Mom's Salmon Patty Recipe

First, you need a can of salmon. In the ’90s, every food pantry box seemed to have one. That might be true—every box we got had a can of salmon. Good protein. Or whatever my mom said. You had to find something good about every handout, or self-pity would be on the horizon.

Open the can and empty it into a bowl. Use your hands to crush the bones. For those who’ve never opened a can of salmon, it’s canned whole—bones and all. Cooking softens them, though they’re still a little crunchy unless you break them up. At this point, my mom would always remind me, “Good calcium. You won’t ever break a bone eating this.” I’m 38 and have never broken a bone, so it must be true.

Then you add an egg. The recipe calls for breadcrumbs or crackers, but we didn’t always have those. Breadcrumbs were surprisingly pricey in the ’90s for just dried, ground-up bread. Mom insisted almost anything would do. No breadcrumbs? No crackers? No problem. Stale bread, cereal, oatmeal, even rice—or rice cakes—worked. Crush it up, mix it into a dough, pat into patties, fry in oil, and eat.

I made salmon patties last night. Same recipe, but now I always have crackers on hand—name-brand and whole wheat. The egg was organic, cage-free, bougie from Costco. Stuff I’m not sure even existed in the ’90s. It feels good to make and eat salmon patties by choice and nostalgia, rather than necessity.

Funny how the things once hated—the scarlet letter “P” for poor of childhood—can, later, become a security blanket. Scarcity turned to comfort, necessity to nostalgia, shame to something I can hold in my hands and eat.