A Fellow Lover of Smoked-Fish Ends

Dear Diary:

I was crouched in Fairway, squinting at smoked salmon ends, when I sensed someone behind me. I assumed another shopper was waiting to get through the smoked fish, dry salami, won-ton wrapper area, but when I stood and gestured for the white-haired man to pass, he said, “I’m waiting to do just what you’re doing.”

I’ve never met someone else who scrutinizes the bits of nova and gravlax that remain, sold in plastic containers, after the gorgeous pink slices are sheared off.

“What do you look for?” I asked, staring. (I scan for some ineffable quality of juiciness; properly chosen, it’s better than the full-price stuff, but today’s selection was only so-so.)

“I’m not sure,” he said, thoughtfully. The lines on his face suggested he had looked at lox for decades. “That one looks good to me â€" juicy.”

“To me, too.” We smiled.

“Have it,” I said, handing it to him.

“Many supermarkets sell these -” he began.

“ - but it’s best here,” we said, almost simultaneously.

As I shopped, I thought of questions I didn’t ask this stranger who also inspects the appetizing section: Did he enjoy it when bits of sable or sturgeon appeared? Did he agree that it was worse when the pieces were chopped small? Did he eat it straight from the container?

He reappeared, behind me, at checkout. He said, “Not such a good selection today.” I agreed, and looked, with curiosity, at what else he was buying. But the remainder of his cart was unfamiliar.

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