She left the door open, though so the mosquitoes came in, and went further into the incredibly spacious kitchen. A brick, wood-fired oven began with her eyes one, whitewashed and with a closed hatch. The house had to come from the beginning of last century. A massive pine table, the kind like you get to see them in the cereal ad. Untreated kitchen chairs with high, straight back, leached pine tree trunks, small checkered curtains in the seventies, almost no flower pots. The dishes piled beside the sink. A cutting board was a smell of fish. Therese opened the refrigerator door, and there was the salmon. Filleted, with coarse salt and white pepper in a glass form. Only the fattest part, the rest he must have been frozen. Before Sonny had interrupted him. The meat was surprisingly pale. Wild salmon compare, not with this Krabbenschalenrot the Norwegian farmed.
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