Thursday, May 7, 2009
I was raised on these babies. When I was about 8 Years old, in Cottonport, Louisiana, I remember goin crawfishin' in the flooded ditches in my Maw-Maw's front yard. I 'd go out there with a 1 gallon ice cream bucket, a pack of Hot Dogs, a cane pole with a string and get it on. A couple a few hours later, soakin wet from standing in the hot summer rain, I'd come back to the house with my bucket full of hand selected crawfish. I'd clean em with a big can of Morton's Salt under tha spigot in the side yard of my Maw-Maw's house. She would watch me clean em off from her kitchen window so by the time I was ready to come in she would already have the water at the proper boil and seasoning, waitin for my catch for the top of her old gas burner stove. With her dish towel thrown over her shoulder, as she always wore, she would stand next to me by the stove and let me drop em in to see if they would scream. She would say " oooh did you hear that one!!!". I was so excited- but not as excited as I was to dig in to these bad boys.
While they were boiling we would quick set up a couple of news papers on her massive kitchen table. She would set me up in my Paw-Paw's spot at the head of the table, because he was out in the fields- I was the king of this feast. I'd have a tall glass of iced tea and a small, green dish with vinegar-salt-pepper to dip my bugs in. The anticipation was worth it.
When they were ready, I'd stand a bit to the side of my chair opposite of my Maw-Maw and watch her dump em out on to the newspaper; the steam just billowed off as they spilled out like molten lava. Sprinkle Zatarain's seasoning on em and dig in, even if they were too hot to hold. Man that was heaven.
Think how many kids would have just eaten a few of the damn hot dogs and missed out on all of that. We need to go crawfishin'.