Posted tagged ‘desert island’

“A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster, salad and champagne. The only true feminine and becoming viands.”

April 6, 2014

The sun is beautiful, a welcomed sight. The cats love it and are sleeping on the floor in the sunlight coming through the front door. Their fur is hot to the touch. They are in a sun-induced deep sleep.

I once spent a half hour watching ants travel in a long, wide line. They were many, too many even to estimate their numbers. I put a leaf in the middle to see what would happen. The ants went around it then rejoined their straight line on the other side. I had to jump the line when I was leaving.

Horses always intrigued me, but I seldom rode. The one time I did I got thrown. That was no surprise. I got right back on the horse again. We made it to the stable without further incident.

When I was nineteen or twenty, I went out to eat with my parents at Mildred’s, an iconic Hyannis restaurant now gone. An empty lot is left where Mildred’s used to be. I remember that dinner because my father ordered me a drink even though I was underage. It was a daiquiri, my father’s idea of an underage woman’s drink. It was sort of gross but I drank it anyway because my father had ordered it for me.

I sometimes wonder how many people died trying and eating new things. My brother once ate red berries and had to have his stomach pumped. I was partly responsible as I had dared him. Cranberries are red and someone had to have tasted them first. In the movies, they watch the birds and eat what the birds eat. I’d stick to fish, or if I’m not near the ocean, grubs. Disgusting I know but with lots of protein.

Eating a lobster is a messy meal. The bibs aren’t silly but necessary. Lobsters squirt. My mother always ordered the lazy man’s lobster. We sort of looked down on that. She didn’t care. The rest of us took the lobster as a challenge. We wanted every tiny piece of lobster meal, even to sucking the claws for their meat. My dad was a champion lobster eater and ate joyfully with lots of ums. He wielded the cracker with precision and artistry. When he was finished, the plate was filled with empty shells. The man missed nothing. My sister and I learned from my father. We pride ourselves on our techniques and always leave a plate filled with empty shells. We are our proud to be our father’s daughters, specially when it comes to eating lobster.

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