I’m lazy about doctor’s visits. I go once a year because I enjoy sticking around taking up air and they won’t refill my few meds if I don’t show my face. Coming from a doctor’s family, as a child if I so much as swiped at the end of my nose something disgusting on a spoon was stuck in my mouth and I ended up under the covers with adults hovering over me speaking in hushed tones. I’m surprised they didn’t light candles and summon a priest. I managed to cover the bases in childhood diseases so transitioned smoothly from measles to mumps to whooping-cough keeping them on their toes and the chocolates and stuffed animals flowing, both of which I got when I was sick. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up to be an overweight hypochondriac with a bad case of acne and a bed full of teddy bears.
Last week before we left on our trip to the Bay Area I had to stop by the lab and have them poke and prod at me to get their pint of blood. In particular, I don’t like this because once they get all that information on what your body’s doing when you’re not looking can most likely lead to more medications being prescribed or God know’s what. Blissful ignorance has its merits. Yesterday, I reported to the Doctor’s office to get the results of their nosing about in my bloodstream, and find out what guilty pleasures they were going to deprive me of this time.
After reading the medical journals and bass fishing magazines provided to pass the hour and a half in the waiting room, I was ushered into an examining room and left to memorize the delightful charts displayed on the wall laying out everything that could possibly go wrong with you from scurvy to mange. The only other object in the room was a life size replica of female reproductive organs and a jar of cotton balls. Life is good. Snore. A half an hour later my doctor entered the room all smiles and apologies and gave me the alloted fifteen minutes of his undivided attention. It seems that I’m a rather healthy specimen for what they’ve left me to work with. Over the years doctors have helped themselves to a part here and there during my life, so what’s left I’d like to hold onto so I at least show up in an exray. The only slight malfunction at this juncture was that my bad cholesterol is slightly elevated. Ach.
It seems that the solution, or part of the solution, to this problem is an apple a day, no French fries (What, isn’t that illegal?), occasional potato chips, limited red meat, and tons of salmon. Now I grew up in Nova Scotia and whether or not it was because I had salmon mixed in with my oatmeal, it’s the one fish I can hardly get down. Apples are truly the only fruit that I don’t like raw, and French fries, well, are there words to describe the deprivation? Just shoot me, please. The good news is I just bought a lovely chub of filet mignon at Costco that is waiting for me in vacuum sealed bags in the downstairs freezer. Now, I take all this as moderating not obliterating these behaviors. The number is only marginally high and Susie’s got to have some red meat, seriously. A girl cannot live on apples alone, or at all in my case. Eve should have gone for the wildebeest in my opinion.
I know I’m pretty fortunate. I’m just facing my sixties with the rest of my baby boomers, I take very little medication and I wake up moving in high gear. However, just once I’d like to leave a physician’s office with instructions to go home smoke a pack of cigarettes (I’ve given them up), pour myself a shot of Jack Daniels, eat a large filet with double blue cheese on top with a fully loaded baked potato on the side, wash it down with a chocolate eclair, and call him in the morning. There’s a prescription a normal person can live by. Salmon. Really? I’m cursed by the fish. As a child we had salmon cakes, salmon loaf, salmon salad, whole salmon, poached salmon, smoked salmon, if they could have baked it into bread we would have had lovely pink loaves lined up in the pantry.
I heard a talk show this morning that was discussing that the generation behind us isn’t wholly embracing the fact that the group in this generation are probably going to hang around for a while. I can understand that things are stretched a bit thin and the world is undergoing some serious and unsettling changes no doubt. Sorry, I’m still going to eat the apple and consume the salmon, even if I have to create the first apple and salmon slushy.
Hey, this is the beginning of my new art website. Take a look if you have a moment.
Have a great day!
2 Tbsp. butter
1 garlic clove, minced
1 1/2 Tbsp. flour
1 cup hot heavy whipping cream
1 1/2 Tbsp. grated Parmesan cheese
1 tsp. paprika
1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp. salt or to taste
2 egg yolks, well beaten
1 Tbsp. brandy
1 Tbsp. sherry
1 1/2 cups cooked salmon, flaked
1/4 tsp. dry mustard
Melt 2 Tbsp. butter in a saucepan over low heat. Add garlic and cook for 3 mins. Whisk in flour and cook roux for 2 mins. without browning. Gradually add hot cream to mixture and cook until sauce thickens and takes on a smooth texture. Add salt and cayenne. Adjust to taste. Add Parmesan cheese, paprika, dry mustard. Pour sauce very slowly over 2 well-beaten egg yolks stirring constantly. In double boiler cook sauce over boiling water stirring constantly for 3 mins. Add brandy and sherry and stir in salmon. Serve on toast points or over patty shells.