2001
| April 18, 2001 My younger son, an aspiring cook, saw something interesting on TV. He likes salmon. He mentioned this. Since chemo patients are picky eaters (things taste different), I tend to fix whatever he requests. So he fed me the instructions. In pieces. Start with a salmon fillet. OK. I can do that. I bought a "fresh" frozen hunk of salmon. Big hunk. Two meals. I asked, "OK. Now what?" "Do you have potato chips? The greasy kind?" Well, no. We use baked Tostidas, white corn, less fat. Doritos, the spicy burn-your-mouth stuff. But not the pure grease ones. So, back I go to the store (this took a few days, during which the salmon defrosted). I bought Lays "Classic" potato chips. Grease in a bag. And you can't buy a small bag (too small) or a medium bag (not there), just the BIG bag. "OK. Now what?" "You crush the chips up and use it as breading. First you put olive oil on the salmon, then the crushed chips and then herbs, so it has flavor." He emphasized the herbal part. Well, let me tell you, salmon has flavor. Just add lemon juice or a light seafood sauce. So back I go to the kitchen (he is directing me from his bed because his feet hurt today). First I crush the chips - a lot of chips - because they vanish as you squeeze them into bits. I used my hands. A kitchen full of his kitchen aides and I use my hands. I washed my hands and then the salmon and then used a paper towel to pat the fish dry. I placed it on the broiling pan. I applied olive oil, with my hand. Virgin olive oil. Then I put a nice thick coating of crushed potato chips on the top. I added a liberal shaking of Mrs. Dash Garlic and herbs (no salt). I carried this down the hall (because his feet hurt tonight) and showed it to my son. "Does it look right?" He has no comment. He's watching Arnold blow things up. I put it in the broiler - about mid oven. Broiling is 500 degrees. I left the room. I am doing a major eLearning project. I just happened to walk back to the kitchen on my way down the hall for something - I forget what - when I noticed smoke pouring out of the oven door, which was open because I was broiling. It haven't been gone all that long, I note. I grabbed the fish out. I carried the pan down the hall - trailing smoke - to show my son. There were EMBERS GLOWING on top of the fish. "OK. Now what?" I asked. Guess you shouldn't broil potato chips. I scraped the chips, black and the red glowing ones - off the fish and into the sink. Retrieved the last of the crumbs (my son was eating the remaining chips and the leftover crumbs). There were no whole chips left - he's quick. I redid the potato chip topping - not as thick, and the herbs. He told me about the herbs several times. I suppose they are important. I put the fish in the bottom of the oven - and set the oven on bake. Then I chickened out - when I smelled smoke again - and put aluminum foil on top. By this time I had put the cat in the bathroom, brought in the dog and opened all doors and windows. The storm, convenient timing, blew the house clear. Then I decided, when he said "cook on low heat..." (500 degrees for broiling is not low heat), to take the salmon off the broiler pan (the loose crumbs were trying to burn again), put it on a sheet of aluminum foil, wrapped it up, and put it on a cookie sheet. Then I baked it at 375. The smoke receded. The salmon was great. Of course I use extra spicy cocktail sauce so you couldn't taste anything if you wanted to. I only use a very small touch per byte of salmon. The chips were great bread crumbs. Nice texture. He said he'd go check the recipe for me later. Guess so. He wanted to eat the whole fish (huge slab - should go two meals). I remind him salmon is heavy. He settles for three sodas, a dinner-plate salad, a hunk of iced chocolate snack cake, a low-fat ice cream with no-fat chocolate sauce Sunday, a hard pretzel and a bag of popcorn. I had a diet Coke and of course had tasted some of those grease-bomb chips (why do we like eating grease?) and spent the evening trying to digest the soda. I washed my hair - no sense going to work smelling like burned fat. |
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