Kari has always loved to eat it, and it is the reason that we preserve most of our salmon in jars every summer.
It was different when I had it the first time. White bread tasted like air with butter on it, a blank canvas for any taste you could spread there. Lucky for us, Aunt Anna’s new life after marrying Uncle Pud included going to the Oregon Coast, an exotic thing to do, afterward bringing back cases of the salmon they’d caught and canned. Creamed salmon on toast, canned peaches, and sassafras tea was the meal she made for me whenever I was in self-exile from our house up the road. Eating with Aunt Anna restored my status to loved and lucky.
The other salmon aunt was Zola, living in Soldotna when I came to Alaska in 1977. We stayed up into the wee hours canning big silver salmon we’d danced in from the Kenai River. Aunt Zola was always laughing, as giddy as we were at the crowd of shining hot jars on her counter, our first time and her bazillionth.
Decades ago, Jim conceded that creamed salmon on toast was breakfast food. Empty a pint of canned salmon into a saucepan with soft butter and milk, with flour to thicken. Season with salt and pepper and ground nutmeg. Stir while it cooks, then serve over buttered toast. The flavor of the salmon will move over just enough for the flavor of good whole-wheat bread.