Dear Reader,
I’m resisting the idea of creating a list of resolutions for the new year, as always. It seems artificial, somehow, and the likelihood of failure feels like a set-up for negativity. But I will be taking stock: Knowing where we are and where we’ve been is a powerful way of understanding, as much as possible, the mysteries of life.
But that’s for later in the week. Right now I’m firmly stuck in gratitude mode, which is a lovely place to be. On the weekend, I decided to brave the lines at my neighborhood food shop that has the best cured meats and smoked fish—Agata & Valentina (www.agatavalentina.com). We had decided that it would be fun to have some salmon for breakfast on Christmas morning.
Smoked salmon feels more like a New Year’s Day rather than a Christmas breakfast. But we’ll be in Washington DC next weekend. So we’ll be savoring what restaurants have to offer, rather than the familiar choices from my own ’hood. We decided to celebrate a week early.
The wait was tolerable, at the counter. Of course, I was also avoiding the rush next weekend as shoppers prepare for the real smoked-fish-and-caviar holiday. The nice lady who took my order started a new side of Scotch salmon. I generally make that choice because the flavor profile suits us, whether it actually comes from Scotland or not: the Scottish process produces an exceptionally silky salmon with perfectly balanced smoke and salt.
She deftly trimmed the surface of the virgin side, and then began to quickly create lovely, long thin slices of salmon and lay them out on cellophane sheets. I watched, mesmerized, as she repeated the process over and over. The long, thin blade—razor-sharp—passed over the salmon side with tiny, rapid strokes that freed impossibly-thin leaves of salmon flesh. As the lady got closer to the skin on the thinner, tail end, she also quickly and carefully removed all traces of the dark flesh—the blood line that runs along the center. Within a few minutes, she created several layers of luxury. Taking it to the scale, she determined that she had not yet reached the one-pound mark, and took it back to the bench to complete the process.
“Oops,” I said, “How much was that? I asked for a half-pound.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I’ll just take some off.” But at that moment I realized that I had been the recipient of a lovely little holiday gift. And without giving it any real thought, I instantly replied,
“No, thank you. I’ll take what’s there. That will be fine.” She thanked me, of course, for being an agreeable customer. We aren’t all, always. And she also pointed out that since the product was on sale it would not be too terribly much more than what I had budgeted.
This story does have a point (I hope). The salmon was delicious, easily the best I’ve ever tasted. Or so it seemed yesterday morning. And after we had eaten more than our fill, we still have some leftover for snacks. And today I am feeling profound gratitude for, among other blessings, salmon and the people who smoke them. And the lovely lady who expertly sliced far more than was needed. It is a strong reminder of how generous life can feel when I’m living it from a state of gratitude.
May you also have a season filled with blessings, and an open heart to welcome them.
Bruce
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