Exercise: Quick Office Poems

One of the ways I get through the work week is to recognize the distinct, often beautiful, just as often horrible happenings in the midst of the mundanity. We forget most of what happens in our daily lives: the memories we make are usually of the big, wonderful or terrible milestones, not the simple pleasure of a free doughnut in the breakroom or the frustration of deleting a document by mistake. I take a couple of minutes to jot these thoughts down, then when I go back and read them, it’s easy to recreate the little moments, feelings that would otherwise be lost with all the other “unimportant” details of the average day.

Here’s a random selection:

Untitled

Isn’t it true these days that

One of the problems of living in modern times, with keyboards, computers and

Mouses all designed to ergonomically fit our every need,

Sometimes we can type faster than we can think?

I almost feel like it’s a shame that I’m almost always composing when I’m typing, rather than

Just putting down thoughts that I have already had.

The other part of the time, you’re thinking so much faster than you can type that you keep

Making error after error, after error, and damn, it’s hard to type all those R’s at once, and

It just breaks your train of thought to have to keep going back:

Delete, delete, delete.

And then that Outlook window pops up at the bottom of the screen, and I’m done.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Two Liner

Walked by a big, red fire hydrant today on the way to the FedEx box

And thought, “Well now, ain’t that just the way it’s supposed to be?”

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Untitled 2

Feels like Friday,

But It’s Not.

Blech.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Haiku to a Pen

It’s the perfect pen.

Rolls out thick blue curls of ink,

That seep through the page.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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The Madrigal Chronicles: Coup de Grâce

I’ve been putting off writing the final installment of the Madrigal Chronicles for a while now, because my favorite Madrigal memory makes for a rather long story that’s hilarious when told right and slightly less than hilarious if the details get mixed up. I had the pleasure recently of recounting it for a good friend, though, and that’s given me the energy to finally commit it to (virtual) paper.

This story almost always comes up when people start discussing the famous people they’ve met/seen/made a fool of themselves in front of, and always begins with me saying, “I met Diane Sawyer.”

Someone inevitably replies, “Really? How did that happen?” and I’m forced to admit,

“Well, this one time…I was on Good Morning, America.” And of course, there’s no coming back from that statement. Details must be divulged. So I usually start at the beginning.

My senior year of high school went by as a blur of college applications, AP exams, dances and performances. Among the senior Madrigals, there was that bittersweet emotion of impending nostalgia with the realization that this would be our last time grudgingly performing at the Renaissance Festival or Christmas caroling at the local outdoor shopping center. Each spring, the group would take an exciting trip to a place of historical significance with some sort of vocal performance scheduled. In previous years, we had visited Washington, DC to sing in the National Cathedral on Easter Sunday, and traveled along the coasts of Ireland for a performance at Yorkminster Abbey. Both of those trips were full of awe-inspiring displays of famous monuments, architecture, and culture. This year, the National Youth Choir had been scheduled to convene in New York City at Carnegie Hall, under the leadership of a famous African-American musician known for leading his choir in powerful renditions of Negro spirituals. Hearing a gaggle of primarily classically trained, middle class white kids belting out My Soul is a Witness proved entertaining in perhaps a different way than the organizers had planned, but I digress.

Being 18 and visiting New York for the first time with a group of people your own age is nothing short of pure joy. Having always lived in a rural area (we didn’t have neighbors or street lights), I thought of myself as a country girl and was delighted to discover the crush of the city as a welcome change from the slowness of everyday life in North Carolina. When we weren’t rehearsing, the Madrigals roamed the streets in small groups. There were famous places to be seen, delicious foods to be eaten, kitschy souvenirs to be bought. We rode to the top of the Empire State building and rushed, giggling, through Times Square. One evening, I was walking with a few other girls when we saw, coming out of an inconspicuous building, two of the stars of the (then very popular) HBO series OZ. Apparently, it’s atypical for teenaged girls to be fans of hyper realistic prison dramas, because I was the only one to recognize them.  Still, I was totally starstruck. I had always imagined breezing through my first celebrity encounter, maybe making a joke or silently nodding in the celebrity’s direction, acknowledging his or her existence, but respectful of his or her right to privacy. The real way it went down was this: I stopped short, and stared. Then I exclaimed, a little too loudly, “Hi!” The two men look at me, and one of them smiled politely and returned the greeting as their limousine pulled up to the curb. Mildly embarrassed, I mumbled, “Sorry,” and rushed to catch up with my friends. Going over the event later in my mind, I resolved that next time, I would do better. In New York City, there was no telling when you might run into someone famous; you had to be prepared at all times. In my next brush with fame, I resolved, I would maintain dignity at any cost.

On one of our final nights in the city, the Madrigal choir leader gathered us all in the lobby of our hotel to announce that we should be prepared to awake by 5 the next morning and be ready to walk across the neighborhood by 5:30. “We are,” she explained, “going to be on television. Oh, and you should wear your costumes.” She said this almost as an afterthought, as though the prospect of pilgriming across Times Square dressed in clothing from the sixteenth century was no big deal. Apprehensively, we climbed into bed hours earlier than usual, dreaming of the embarrassment that surely awaited us when we woke.

The next morning, it was cold and dark, but the bright lights of the city raised our spirits. We chatted cheerfully through breakfast and our stroll through the Square. Such was the strangeness and anonymity of this town that only a few of the people we passed even gave us a second look. I took this a good sign. When we arrived at the tall, glass front of ABC News headquarters, it was already mobbed by hundreds of eager fans and tourists with signs, costumes and gimmicks designed to attract the attention of cameras and casting agents. Surely we won’t get in, I thought, optimistically. We waited, huddling together, sleepy and cold (grateful for once for our woolen capes and hats) and took in the madness. The choir director suddenly appeared in front of us, her face lit with the glow of triumph. “We’re on!” She said. Glancing nervously at one another, we filed through the entrance of the studio into a green room for briefing.

A snappily dressed young casting agent in a headset approached us, smiling. “OK,” he explained, “here’s the deal. We have you booked for a two-minute interval in between our regular segments. Do you have something prepared that you could use to fill that time?” We looked at each other, nodding. Years of performing on cue and with a moment’s notice, like little dancing monkeys, had endowed us with a spectacular ability to improvise. We decided on a short but melodic piece from the 1600s that would show America our skill and what the Madrigals were all about. The staff bustled us into the main taping room, where Diane Sawyer was discussing the latest pop culture stories with her cohosts and doling out 15 minutes of fame like lollipops to enthusiastic guests. Our group tittered, simultaneously excited and dreading our national television debut. As time wore on, it became obvious that the show was running behind script. Our agent returned again and again, each time looking a little more disheveled, his headset slightly more tilted atop his carefully groomed coiffe. Two minutes, we’re on for two minutes in twelve, he mouthed at us, then, signaling from across the room, One thirty, one minute and thirty seconds, one minute, definitely the full minute, how about half a minute, can we do that? Finally, he marched our way, obviously miffed by at having to appease a group of teenagers from one of the bumpkin states south of his own city’s border. “We’re out of time,” he said, bluntly. “I’ve tried everything, but we just can’t make it happen. Unless…. would you be willing to hum behind the weatherman?” he asked, mostly joking.

A devilish smile crossed our choir director’s face. “I have just the thing,” she exclaimed, reaching into her bag and producing a large sack of kazoos we had used as part of a performance of Seaside Rendezvous (always a crowd favorite). My stomach dropped. Apparently our foray into the national entertainment circuit would be neither a reflection of our special talents, nor the least bit dignified. I could have walked away then; I’m sure we all thought about it. But when you get the opportunity to do something you’ve never done before, something that will get you noticed in the short term and be a great story for years to come, you do it. Even if that something is kazooing a Freddy Mercury song in a medieval costume behind a nationally recognized weatherman. We buzzed and smiled and hammed it up for the cameras like the good natured, attention craving performance artists we really were.

After the broadcast, my parents’ phone started ringing like crazy. “I saw Emily on TV!” said cousins and teachers and friends from church. None of the other students at our high school had seen it (they weren’t up that early), so the buzz we created was mild, brief and contained. As for the footage, I’m sure it’s laying around the studio somewhere, just another goofy footnote in the archives of a day within a month within a year. Any time I think about the experience, I sigh with relief that YouTube hadn’t been invented yet.

This is the last story I want to write about my time with the Madrigals, and I think it’s an appropriate one. We had begun to arrange our trip in early 2001. No one could have anticipated the events of September 11th. When the time for our trip came in February of 2002, we decided to go ahead with our plans in the Big Apple, despite having to make several adjustments, including finding a hotel that hadn’t been destroyed by the attacks. I recall driving up the highways of the East Coast, seeing the crumbled, blackened walls of the Pentagon from behind the windows of our tour bus and, later, standing somberly in front of the chain link fence, covered with teddy bears and flowers that marked the tragedy at Ground Zero. I felt something that I could hardly describe, sensing a new phase of American history that just happened to coincide with my generation’s entrance into adulthood. Only two years later, I remembered that feeling, lighting candles at a memorial in Madrid the week after the March 11th train bombing. Today, and especially in light of recent events across the globe, that atmosphere of precariousness, of the vulnerability of our society and the fragility of human life, is all too familiar. How much we have all learned since then about death, terror, globalization and the politics of oppression. For memories like these happy moments with my peers and teachers, where we laughed and enjoyed ourselves, even in the shadow of such devastation, and when the promise of our own potential seemed stronger than any foreign or domestic threat, I am particularly grateful. The Madrigals taught me as much as any other force in my life about community, humility, compassion and hope for the future.

Also, I just happen to have found a video of the King’s Singers performing a great version of Seaside Rendezvous. Lyrics are below. Enjoy!

Seaside – whenever you stroll along with me I’m merely contemplating what
you feel inside meanwhile I ask you to be my Clementine –
You say you will if you could but you can’t – I love you madly –
Let my imagination run away with you gladly –
A brand new angle – highly commendable – Seaside Rendezvous –
I feel so romantic – can we do it again
Can we do it again sometime,
Fantastic, c’est la vie mesdames et messieurs
And at the peak of the season, the
Mediterranean -, this time of year, it’s so fashionable,
I feel like dancing – in the rain,
Can I have a volunteer –
Dancing – what a damn jolly good idea –
It’s such a jollification – as a matter of fact, so tres charmant my dear –
Underneath the moonlight – together we’ll sail across the sea –
Reminiscing every night
Meantime – I ask you to be my valentine
You said you’d have to tell your daddy you can I’ll be your Valentino –
We’ll ride upon an omnibus and then the casino –
Get a new facial – start a sensational –
Seaside Rendezvous – so adorable,
Seaside Rendezvous – ooooOOO
Seaside Rendezvous -give us a kiss.. oooo ooooo!!

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Quick Recipe: Brownie in a Mug

Hi Everyone!
It’s been a busy past few weeks. Traffic has been heavy and I’ve been getting home around 5:45 on the average night, meaning that our dinners have been quick and simple to prepare lately. As a result, I have fewer go-to ingredients, like milk and eggs, just laying around to play with on the weekends. I spent yesterday making delicious gazpacho, 5 minute Artisan Bread and savory French Tarragon Vinaigrette. This morning I woke up and thought, “man, it would be nice to make pancakes or waffles or something sweet for breakfast,” but with coffee already brewing, we didn’t really have the time or motivation to go to the grocery store. Enter this Stumble-Upon recipe: Brownie in a Mug. Check out the original post:

http://blog.gopromos.com/how-to-make-brownie-in-a-mug/

I was a little skeptical, but the desire for delicious chocolately goodness was stronger than my cynicism.
Here’s how it goes:
First, gather your ingredients:

1/4 cup flour (I used cake flour, but it probably doesn’t matter)

1/4 cup sugar (brown would be okay, too)

a pinch of salt

2 tbs. cocoa powder

2 tbs. oil (the original recipe called for olive, but ew! why? I think vegetable or canola is better)

3 tbs. water
Directions:

1. Combine the dry ingredients in a mug. One with more top surface area is good.


Add the wet ingredients and stir it all up:

It might be a little lumpy. Don’t worry about that; you’re making a brownie in a mug, probably in your pajamas, not tea for Queen Elizabeth. Just roll with it. Pop that sucker in the microwave for 2-3 minutes (depending on how gooey you like your brownie).

Give your brownie a few minutes to cool. Or, if you’re having the same kind of morning I was, chomp down immediately and just deal with the burnt tongue. Next time, I think I’ll add a little vanilla or almond extract to the mix for a more complex flavor (yes, that sounds silly in a recipe for mug brownie. But no need to compromise your discerning tastes). This makes a lot of brownie. You could easily make a half recipe (remember to reduce cooking time if you do) or split it with someone else. My husband was happy to polish off what was left over of mine. It paired perfectly with our morning coffee.

Double muggin’ it.

I guess the moral of this post is, even if “cooking” means microwaving stuff in a cup, hey, if that’s where you are, take pride in it.

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Write Right: Where Did My Creativity Go?

This post is from a series that I’m trying to get started: lunch break prompts. Sometimes when I get home in the evening, I just don’t feel like sitting down at another computer to write. The obvious solution is to fill that empty lunch hour with a little stream of consciousness writing to snap myself out of the workday-haze. It’s proving pretty invigorating and re-energizing so far.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the creative process lately and what it means to be creative as an adult: can you really be creative at work? What happens to our creativity when we’re all grown up?

I often see adults, watching children (theirs or other people’s) lamenting their loss of energy just when they have begun to need it most. It seems unfair. As we become professionals, spouses, close friends and parents, we pack our schedules with more and more even as our will to keep up flags at a contradictory rate. I think the same thing happens with creativity. The older we are, the more we need it, yet we seem unable to call upon the parts of our brain that, as children, enabled us to pretend that we were princesses, spidermen, ponies, spies. Almost every child writes plays, composes music, and invents their own world on a daily basis, whereas when an adult manages to do those things, we consider it commendable, even remarkable. Adults content themselves with chores; cooking, cleaning, classes and caring for pets and children fills our free time and becomes our diversion.

Why does it seem so hard to be creative as an adult? I think it’s partly that the creative learning process has failed us.

Writing has always been relatively easy for me; in my earliest school days, I could write poems, stories, even essays, and have compete confidence that they were good. As an avid reader, I knew how to write before being taught. Mimesis, a tried and true tactic according to Aristotle and Charles Caleb Colton (“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” was an oft-quoted phrase in our sibling-rivalry filled household), led naturally from reading to writing. I remember feeling uncomfortable for the first time as we began grappling with the quantification of writing: one thesis, five paragraphs, two supporting statements for every claim. Many of us already knew the proportions, to an extent. But the amount of time we spent turning language, a naturally qualitative practice, into a predictable formula, shook our confidence with its severity. We hammered out different versions of the same thing, time after time, like a painting class where everyone attempts the same subject. Ut pictura poesis, but not, as far as I can tell, like a paint-by number. The rest of our education was packed with teachers trying desperately to convince us that two sentences also make a perfectly decent thesis, that six paragraphs can make just as compelling an argument as five, that it’s okay for students to break the mold sometimes. “You’re the ones who crammed us in there,” we wanted to say. Certainly there were children who needed to learn, step by step, how to write; you can’t account for everything in planning standardized curriculum. Still, I think this is the wrong way to learn writing. Teach children to read. Better yet, teach them to love to read. As the Twilight series, literary value aside, has shown us, it isn’t hard to get kids as old as teenagers to do. If they read enough, and are asked to evaluate what they read, they’ll become better writers. Let them loose on the world with their own style and thoughts and a slew of other people’s words in their heads and then teach them to trim down, not limit themselves to the recipe for a perfect test answer. It’s a shame that so many students, now adults, have probably missed out on their full potential as creators of the written word.

So how can we tap back into our creativity after being brainwashed into the rigidity of proscribed creative processes? In my experience, it’s like getting into a chilled swimming pool. It’s uncomfortable at first, but after splashing around a little, you become acclimated and, before you know it, you’re thoroughly enjoying the water. You do as many laps as you want, then you go home at night and sleep a little more soundly (journal-writing is a good treatment for chronic insomnia).

It’s time for us to unlearn the writing formulas from grade school and take some inspiration from the times before we knew of any thought boxes or glass ceilings. That means trying to remember that writing shouldn’t always be work. Sometimes it’s play. Enjoy it.

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Beach Pics: North Carolina

This is what relaxation looks like!

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Bad Blogger

Well, it’s been over a month since my last post, the longest I’ve gone without writing since starting this blog. I was feeling a little disappointed in myself when I found myself reading this article on the NYT:


http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/30/the-busy-trap/

It got me to thinking of all the things that have been keeping me busy lately and whether they’re worthwhile. Mostly, real life: time with my husband, family and friends; work; exercise; taking care of my pets and home; has been interfering with virtual life (blogging, Pinterest, Facebook, LinkedIn, etc). My first instinct is to think, “Good riddance.” After all, it’s the real things that we live for, right?

But then it occurred to me that it’s not all that simple. The things that might not be, strictly speaking, “real” in my physical life are all too often the most real in my mental world: reading, writing and getting excited about new things. So what really happened was that I got stuck in a rut of doing the same things over and over despite the fact that I wasn’t feeling very interested in them. I needed something to jolt me out of it. Luckily, the hubs and I were able to escape to the North Carolina coast for a few days with my parents and some friends to relax.

During the time we were there, I still didn’t feel the need to blog or Pin anything, but it seems we were at least able to reset our brains and enjoy life for awhile. Instead of succumbing to the passivity of routine, we did things because we wanted to. In managing some anxiety, I’ve learned a little bit about mindfulness over the past several weeks, and it seems to extend to just about anything you can imagine. In this case, mindfulness is the active appreciation of things, in work or leisure. It’s the opposite of busyness, that just barely sentient state where we all live at least some of the time. And that, I think, is how you get out of “the busy trap.” Instead of feeling guilty about what we should or shouldn’t be doing, we can tap into the things we enjoy and let them play a more active part in our own lives.

I’m making a commitment to be more mindful; to make an effort to do better to be active in my own life and enjoy it rather than living it like a spectator. So hopefully you’ll be seeing more regular posts from Sense of Me because I’ll have so many wonderful new things to share.

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Four (Easy) Ways to Cook Salmon

Today, I’d like to pay tribute to one of those ingredients that has it all: fresh salmon. It tastes amazing and is great for you, too. I’ve heard that a lot of people are intimidated by cooking fish; it has to be used not too long after buying and so many fish recipes are just overly complicated. So here are 4 very simple salmon recipes you can prepare easily and with just a few ingredients.

Note: All these recipes make 2-4 portions, but because they are really just ratios of simple ingredients, you can make more or less as long as you keep the proportions about the same. Also, it’s a pretty good rule of thumb that a typical salmon fillet needs to bake about 30 minutes at between 350-400 degrees Fahrenheit (obviously it will be different if you use a different cooking method). So you can experiment with these recipes without worrying too much about adjusting baking time and temperature. Finally, don’t forget to wash the fillets and pat them dry before doing anything else with them. I haven’t included that step in the directions for any of these, but you should always do it to get rid of the fishy smell and any bacteria that may have accumulated on the fish’s surface.

Recipe 1: Simple Basted Salmon

Ingredients:

2 salmon fillets

1-2 cloves minced garlic

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

crushed red chili flakes

salt and freshly ground pepper

Optional: 2 tsp. minced fresh herbs, such as rosemary,

-or- 1 tsp. dried Italian herb mix

Instructions:

1.Preheat oven to 375. Place the fillets, skin side down, in a foil-lined or greased baking pan or sheet. 2. Combine the oil, lemon juice, garlic and chili flakes in a bowl. Whisk together until the rest of the ingredients are well incorporated into the oil. Pour the mixture onto the fish and spread it on evenly. 3. Season the fillets with the salt and pepper and place them in the oven. 4. Bake 25-30 minutes. Make sure you turn on the oven fan as the garlic will brown and may smoke a little. Serve with a fresh green salad or (my favorite), green beans baked with the same ingredients as the fish.

Recipe 2: Honey Ginger Salmon

Ingredients:

2 salmon fillets

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 1/2 tablespoons freshly grated ginger

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon honey

Directions: 1. Preheat oven to 350. Place the fillets in a foil-lined pan. 2. Combine the oil, mustard, honey and ginger in a bowl and whisk them together. Spread evenly over the fillets, making sure to cover all the fish without letting too much of the mixture spill onto the foil (it will burn). 3. Bake for 25-35 minutes, checking the inside of the fish to make sure it’s done. Serve with salad, corn or asparagus and couscous spiced with cinnamon, salt, pepper and cayenne with raisins.

Both of the following are from the Williams-Sonoma Fish Cookbook. I’ve simplified the formulas a little bit, but if you want to read the originals, you’ll have to buy the book. I couldn’t find them online.

Grilled Salmon with Fennel and Apple Salsa

Salsa Ingredients:

1 fennel bulb, trimmed and chopped

1 Granny Smith apple, cored and chopped (leave peel on)

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

salt and pepper

fennel seeds

Salmon Ingredients:

4 fillets

1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

2 teaspoons sugar

1/4 cup prepared barbecue sauce

Directions:

1. Heat the grill. 2. Stir together the barbecue sauce, sugar and 1/2 cup lemon juice. 3. Score the skin on the salmon by making a few diagonal slits along the bottom, then lay the fish in the marinade, skin side up. Allow to sit for 10 minutes, no more. 3. Make the salsa by combining the fennel, apple, 3 tbs lemon juice, salt and pepper. 4. Remove the salmon from the marinade and reserve the excess. 4. Throw a couple of teaspoons of fennel seeds directly onto the coals, then lay the salmon, skin side up, directly over the heat. Leave for 5 minutes before flipping, then cook 3 mins on the other side. Check that it is cooked through and give it longer if necessary. 5. Meanwhile, boil the excess marinade on the stove for 2 minutes (this is necessary to kill any bacteria from the raw fish). Plate by spooning the salsa onto the plate first, then laying the salmon on top and drizzling it all with the boiled marinade. Add extra fennel seeds and fronds for garnish if you’re feeling fancy. Serve with all the classic barbecue favorites (potato salad, please!).

Salmon en Papillote

“En Papillote” means “in paper,” in this case, parchment paper. It sounds fancy and looks impressive, but is really very simple to prepare. The paper protects the fish from drying out and steams the vegetables perfectly. Just make sure you follow the steps and don’t leave any ingredients out and you can’t go wrong! I find some of the Williams-Sonoma instructions kind of cumbersome and unnecessary, so I’ve taken them out. But if anything’s unclear, just defer to their recipe and you should be set. Also, their version is with halibut, but you could probably throw in just about any fish as long as you adjust the baking time for a less dense fish, like tilapia.

Ingredients:

4 salmon fillets

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice

1 scallion (green onion), minced

1 chile pepper, like jalapeno or serrano, minced

2 cloves garlic, minced

salt and pepper

1 large carrot, peeled and shredded

2 leeks, julienned (cut into narrow strips about 3 inches long)

2 celery stalks, julienned

2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley (you could also sub cilantro)

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted (you could use olive oil instead)

4 tablespoons dry white wine or sherry (or I’ve even seen some recipes use Champagne!)

1 egg white, beaten (if you’re not down with eggs, try olive oil or butter)

Directions:

1. Preheat the oven to 425. Spread the parchment paper on a work surface and cut out 4 large pieces of about 16 x 20 inches. Fold the paper in half and trace half a heart shape onto it, then cut both sides you so end up with a symmetrical heart of paper. 2. Mix together the lime juice, green onion, garlic, chile pepper and salt and pepper. Pour this over the fish. 3. Combine the veggies in a bowl and mix them up. 4. Place the paper hearts in a baking dish, still folded in half. Sprinkle a little butter inside the heart. Place one fish fillet inside each heart so that they are covered by the top half of the paper. Divide the vegetables into 4 portions and place on top of the fish fillets, then sprinkle the whole thing with the remaining butter, the wine, and salt and pepper. 5. Now the tricky part: brush the top and bottom sides of each paper heart with the egg white. Imagine it’s crafts class and the egg white is your glue. Once the edges are coated, start at the top of the heart and roll the edge so the salmon and veggies are sealed inside. Once you get to the bottom of the heart, twist the paper and tuck it under the whole package. Brush with more egg white if you need to. 6. Once you’ve done this with each fillet, bake the package for about 20 minutes. Remove the packages and carefully (they will be hot), tear or cut them open. You can eat this in the paper or gently shake it out onto your plate. This dish is great with rice or bread and a decent bottle of wine.

So there you have it! 4 great salmon recipes! Hope you’re all having a fabulous Saturday!

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