Fish. Salmon. King salmon. Salmon from the saltwater of southeast Alaska. There is nothing like fresh-caught salmon, nothing. At least not in my world. I like it poached, barbequed, baked, hung on a stick over the fire, wrapped in foil and nestled in the coals, in rice, on rice, as a side to rice. Call me a southeast gal, I’ll gladly do what I can to live up to it. I like king salmon, no doubt about it.
I don’t care for Copper River kings or other fish caught in fresh water. There’s something firm, alive, delicious about a saltwater fish that fights to live among the seagoing predators, is crafty and fast and a sucker for a good flasher or favorite hoochie. There’s nothing like southeast king salmon.
Okay, so I’m partial and biased and prejudiced, and I hope I have the wherewithal to remain that opinionated for the rest of my days. When you buy salmon, be sure of where it comes from, when it was caught, and how it was cared for. It does make a difference.