I am snarfing down some post-workout peanut butter and broccoli, watching Andy Roddick in his last US Open and recalling that at the recent family gathering my Uncle Grant said he just couldn’t believe that we managed that crab feast in my parents’ formal dining room and asked if I have any further evidence. Unfortunately I deleted the pictures I took of the white and off-white rug that sits under the dinner table that few people would put anywhere, much less under where meatballs are served to 6 year olds and red wine is poured for people like me. crazy. But somehow it survived the crab feast I believe.
One other note of interest. My mother has dedicated much of her energy over the years to ridding the world of beer being drunk out of bottles. Yes, you read that right. She firmly believes that beer should be decanted into a Tiffany’s beer flute and I’m not making that up and yes, I have Tiffany’s beer flutes. I could go on, but I don’t have any clonopin, so let’s just have a look at the crab eating, and please also allow the fact that some of the Amstel Lights were imbibed directly from the bottle serve as evidence of how loose and lettin it all hang out we were.
It was a soggy, soggy day and I am not Ansel Adams…
Most people would move the crab feast into the kitchen, or garage, but we set up in the dining room. My one uncle even wore jeans which I don’t think I’ve seen him in since we went camping when I was about 8 years old which.. lets see 8 from 2, I borrow from the 4.. forget it. It was a long-ass time ago.
The crabs were great and we finished every one of them.