Friday, October 12, 2012
A Farewell To PrawnTomorrow, I will murder my grief with gluttony. With this diary entry, I dedicate myself to tomorrow's vulgar exploit. Should this pledge result in my immediate demise, this letter will serve as my farewell correspondence (and dire warning) to the public at large. I was a childhood shrimp devotee. More than pizza, more than peanut butter, more than ice cream, I loved fried shrimp. My restaurant selection for birthday dinners was always Red Lobster. Every year, I ordered twenty-one fried butterfly shrimp. I ate in modest nibbles, chewing slowly, savoring every moment of blissful consumption. I ate the tails too, happily. As I matured, my taste became eclectic, and variations crept into my annual repertoire: scampi, coconut tossed, stuffed, popcorn, cocktail. From there, I branched out, and over the course of a decade, I explored the full range of exoskeletal underwater cuisine. Crab was a lot of work, but worth the effort. Lobster was superb, but too expensive for my limited budget unless I found an all you can eat deal. When I stumbled upon these opportunities, I eschewed the diversions the restaurant placed before me, like corn and potatoes, and focused solely on my creatures. My record is twelve in one sitting. Calamari? A staple of my diet. I preferred the whole squid over the rings, because whole ones' heads explode when you bite down. (Seriously satisfying on so many levels.) Crawfish tasted too much like fish. I avoided them for a long time after an unpleasant first experience. (That was at a buffet. In hindsight, I realize this may have affected their quality.) As an adult, Long John Silver's became a favorite pit stop, and every couple months I made the pilgrimage there so I could ravage obscene quantities of shrimp and clams. I even began to enjoy fish. I finally found them appetizing as long as they were breaded, fried, and doused in lemon and malt vinegar. My lifelong dalliance with seafood reached peak refinement in recent years. A visit to New Orleans revealed the majesty of oysters and mussels. I discovered that salmon is agreeable, particularly the smoked variety. My most recent birthday feast selection was a sizable crock of bouillabaisse, which includes just about every organism I've mentioned so far plus a few others in a tomato stew. My gastronomic existence was going swimmingly (ahem) until a recent visit to the Popeye's drive-thru. Throughout my adulthood, I've discovered I now enjoy foods I found repulsive as a child, such as broccoli, cauliflower, certain fish, pickles, and others too mundane to list. Based upon these revelations, I figured that fried crawfish were a safe bet early on a Saturday afternoon. I was sadly mistaken. Yes, the taste was fine. Good, even. When I experienced fever symptoms later that day, I failed to make the connection between my temperature and my lunch. I was so foolish, in fact, that I returned for seconds on Sunday. When I broke out in hives along my legs, arms, and neck, I realized my mistake. I itched. I bitched. Damn mud bugs. I had developed an allergy. The questions became: was I suddenly allergic to all shellfish, just crawfish, or was this a totally unrelated phenomenon? It took weeks before I summoned the courage to find out. I ordered shrimp, of course. I must now reveal that I have betrayed your trust, reader. I was all set to lie and claim that I can longer enjoy my favorite class of food. This false pretense was to be utilized as an excuse for tomorrow's escapade. But I won't lie. Tomorrow's feast is completely unrelated to this love letter to crustaceans. Not long after that Popeye's debacle, I ate the humongous pile of fried shrimp, and I was fine. No allergic reaction. Tentatively, I ate my way through the underwater community. Clams and lobster? Sure. Fish, mussels, oysters? I didn't die. Not a single hive. I even had the opportunity last week to throw some live blue shell crab into a steamer as they tried to pinch my hand. I imagine they knew of my ill intentions, and wanted to avoid the hot cauldron of death. They tasted great. I lived; they did not. Once again, a clean bill of health. So I really have no excuse. Then again, I need none. I only affect a sense of apology for what I intend to do. In reality, I feel no guilt, only feverish excitement for this impending gluttony. I am making bacon cheeseburgers using Krispy Kreme glazed donuts for the buns. Instead of cheese slices, I'm going to liquefy a block of Velveeta and dip the motherfuckers whole in it. I am going to wear a goddamned bib. Maybe even diapers. (just kidding on that last part) I will eat and eat until I fall comatose. And then, on Sunday, I'm going to wake up late and go to Long John Goddamned Silver's again. Because I can. Life is good. UPDATE 10:00 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm 1 Comments :: - post comment | RECENTMetamorphosis - Ice Climber & Totem CatThe Road Less TraveledThe Zod AbidesNow I BreakOld Thunderdome BoulevardEmperor Zod: Ace ReporterBEG FOR MERCY II: The Wrath Of Zod!Sands Of The HourglassMy Match BioSomething PessimisticARCHIVEAugust 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 August 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 February 2008 May 2008 August 2008 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 December 2009 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 May 2010 August 2010 August 2011 September 2011 February 2012 June 2012 July 2012 August 2012 October 2012 November 2012 May 2013 August 2013 September 2013 December 2013 May 2014 October 2014 November 2014 December 2016Tinfoil Index Portal
Distinguished LuminariesAn Aquarium Drunkard An American Muslim Journal An American Woman Listens To Music blahblahblahler Commish's Corner Counting Backwards Gin & Tacos The Handsomes HTMLGiant In My Words Izzle Pfaff Latigo Flint The Lung Brothers Monster Sarcasm Rally Pete Lit The Private Intellectual The Reid Option Simpleton Skull Bolt Still Orbiting The Third Toast Warren Ellis What's New With You? Eyes Of ChicagoJamas |