stove and let it get nice and smokin’ hot and then I seared that salmon until it was perfectly cooked and moist.
I lifted it out to rest and deglazed the pan with a touch of wine and a dollop of horseradish, a squeeze of lemon and a touch of maple syrup. Then I had another drag and a sip, and went about arranging the greens and reds in my bowl, which I topped with the flaked, now cooled salmon, and that delicious dressing.
If there was a satisfacto-meter to measure how you feel after eating a meal, I’m sure that salmon salad would have scored a righteous 10, while a bowl of salty nothingness couldn’t have gotten past a 5. I saved that night.
I’m not sure what to do about the popcorn, which I’ve had a special relationship to for the longest time. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye. Or maybe it was just that salmon calling me in the fridge.
Tonight will have to tell: I ate the rest of the salmon for lunch, and after that the fridge is pretty much empty. (Well, except for cheese and salami, which can be combined in all manners of goodness, like pasta, or toasted cheese…)
Will the popcorn get me yet? I don’t like cricket either, or reggae…
(Mogwai remains hopeful. But we both wish the philosophe would hurry up and come home).