We Learned it From You, Mom // Salmon Tacos with a Spicy Sauce (That Mom Wouldn't Like)
My sister, Emily, stands at the counter rolling out her pasta dough while I pull together ingredients for a salad dressing.
(Allow me to pause in this story just to allow you to take note that this is a pre Covid-19 era. I can only pray it is also a post Covid-19 vaccine era. Continue.)
"Do you have any champagne vinegar mom?" I ask rummaging around in her pantry.
"Champagne vinegar? Oh gosh, no. Do you need me to send your Dad to the store?"
"No, I'll find something else," I brush her off and continue my dig through the refrigerator, which is truly like an excavation. The layers of mold on many of these jars looks like a science lab.
"I have this jar of pickle juice. I use that for salad dressing" my mom offers.
I see an expiration date on the jar, now well in the past, and I give her a discerning look. She rolls her eyes at my judgement and puts it back. Funny how the tables turn over the years.
"Use balsamic vinegar. That would be good," Emily suggests.
"Oh pomegranate juice!" I check the date and give it the sniff test. "I’ll use this. It will go well with the blue cheese. Oh wait, Mom, you don’t eat blue cheese."
"Sure I do. I always eat anything you make."
"Definitely use the blue cheese." Emily interjects. "And maybe I’ll roast up some beets, too."
The stove isn’t on yet and already I feel warm. It’s the comfort of familiarity I sense, my sister and I picking up the rhythm in the kitchen we know so well. Distance, time, obligations—so much keeps us from co-creating meals the way we once did when we shared a city zip code. Text messages back and forth that begin with "have you tried this from Bon Appetite" just don’t carry the same connection. When we come back together, it’s always the kitchen that reconnects us.
As we dance around the big kitchen island, I feel my mom’s eyes on us, witnessing the aftermath of a hurricane to her kitchen as we leave a wake behind our cooking path. (It’s no coincidence we are both married to excellent kitchen cleaners.) But she doesn’t correct us or complain. I think she too feels the warmth, her children together in her kitchen again. Instead a smile crosses her face. "I don’t cook like you girls," she says. "You’re so creative in the kitchen. I could never do that, just come up with ideas on the spot."
"You’re a great cook!" I reply, wanting to repay the compliment. "I learned to cook from you."
But she isn’t wrong. My sister and I can substitute and improvise a dish, listen to it like a melody missing a note. I know that isn’t necessarily my mom’s strength. She is a recipe follower. If it calls for 1/4 teaspoon of pepper, by golly she is going to measure out that 1/4 teaspoon of pepper, no less no more. It takes her twice as long to cook, partly because she focuses so carefully on precise measurements and partially because she is so good at cleaning up after herself when she cooks.
"I don’t know about that," she says, following behind me closing cabinet doors and screwing on lids before putting spices back in the drawer. "You certainly didn’t pick up any of my cleaning habits."
Ah there it is. I smile, also finding comfort in the familiarity of a motherly needling.
**
"I have something for you to write about."
Emily’s text comes in months later, as I clear away the dinner dishes, along with the troubles of the day. Our story shifts now into early Covid times, when every task feels like something from a new world, as if there is a microscope not just on this new disease but on our lives forcefully reexamined. Writing being one of those challenges for me, she has me intrigued.
"I just found salmon at the bottom of my freezer that I turned into the most incredible tacos. I don’t think I ever would have tried it if I hadn’t been forced to cook with what we had. There’s got to be a story in that."
It’s not the first time she has thrown me a writing idea. It’s also not the first time she has sent me an idea that fits right in with my surroundings. Like the right addition to a salad, she knows what to offer me when I need. It’s the balance part of our relationship, still strong even when miles apart.
"Samesies!" I text her back. "I just made soup all from my pantry and freezer! It was amazing."
Suddenly, I think of my mom.
It’s not uncommon to think of our parents when we cook dishes in the kitchen. Those familiar flavors and smells awaken our memories. Maybe it’s that dish she cooked every Christmas dinner, or the special breakfast he made just for you on your birthday. Food engages our senses, especially when flavored with love.
But there was no recipe I cooked from tonight that came from my mom. In fact, there are very few recipes I can say she passed down to me.
It is unusual for my mom to repeat a dish on her weekly menu, was that way when I was a child and still even today. Her kitchen is always filled with stacks of back issued magazines and newspaper clippings, her swirly English teacher cursive marking up the ones she finished and what she thought of them, like they were the essays she once graded in the evenings. I wonder now if this is less as a note to her future self as much as it is a diary of her progress in culinary exploration.
My mom is also known for wasting nothing. As illustrated by the depth of her refrigerator and pantry, she will empty every last drop from a jar or box. It is a personal challenge of hers to hunt for recipes to use up ingredients to clear the pantry, an impossible task as one new recipe often leads to another new ingredient to add to the cabinet. She doesn’t mind. That is part of the process for her, part of the fun.
That is her creativity.
I wish I had told my mom that months ago as she watched Emily and I choreograph dinner in her kitchen. I wish I had told her that just because she doesn’t know how to go off recipe doesn’t mean she wasn’t brave in the kitchen. I wish I had told her that just because she planned her menus and organized her cooking doesn’t mean she wasn’t being creative. Creativity in the kitchen isn't just about cooking edgy foods. Sometimes, it's about making the most from what you have.
Reading that text from my sister tonight, I know where we get our creativity in cooking.
We learned it from you, Mom.
I text back to my sister. "Look at us, using stuff up. Mom would be so proud!"
She sends me the eye roll emoji. I take that to mean she agrees.
***
My sister and I are different in many ways. She is driven and scholarly, athletic and logical. I am heart-driven and whimsy, artistic and lyrical. We get a little bit of all of those elements from our parents and their very different personality structures. I suppose that’s why we work so well together, we create just the right balance.
Recipes are the same way. They are strong only by the ingredients that balance—heat to cool, acid to sweetness, crunchy to smooth. The best dishes have a bit of it all. It’s the process in finding just the right balance of each ingredient that the creativity shines.
That is what this dish is all about.
I recreated this taco after my sister texted me because, well, I needed to write about it, like she said. Born out of necessity, inspiring creativity. Two of the best ingredients to begin with any dish.
She was not wrong. These tacos are amazing. If we made them for our mom, she would love them too. She would follow every detail in the recipe and mark on the margins of the recipe “Yum! Delish!” Then again, she loves everything we make. Except for that spicy sauce, though. She cannot handle the heat. Not even a hint of it. If you are like my mom (and I’m sorry for you) maybe use a little paprika? Or a mild salsa you know you like? Or maybe, as my dad would say, suck it up?
Grilled Salmon Taco with a Spicy Sauce (That Mom Wouldn’t Like)
1 ½ pounds boneless salmon filets
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon dried oregano
½ teaspoon fine sea salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
Torillas
Cilantro Lime Slaw (below)
Calabrian Cream (below)
Mix together the chili powder, cumin, oregano, salt and black pepper together. Dry salmon with paper towels, brush on all sides with oil, and sprinkle evenly with the seasoning mixture. Place on medium grill until the internal temperature of the salmon reaches 135-145°F*. You can also test for doneness by inserting a fork or knife in the salmon and twisting it a bit; the fish should be opaque and flake easily. Serve tacos with slaw and cream, lots of it.
Cilantro Lime Slaw
1/2 pound purple or green shredded cabbage
2 T very thinly sliced red onion, more to taste ( or sub 1/4 cup green onion)
½ cup chopped cilantro ( packed)
2 T fresh lime juice + zest of 1 lime, more to taste
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, more to taste
Mix everything together and let sit for at least 15 minutes to meld flavors.
Calabrian Cream
The tacos were made by this sauce. And the sauce was made by the Bombas. I suppose you could use red pepper flakes or hot sauce. But I just don’t think it would be the same. If you can get some of this jarred heaven in hell (or is it hell in heaven, it’s hard to say), I suggest you do. It’s that good. Even better on pizza.
Also, I’ll be honest, this recipe is a total guess. I just mixed stuff together until I liked the balance of heat to cool. It’s a taste thing. You’re gonna have to try it out yourself. What I’m saying is you might have to not be my mom just for a second and ignore the recipe. Insert nervous face emoji. I would apologize to my mom but she’s not going to make this sauce anyway.
1/4 C mayo
1/4 C sour cream or yogurt
2 T Calabrian chili paste, such as Italian Bombas from Trader Joe’s, more or less to heat preferences
Mix all together. Taste for heat. Let sit for a bit for flavors to come together. Douse taco.
This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series "The Story of a Recipe.”
PS. For more stories, and the occasional recipe, you can sign up for my newsletter, the Raise & Shine Letter , where I share mid month what catches my attention, and what I want to remember.