Tuna Time

Do you know the emotional experience of joyful anticipation fighting for dominance over intense sadness? Let me tell you:  I opened my next-to-last 1/2 pint jar of tuna fish this morning to prepare my noon meal. You must understand something about the contents of that little jar to appreciate the feeling of joy I experience knowing I will soon be savoring a gastronomical event so rare that you want to share the moment (but not the tuna fish) with friends.

The sadness comes from knowing there is only one jar left to last until the run next fall of those  Pacific Ocean Albacore treasures. And, God forbid, there are rumors that tuna may be an endangered species that might be hard to find this year.

The tuna fish I write about will not be found on the shelves of your favorite market.  No, no.  My tuna is lovingly processed by family members from fish purchased off a dockside shop in Astoria, Oregon. The secret to the superior taste starts with that fresh from the ocean tuna fish.  Then the hand trimming that ensures that only prime pieces of the fish go into the jar that has been prepared with a teaspoon of lemon juice and a pinch of salt.  Nothing else.  The canning process cooks the oil from the fish and supplies the needed fluid in the jar (jars in storage are turned upside down every month or so to keep the contents refreshed by the oil).

Once you have eaten this tuna it will make the store-bought offering a disappointing come down.  But now I must go prepare my grilled tuna sandwich with the necessary embellishments: a little chopped onion, a little chopped pickle, a little mayo, a few small chunks of cheddar cheese to melt in the grilling.  Lock the doors, take the phone off the hook...it's tuna time.