Tribute

Tonight i had caviar, the American Sevruga, malossol. Malossol is Russian for "little salt". Love when one language resonates another.

By the way, Caviar is a brand. Who knew? Without it, we'd be saying "salted fish roe" all the time! And how cumbersome would that be?!

I gingerly opened the vial. Quite frankly, the unsightly grey nodules repulsed me. I mean they'd be Quasimoto in the presence of the Esmeralda that is tobiko. But i was determined in the undertaking.

I recall the night i made the purchase. The clerk, who couldn't have been more than 22, grinned and asked, "So... is this stuff any good?"

"You know," i replied. "It's been almost two decades since i last had it. I've decided it was time to see if i would like it today."

The kid's smile froze. Not a response he was expecting, ay.

Indeed the first and last time i had caviar, i was at the ripe age of 18, visiting my uncle, my mother's baby brother, in Belgium. Who within a few years would die of liver cancer before turning 45. But we all thought he was healthy as an ox back then. No matter his beer gut, frequent whoring, and a wife who was in and out of mental institutions. Sure, everything was looking fine.

And tonight, i decide that i love caviar. Just like i did back then.

It's seafood! It's raw! It tastes like minerals. What's not to like?!??

Now, i know that you're probably not supposed to have these babies in a soy sauce dish, sans sophisticated crackers. But scooping is SO much more fun!

And i'm grateful that my wild uncle, whom i barely knew as a person, introduced me to this strange delicacy. He and i would've had some fun chats today. That much i'm sure of. Sometimes mitochondria are the most special gift you could share with someone.