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I worked on one of those fish farms in '91 : floating clusters of nets holding salmon raised to be sold, etc.
Mortalities were worthless, even the super-fresh ones. The morts would be dead but their gills would still be pink, so you know they were fresh.
On discovery, all work would pause. One person, with the speed and care one would give an organ donor, would ferry this mort and any others off to the adjacent farm with the smoker someone built on the detached workshop section.
Fresher than fresh, this poor fishy would be cleaned and prepped and in it would go. When she and her friends came out, it was amazing salmon.
Good times.
I bought a pack of trader joes smoked salmon to take to a brunch last weekend but I couldn't end up making it, and I ended up eating the whole thing myself over a few days.
It was a revelation.