Ah the autumn, and time to head off to somebody else’s house for a crayfish party!
Note: this is not a party for the crayfish – as you might imagine by examining the phrase “children’s party”, or “birthday party” – but a party where you cook and eat the crayfish. Eugh.
Yes, eugh indeed. As a long-time veggie (and a currently almost-veggie-although-yes-I-a-little-of-whatever-you-have-thanks) I have not tried crayfish before. Looking at this picture, you will understand why:
Once again: eugh…
Here is the process:
– Take a dozen well-trained Swedes – people with dainty table manners who sing songs while drinking to hide the fact that they are drinking, and who eat pizza with a knife and fork and dab their faces with their napkins every ten seconds
– Now hand them a plate of disgusting red shell-covered bottom-feeders and stand well back
– First they suck out the “juice” with a horrible slurping sound
– Then they pull the animal to pieces with their bare, slippery, fishy hands
– Then, using their fingers and tongue and teeth they dig their way to the well-hidden meat, deposit the savaged carcass in a bucket and start again.
All together now: Eugh!
I decided to try one, following the insctructions of the person sitting next to me:
“Ok, lift it up – no, don’t make it wave, that’s disturbing – and now suck out the juice. Oh alright, don’t suck out the juice then. Now you turn it over and pull it in half. Come on now, pull! There you go. Now just eat the meat. No, wait, not that part!”
At this point I put down the beady-eyed monster and went back to my Linda McCartney sausages and baked beans.
Mmmm…dead famous sausages…
/ paddy (crayfish-free since 1971)