Skippy and I just prepared a supplement to the sled dogs’ regular diet: boiled salmon. Here’s the recipe:
Take 3 to 4 whole frozen salmon. Chop them up with an axe. Put them in a big vat, and cover with water. Place the vat on a large propane burner (for you outdoor folks, picture a knee-high Dragonfly). Bring to a boil, and use a giant potato masher to stir.
Salmon bones turn soft when they are cooked, so we can use the whole salmon.
Now, I like eating salmon. But there’s something about this particular soup that really turned me off. In fact, I might not have dinner tonight. Maybe it started with being sprayed by frozen salmon chunks as I hacked at them in the driveway. Or perhaps it was the consistency of the frozen salmon itself, since I’m so used to fresh salmon. Or maybe it was the smell of cooking salmon, combined with the visual of their heads and tails floating around in a pink stew, peeking through a yellowish, oily froth.
Yeah, that was it. Blargh.