Oh crawfish that I love so dear....I'm craving these juicy little ditch-dwellers this time of year. Can you tell that I'm missing home? I am a native Louisiana girl, and crawfish season just gets me all worked up...
There's nothing quite like pulling into the drive of your childhood home, and smelling that seasoned water wafting through the air. Your dad in the back yard with his imminent mission...a brew and bag.
Waiting patiently as we listen to the purr of the butane tank and the soft bubbling boil of some of the best stuff on earth...crawfish. We all grab a beer and head to the patio to talk about life and our goings on of late. Dad signals that the hour is near as he stumbles out of the shop with that classic enormous roll of brown butcher-esque paper for the ceremonial table-draping. Yes....it's getting closer now and all the folks are getting antsy. And I'm sitting there wondering "What do people do with that big roll of brown paper when they're not using it at crawfish boils as their "easy-cleanup" solution?" Maybe they fashion kites with it? Is my thought, then I shrug and take another sip and offer to help dad start hauling 'round the trashcans that will serve as the resting place for our soon-to-be discarded tails and heads of the dearly departed.
After the table is "set", everyone dives in for the perfect spot...close to the trashcan for easy head-tossability, and close to the door for sink and ice-chest access. I get stuck in the middle because I am usually inside making "crawfish dip". For those of you who aren't crawfish connoisseurs, on most occaisions, this concotion is a requirement for consumption. It's a very mystical melding of both the sour and the salty, a labor of layering the dense and the fluffy, it's...well, ok, it's just a cup mixed w/ 1/2 ketchup and the other 1/2 mayo...but it's.just.so.good. Nothing like a tail dredged in it.
So...I take my sawed-off cups (those red platic ones cut in half, so you're not reaching your entire upper extrimity in and not properly accessing the dip goodness) and join the troops rallied around the steaming pile of ruby-red cajun critters that my dad has so lovingly dumped upon our picnic table. That's the best smell, ever. The bugs piled high with the potatoes and corn (and occasional odds and ends thrown in...e.g. mushrooms, sausage, whole chickens, etc...it can get pretty crazy). The rule is that it's rude to take the biggest crawfish first, but I don't care...come to mama.
Speaking of mama...MY mama is the fastestgunslingerintheWest equivalent of a reallyfastcrawfishpeelerandeater. She taught me well. Not only do we eat at ludicrous speed, but she cleans WHILE she's eating, it's impressive. My dad and brother aren't so bad either, but, I must say I think my father makes the best darned boiled crawfish on the planet.
Anyway...if there is ONE thing I dislike about eating crawfish, it's not the smell, or the mess, or the grit under the fingernails, or the occaisional poking via claw and the the resulting fire-like burning that spreads through my digits courtesy of Tony Chachere's...no...it's the poop.
Yes. That's right. I said it. The poop vein. Ick. Ack. Uck. My dad and brother ignore this pesky little bit of pestulence. I, however, must remove it and then wipe off the remaining mustard-yellow fat. I think my sister-in-law may High 5 me for this because I think she is also a member of the "thank you but I don't eat poop" club. Father seems to think it provides erm.."flavor" ...I vehemently disagree.
What I do enjoy that some despise...is the head sucking. Mmmmm. Spicy heaven in a head.
As I'm thinking about this I recall as song that I was a huge fan of during my childhood. It was called the Cajun Rap Song. Complete with really great "coon ass" accents. I still remember almost all the words. It was by the Cypress City Band and there were 3 of them...ala Beastie Boys style, but not quite as effective. I couldn't believe (and could believe at the same time) that I found it on YouTube! I laughed until I cried thinking of Lee and I running around the house singing that song. I posted the link for your listening pleasure...
Cajun's finest...ENJOY, sha.
:::my favorite parts:::
" I eat couscous...I like dat, me, and barbequed possum is a delicacy!" (not really)
"We boil da crawfish mais, in da bucket.And we pull of da heads, and den we suck it!"
We owned it on a cassette tape. Those were the days.
After we've eaten POUNDS and POUNDS from the table, we all decided we are "K-O'd" and decide to call it a night. By this time we are all straining to see the tails we are peeling since we have been noshing for HOURS and it's dark outside and we only have this one little measly flood light pointed at an angle AWAY from the table...phew. So, as is custom, the remaining little soldiers offer up there tails in a chorus of "pops" as they are removed and tossed into mom's big yellow Tupperware bowl for future fare. More than likely they will be made into etoufee', or pie, or put into a gumbo. But they will never be wasted! Well, unless they are the dead ones, nobody eats those. You Cajun's know what I mean.
Even though I'm bloated for days, I can't scrape the black bits of spice from my fingernails nor can I Shout out the orangy stain on my shirt from the feasting, it's all so worth it for those few moments, well, hours, of bliss.
I hope my folks read this and can scrounge up a sack or two in the weekend to come, as I am coming in for a visit! Accompanying me will be crawfish virgin, Viswa Subbaraman. I can't wait for him to marvel at the speed and accuracy of my de-shelling abilities! I'll have to do as my mother did when I was a child. My wee little hands were unaccustomed to the motor patterns required to stealthily strip those pesky bits that get in between the eater and the eaten. But, I'm sure he'll learn. In a way, it's not only the taste of the crawfish that I want him to experience, but the family aspect as well. All the conversation, the joking, the laughter. The way everyone slips into their Coon Ass accent with ease. Being close to the people that matter most. It's a tradition, it's love, and it's home.
Mais, I can't wait!
Even though I'm bloated for days, I can't scrape the black bits of spice from my fingernails nor can I Shout out the orangy stain on my shirt from the feasting, it's all so worth it for those few moments, well, hours, of bliss.
I hope my folks read this and can scrounge up a sack or two in the weekend to come, as I am coming in for a visit! Accompanying me will be crawfish virgin, Viswa Subbaraman. I can't wait for him to marvel at the speed and accuracy of my de-shelling abilities! I'll have to do as my mother did when I was a child. My wee little hands were unaccustomed to the motor patterns required to stealthily strip those pesky bits that get in between the eater and the eaten. But, I'm sure he'll learn. In a way, it's not only the taste of the crawfish that I want him to experience, but the family aspect as well. All the conversation, the joking, the laughter. The way everyone slips into their Coon Ass accent with ease. Being close to the people that matter most. It's a tradition, it's love, and it's home.
Mais, I can't wait!
