Salmon of Knowledge Dinner

In our story, Hazel Moon, featured are a number of Celtic legends, one in particular is about the Salmon of Knowledge. Lori, Nigella Lawson in the kitchen that she is, and I, not bad with the pots and pans myself, were inspired to organize a dinner to honor that legend and our book by cooking some salmon squares over an open fire.

It took about 15 minutes for the fish and veggies to cook and we ended up with that "blackened" accent which turned out to be a taste plus!

Here's an introduction to our Salmon of Knowledge dinner celebration!

Before eating our feast, we read the scenes from our book that told about the Salmon of Knowledge legend. (find the copy below)

We took turns reading from a script of that copy.

After eating our Salmon of Knowledge dinner we continued the theme of the evening by putting together a Salmon of Knowledge puzzle...and...we actually completed the puzzle in about 20 minutes!


SALMON OF KNOWLEDGE SCRIPT

Salmon of Knowledge Legend

NARRATOR: WANTING TO BE AS authentic and knowledgeable as possible, Mrs. Casimir did her homework at the local library on all things to do with the festival. She found out, for example, that the Hazel Moon was the 9^th in the Celtic tree calendar. The Celtic legend goes on to tell a tall tale of nine Hazelnuts of Wisdom falling into a sacred pool and before being swallowed by a salmon, then, whoever ate the salmon would receive the gift of Infinite Wisdom. Looking for a way to share the Celtic story with the festival-goers, Mrs. Casimir cleverly cooked up some salmon patties, cut them into small squares, and offered them for a dollar as she told and retold the ancient tale to each customer.

MRS. CASIMIR: “I know I’ve been given a gift, but it’s not a gift I really wanted, and girls, you should know this too, when gifts are bestowed much good can come from them, but only if you share them. In my case, I only get a brief glimpse into the future, so I have to work on that if I’m going to both help others and make a name for myself as a top-tier fortune teller.”

NARRATOR: Mrs. Casimir paused to take a deep breath and shake her head as she recalled her past.

MRS. CASIMIER: “About getting back on top, I’ve been there, done that, not as a fortune teller, but as an entertainer, made the dinner theater circuit and a few times brought the house down with applause.”

NARRATOR: That remark triggered a distant, but cherished memory in November.

NOVEMBER: “Were…you playing…Mama Rose in Gypsy?”

MRS. CASIMIR: “Yes, girl, I was…way too young for the part at the time, but managed to pull it off. And, just how did you know…?”

NOVEMBER: “When you sang, ‘Everything is Coming Up Roses,’ you had tears running down both your cheeks…I’ll never forget it…you were performing in Rock Island.”

NARRATOR: The memory was bringing back all of the intense emotion November experienced originally.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Well…you’re right…that was 1971…going back a few years.”

NARRATOR: Just then, a brisk wind began circling around them and kept closing in as if they were inside a small tornado.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Why, you are Sarkis’ little girl, aren’t you?”

NARRATOR: November clenched her hands, nodded, but didn’t look up.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Why, I remember now, he called you Novi. I can still see your French pigtails and the yellow Smiley Face T-shirt you were wearing. Yes, you were there!”

NARRATOR: Mrs. Casimir raised her open hand in preparation for a slap-me-five and November reciprocated. November’s father had introduced her to the magical and mystical world of live performance art at a young age. When her household chores were done, he’d take her in search of musicians doing their thing in real time. Sometimes it would just be a soloist on the corner playing a harmonica, other times they’d form a chorus with strangers and sing songs. When working with November on harmony, he would be sure to tell her when the blend was just right. To any musician who would listen, he’d describe the magical parallel universe that could form when the just the right energy bound the performer to the audience and beyond.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Yeah, I remember one night him telling me all about that…he was so right…we shared dandelion wine…and he brought me a glorious bouquet of daisies!”

NARRATOR: Thinking back made Mrs. Casimir blush, her cheeks now as rosy as her tangerine hair.

MRS. CASIMIR: “November…listen now…your father was ahead of his time…a true Arborist of the Moon. Come on girls, try one of my knowledge-marinated Celtic salmon squares!”

NARRATOR: As November shook her head back and forth, grimacing a definite no, Mrs. Casimir turned her attention to working the crowd again, holding up her pan of salmon treats.

ANGELA: “Hey…you know I’m game!”

NARRATOR: Angela said, grabbing a patty and teasing it in front of her tongue.

NARRATOR: Enjoying the show Angela was putting on, a gang of head-bangers encircled her stand.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Boys, there’s plenty of Celtic Ritual Salmon for anyone seeking wisdom, and only a dollar!”

NARRATOR: Caught up in the joy of the moment, everyone began dancing as if circling a maypole on May Day—that is, everyone except November.

NARRATOR: Recalling those memories of her father was a depressing reminder that her childhood was gone. She felt like the muddy shoes she was staring down at—like her insides were just pulled out and put on display and for a time was paralyzed in the maudlin moment. Mrs. Casimir noticed that November was upset. She stepped back from the group of dancers and had to catch her breath before whispering.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Hey, my little Novi, I’ve got something for you.”

NARRATOR: She reached into her patchwork bag and pulled out a tiny gold velvet pouch.

MRS. CASIMIR: “This was given to me by a modern-day saint and I would like you to have it. Remember now, worrywart foreheads are forty-year-old wrinkled foreheads.”

NARRATOR: She then wrapped the pouch in wax paper, tied a yellow grosgrain silk ribbon around it, and placed it in November’s bag. Before saying goodbye, Mrs. Casimir passed on some festival lore that November wasn’t aware of.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Researching the legend of the Hazel Moon, I learned that on this night someone will be bestowed with magical powers, and that someone just might be you, my little Novi!”

NARRATOR: As the legend went, a good stout fellow named Finegas was the one who caught the Salmon of Knowledge, but then gave it to his apprentice to cook, who burnt his thumb when touching the hot, steamed fish, but by sucking his thumb the apprentice stole the coveted wisdom. So, on the Eve of the Hazel Moon knowledge, wisdom, and magic can come and go in unexpected ways. Just then, someone walked up to Mrs. Casimir demanding her full attention.

BYSTANDER: “Hey foxy fortune-teller lady, I’m desperate to have my fortune told…I have a new man in my life and I need to know if he’s going to become the center of my universe!”

MRS. CASIMIR: “Love to, honey…let’s see now, he is a bearded man, is he not?”

NARRATOR: With duty calling, Mrs. Casimir turned back to November and Angela.

MRS. CASIMIR: “Gotta get to work…bye girls, but remember to channel the Hazel Moon energy tonight, it will be all around you…just waiting for someone courageous enough to take a True Step.”