We revisited a favourite, Edmundo, for a proper holiday season sea feast. There was a current of excitement running through me as we sat down at a humble table by the window, and I began to look at the menu. Since this was our Christmas gift to each other, we decided to indulge in a little moscatel before diving into a plate of "witches"— pretty little red crustaceans that neither of us had ever had before (I don't know what they are in English). Their sweet, delicate meat so gently slipped out of their shells, and when dipped in a touch of the garlicky house mayonnaise, I swooned. But the best was about to come— see those luscious chunks of buttery toast?
I cannot possibly describe the feeling that rises within me when nibbling those little clams so expertly bathed in butter, garlic, cilantro and lemon— it is physical happiness, a tangible joy. It feels round, and soft and warm— what is it about that combination of ingredients? When all the ameijôas shells were empty, it was the toast's turn to soak up all that wonderful goodness. We both agreed that this was the happiest we have ever been while eating a meal.
Then the crab came.
In the midst of gleefully smashing open a claw, Pedro suggested I look behind me. Half expecting to see someone with an extraordinary moustache (as we are moustache-spotters), I was met with this:
In the tank behind me, under a pile of its own kind, it appeared as though a crab was staring at me in horror. I know I was anthropomorphising, but goodness, look at it! And to compound my guilt, we had just spent a lovely day at the aquarium marvelling at the beauty of the ocean and its creatures. Fortunately the crab, who Pedro dubbed Bruce, soon turned away, but I was left questioning my carnivorism. I love animals, but I do enjoy eating them as well (as I am sure you have gathered from my lengthy odes to pork), and when I think of those gorgeous little clams...
I feel oh, so very happy.