My mother, rest her soul, was not a gourmet. She conscientiously made sure her children had access to food, but inventiveness and variety were not her priorities. We’d sometimes have “Hawaiian Surprise” which was pan-fried SPAM with pineapple. The “surprise” was that it really wasn’t all that Hawaiian. She’d also make salmon patties, but she called them “Salmon Croquettes” perhaps out of the hope that calling something a fancy name would make it, in fact, fancy. At the time, I would have preferred the top of a hamburger bun slathered with spaghetti sauce and covered with melted American cheese (aka: pizza).
I guess our tastes change as we get older. I used to prefer Lynyrd Skynyrd to Neil Young, and now I own several Neil Young records but no Lynyrd Skynyrd. Lately I’ve been craving a salmon croquette, so it was with some excitement that I saw a recipe in the NY Times Cooking Section for salmon patties this morning. It calls, among other things, for lemon zest. I will not be zesting a lemon, but I am willing to wait the half hour that the mixture of sockeye, mayo, and breadcrumbs needs to set up in the fridge before cooking. Some things take a little bit of time.
Advent in general, and this Advent in particular, feels to me like time spent setting up in the fridge. I’ve stirred my ingredients up a bit this year, and I have imagined this process as similar to a caterpillar in a chrysalis. Something about that didn’t quite fit though. Metamorphosis involves a worm turning to goo, down to a genetic level. I’m not sure that I could turn to goo, even if I wanted to. I’ve carried plenty of ingredients here: memories, relationships, what I have learned about myself and the world. Even though they don’t sell Blue Plate in the grocery stores here, I still can’t abide Hellmann’s (and Duke’s is an option). Even 1,200 miles removed, I’m still me, just stirred up a little bit.
So it’s time to take time and let things set up a little bit. I suspect that an insufficiently chilled salmon patty will never achieve croquette status if it falls apart in the frying pan. Prematurely opened chrysalides are undoubtedly as gross as butterflies are beautiful. “Be patient, therefore, beloved,” says St. James, “until the coming of the Lord.” Here’s a playlist to listen to while you wait: