I recall a bygone day when someone, who represented himself as being my friend, dropped a gunnysack full of clams on my front step late one evening. I spent the entire night cleaning the fool things. The brief instructions I received were just that—brief.
Opening the shells and taking the insides out, I made two piles of parts. One of what I thought was the good stuff, one of everything else.
By the time I got them cleaned and separated, I couldn’t eat either. I ended up giving the clams to a neighbor who just loved them.
I guess I gave him the right parts.
My next run-in with clams was a dinner at Dave’s house.
“Sit right down. Here’s a large napkin. You will need it. Help yourself to the salad. I’ll bring in the clams.”
When I saw the platter of clams on the table I decided I must be the subject of a joke. The clams were still in their shells.
I was told to pry them open, pull out the meat with the fork, dip it in butter, and just let the clam slide down.
I thought to myself, Not on your life, Dave! I am not putting that in my mouth.’
As I stared with shock, the whole family opened up a shell, pulled out the meat, dipped it in butter, and almost ritualistically, slid it across their taste buds and down the hatch.
Well, I’ve read Robert Service’s Ice Worm Cocktail and they weren’t going to make a fool out of me. I played the joke to the end and proceeded with the same pomp and ceremony as my host.
As my mouth opened, my eyes automatically closed. Stomach, here it comes, please stay down.
I knew they all were waiting for the joke to spring. I just let the thing slip across my lips.
What a surprise.
It is really good.
No!
Better than that.
It was delicious!
I opened my eyes. No one was watching me or even caring. The platter was drying up and the shell plate was filling up. I didn’t take me long to realize this is a matter of survival. If I don’t get with the program, I’ll leave the table hungry.
All too soon the announcement was made, “the clams are gone.”
Next spring you can write it down and underscore it. I’ll be on the beach digging. Happy as a clam at high tide.
The neighbors will have to dig their own.
I’m keeping mine.
