Around 1996/97, I worked for CNN as a technical operator. There was an Indian maintenance engineer named Link who worked there. He was well-off and lived in a beautiful Manhattan neighborhood. He ate caviar, of course.
He and I had nothing to do about 7 p.m. for reasons I don’t recall, so we just happened to be doing nothing together. (Holy crap, I just realized this happened a lot in my professional life.) I tended to spend my leisure time with the engineering personnel at every job.)
He’d ask me inside the shop for various reasons every now and then. To teach me anything on occasion. Once, to introduce me to goose liver pate’, which I adored despite its arduous manufacturing process. He also invited me to accompany him on a walk to Macy’s. I inquired as to why.
Because there was a secret treasure in the basement: a hoard of Beluga caviar that only a few people appeared to know about, and he believed he had it all to himself.
No. It was also mine from then on.
I had a lot of credit card debt back then since I was young and made a lot of errors. However, I had fallen in love with caviar and found a means to purchase it. Once a week.
Sure, I like the flavor, but what I liked best was how the caviar enhanced the flavor of the baguette slices and cream cheese. Finding caviar was like discovering an universe I’d never heard of before.
Sudan, Khartoum, 1964. I liked the somewhat fishy flavor, but it wasn’t overpowering, and it wasn’t nearly as salty as I imagined. I liked popping the eggs to get the real flavor. It was genuine Russian Sturgeon Caviar, not the lumpfish caviar that most people are familiar with.