By 'poached', I meant 'stolen', heh heh...
I have to admit I haven't read the replies
I'm supposed to be working but I thought I'd throw my opinion in . . . . . I've found interactions with people change after I have met them. They usually become more familiar. You know your talking to a real flesh person. Not just words on a screen. In internet interactions looks don't affect my opinion and interactions all that much. In general I think looks can matter a great deal in some situations and not others. When looking for a mate of course looks are going to matter . . . . I think a lot of that is instinctual . . . . . healthy look = healthy = survival . . . . . but thats probably all my semesters of biology speaking . . . . . It would bother me if people started focusing on my looks and I wouldn't post a picture. One of the reasons I communicate on the internet is because its one of the only places I can momentarily escape our highly visual way of being. I don't want my physicality affecting interactions. Might as well head to the coffee shop then.
cav, p.d. knows not what he speaks. My wife and I are looking forward to that special meal when we see you in Toronto. c.i.
poaching a fish, such a beautiful, noble fish... poached. sniff.
It's a fish...I have first hand experience with the size of their brains...
When are you going to get that Mrs. Cav over HERE? She seems way cool.
Friend of mine in the Ould Country had a salmon fisher's license, and on Sundays, just before the Holy Hour (the closing of the pubs from half two until half four), we would purchase several quarts of Guiness (Murphy's, when available) and of Smithwick's, and then pick-up some new potations, leeks, onions and garlic at the green grocer, and some lamb sausages and eggs at the butcher's, and go over to his house (he was named, ironically, John Kelly, althought irony will only be apparent to those who know me personally), where he would grill salmon and sausage, and we would eat and drink ourselves into the loveliest stupor . . .
Now there is a proper sort of thing to do to a salmon...
I'll take my salmon any way, especially now that the wild stuff is on the market. Grilled is great, especially whole, and pan-seared is very nice for filets. There isn't a cooking method I have not used for salmon, including curing and smoking. So
Incidentally, my 'poaching' method is really more like pouring good dry white wine (or sake, depending on how I will dress it on the plate) around it and baking it in the oven covered with some tarragon. Don't knock it till you've tried it mate. Oddly enough, I have salmon sausages that I look forward to grilling and enjoying with a fair bit of stout....Murphy's is my choice, but Guinness is more widely availible.
Soz, don't think the missus has time for another forum
I've been asking, but I don't think it will be soon.
All right, fair 'nough. The poached examples I've had were damp, flavorless, and utterly wasteful.
That can happen, but it doesn't when I am in the kitchen
Speaking of "poached" salmon, in the days in which we (the use of the first person singular here referring to the wild Kelt, the Irish) enjoyed the tender ministrations of our loving English bretheren, the Salmon rivers and streams were all parcelled up, and one had no right to fish in them, without the permission of the private owner, except, perhaps, so far upstream that the salmon had already mutated, and were largely unfit for eating. Of course, if one is starving, that might make it more palatable, which may explain why my ancestors had that pesky habit of starving in vast numbers, every few generations.
Which brings me back to Christopher John Kelly. Under the new laws of the Republic, the parcels of fishing rights have been divided by game fish species, and are sold as license to take the fish in question. For salmon, only the "lowest" parcels have been retained--if they make it past you to the upper stream or river, they get to breed unhindered, and the stock is maintained. Kelly joined the Royal Marines for six years (i doubt that many Irish have resort to the British armed forces these days), so as to accumulate sufficient funds to buy one such license. And so he works, really works, for a few weeks in each year, and accumulates sufficient capital to pay the base cost of living for the year. Out of season, he takes jobs in house demolition (really likes the work-out he says--the Irish are a very weird people) as it suits his fancy, to keep up the cash flow. I'd sure as hell not want to spend six years in the Royal Marines, but he bought a life style which suits him, and which many would envy.
That's one of the best wedding pictures I have ever seen!
Second only to the one taken just after the formal wedding photo of the whole party at princess Di's wedding, when everybody was falling apart and making hay - that was one of the funniest photos I have ever seen.
If physical appearance is completely irrelavant, I would never have met my wife. c.i.
And, sadly, it ain't just men wot gives women a hard time about beauty and ageing and stuff - although I have to say my own life has been blessedly free of what is implied by that remark.
d-, I might even go so far as to say that women are harder on other women regarding looks than mens is....(mens-is, heh, an unintentional woman pun)
Dlowan, that's part of what I was getting at in examining why I think about this stuff at all. My husband, who is the only person I am trying to attract, is frankly admiring and not shy about saying so. So who do I worry about? If the answer is, salespeople are nicer to me when I'm in full mufti -- men on the street are more likely to glance appreciatively -- other moms at the playground are more likely to strike up a conversation -- is that any reason to do it? Or are such superficial concerns to be scorned?
Yes - this is something I tend to forget about, because it really is not generally something that has happened in my milieu, where the wimmins stick together - I can recall adolescence as a time of goil inflicted trauma, though - though again my own group of friends didn't do that past, oh, say 14...or, more to the point, I think I moved to a different group of friends round about then. Hmmmmm.
It happens in Mrs. cav's office on a daily basis, and she gets horridly caught in the middle...
