A can of salmon recently led me down an unusual river of remembrance.
As I was standing there in the kitchen whipping up a late supper sandwich, I couldn’t help but think how often salmon from a tin has been part of my lifestyle for the past several decades.
In my Mother’s kitchen there was always one or two tins of salmon in the cupboard, just in case unexpected company dropped in just before meal time and lingered, hoping for an invitation to join us around the table. No one was ever turned away, nor was the meal ever delayed until the visitors finally decided to head for home and their own kitchen and cupboards.
It was easy enough to whip up a salmon loaf or make some salmon cakes to go along with the home-canned vegetables and fruit, with maybe a slice or two of homemade bread or a bun or two. It wasn’t fancy but it was filling, and by adding a few bread crumbs or Bisquik to the salmon and eggs, that tiny tin turned out a good-sized portion to serve our guests.
I was always admonished not to fill my plate until the visitors had taken their fill and with certain drop-ins, I sometime wondered if they would ever stop taking more than their share. But I knew better than to stare with accusing eyes.
The tinned salmon in our home was always the red variety and not until I went to school did I learn that salmon in a can also came in pink. That educational moment came at the afternoon recess when the town kids got to share the leftovers of the country kids’ lunch buckets.
One girl in particular had the best leftovers and she readily shared what she couldn’t eat. She didn’t like salmon sandwiches but her Mother kept sending them in her lunch bucket. It was a rush to see which of us got to eat the sandwiches she disliked. They were made with pink salmon and they were beyond tasty.
This girl was a bit slow on figuring out that when she returned a empty lunch box to her Mother, that lovely lady just assumed her daughter wanted to continue to take salmon sandwiches to school. And so she often had wonderful leftovers to share with her friends.
She finally confessed to her Mother that she preferred bologna or egg salad sandwiches and there went our mid-afternoon feast on pink salmon delights.
I think the price of red salmon must have increased because suddenly our cupboard held a few cans of the pink variety and thus the novelty of pink salmon sandwiches wore off.
Later in life I was told by a church lady that she mixed red with pink when she made sandwiches for a church event or a funeral lunch. She said it made the sandwiches more festive and attractive. But she also put bits of onion in her mixture and that ruined the whole concept for me.
And so, in the twilight of my life, there I stood mixing pink salmon with sandwich spread and plastering the mixture on buttered and mustard-covered toast, thinking about school lunches of years gone by.
I wonder if my long-time-ago classmate would enjoy my concoction. I’d be happy to share if only I knew where to find her.
Joyce Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
