Getting Ready for Act III

I'm nervous already.  The herring salad is up next.

Hjalmar informs Gina that he's invited not just their new tenant, Gregers, ("we could hardly avoid it") but also their two downstairs neighbors, Relling and Molvik, for lunch "(just the tiniest little midday snack").  Gina, the steward of the family funds, is unpleasantly surprised.  Hjalmar, oblivious, warns her not to make it too skimpy.  "Good Lord, a couple sandwiches more or less, what's the difference?"

My younger brother and sister and I were best friends with our next door neighbors (Jenny, Mandy and Jay) who, conveniently, were each one year younger than we were.  All summer long, the six of us picnicked outside.  At our house, we'd eat on our back deck; at theirs we'd eat on their kiddie picnic table.  At the time, I was a fan of open-face peanut butter sandwiches, and I can recall bringing a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter outside for everyone to share.  

We had tuna salad sometimes.  Not often, after my little sister got hives from eating it too much.  But tuna salad is a good "stretch meal" if you're having unexpected guests.  Add enough crunchy things (celery, pickles, onion...) and you can feed six kids on one can of tuna.  

I imagine Gina's herring salad is a bit the same.  She and Hedvig clear the table of the photography paraphernalia, bringing out beer and brandy to accompany the meal.  Then she sets about making the herring salad.  

I played Gina today, and made herring salad (sillsalad).  I've never had a herring in my life.  I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to find any, but sure enough, they have them in our local grocery store.  Kippered, in tins, next to the sardines.  I'd checked a bunch of recipes online, and finally found one that didn't sound too bad.  Details later, but for now, the salad is in the fridge, letting the flavors meld, hiding in the vegetable drawer so my unsuspecting family won't mistake it for jello salad.  

Here's a teaser.  It's pink.