Something just wasn't right about Thanksgiving this year. I think it's because I didn't have the traditional feast. That's right -- no turkey, stuffing, yams, cranberries or pumpkin pie. I never realized how much a traditionalist I was until I decided to do something, well, nontraditional.
In San Francisco, it's crab season. Fresh crab ranks high on my yummy scale and I know a lot of people who serve it up for their holiday meal. This year I jumped on the crustacean bandwagon. Delicious, yes. Full of memories, no.
Thanksgiving sparks all variety of stories. My first turkey was cooked with the giblets in their little bag inside the bird. Who knew they were in the other end? Or the year I turned the would-be gravy into a foaming chemistry experiment because I couldn't remember whether to use baking soda or powder.
I have no such memories connected with crab. Not yet, anyway. So let me start one: this is the first Thanksgiving I was able to make it through the meal without secretly unbuttoning my pants. And, since crab is tryptophan-free, there was none of that pesky nodding off after dinner.
But like everything else there is a downside -- a cold crab sandwich the following day just doesn't have the same appeal as that leftover poultry.
No comments:
Post a Comment