Joey was at the chicken sink when I arrived. He had spread a ton of ingredients on the prep table for my salmon patties. It looked a bit daunting, but doable—until I got in knee-deep. First: there isn't a sharp knife in that kitchen (anymore), and I had to dice four onions, stopping midway to remove my gloves, blow my nose, wipe away my tears, wash my hands, and re-glove.
We opened about 15 tall cans of pink salmon. It's been decades since I cooked with salmon, and I completely forgot that I like to pick off the black stuff, and the white stuff, and the spine. Messy, messy, messy. In the end, we invited one of the pre-release fellows to help me with that, and he was a cheerful worker.
It was 10 minutes 'til feeding time before I began dropping little balls of my special salmon/onion/egg/flour/milk mixture into the deep fryer. Joey dropped some French fries in the other basket. We were late; we were late; we were late. That's when I looked up and saw 8 or 10 pre-release folks sitting at tables in the dining room, looking right at me. I tried to make light of our lateness, but those people can be a tough crowd. They did eat well and without complaints.
We had fresh salad to go with the fried foods, and I admit that my own fingers slipped into the salmon pan a time or two. When we realized that we had a few extra, I took them into the dining room and went from table to table, offering another. Two guys looked up, eager to have another, but wanting to know: "What is this? We thought maybe it was tuna, but we don't know."
Our Angel looked extra dapper today. I think he might have some new clothes. He was certainly spit-spot and smiling.
The C&W oldies were finer than fine; Joey had it cranked up loud because, he said, the selections were so fine. I wrote two numbers on a little slip of paper, to download later.
Our gate keeper is well. He enjoyed the salmon thingies and took a plateful back to his desk. The children are visiting elsewhere, and I didn't see Mr. Huggy. Miss Anna is coming this afternoon to help Joey make sack lunches—not that I had the steam for it if she weren't. I don't know when I've done that much hard labor in 2-1/2 hours, and I smell like deep-fry grease and fish. I hurt all over, and just as soon as I download some songs, I'm hitting the shower.
Next week's menu, Joey said, was up to me… First, he said we'd be having "the usual," but after last week's major soup failure, I don't have the nerve to get back on that horse. So I chose beans and wieners, coleslaw, and fresh fruit salad. Joey promises to order the slaw and dogs.
Bon appétit!
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