I love mussels. I love most shellfish, in fact. Scallops, oysters, lobsters, clams... if you have a hard shell and a soft body, I probably want to eat you. This is maybe true about the humans I like, too. The harder it is to get to know you, the more I will probably like you. It must be because my brother is a Cancer and I adore him. Or maybe because my mother grew up on a lake that had a fundraising clambake at the fire hall every year. I don't know what the root is, but shellfish is in my soul. As an aside, my mom's whole family eats clams with ketchup in the butter, and I gotta say you should try that method. But this article is not about clams or Cancers. No, it is about mussels.
Eating mussels is a rustic, sensual art. Queer Martha's first tip to eating mussels is to never use utensils. Utensils are only for mussel neophytes. They are completely unnecessary because mussels are utensils in of themselves. They are beautiful little elastic tweezers designed by the goddesses...
Soon it will be the day after Thanksgiving. Soon everyone will be excitedly trading turkey leftover recipes and revelling in some sort of communal turkey endorphin high. "Ohhh, you can put cranberry sauce on your turkey breast and slap some sage aioli on that baby and rub it all over your face for breakfast," they will say. "Shred that leftover turkey into little strips and throw it up in the air like confetti in a celebration of day-old poultry!" I can hear them now.
Well, let me let you in on one of my dirty little secrets. I don't like turkey leftovers. I don't really like fresh turkey all that much, either, but I am into tradition so I appreciate a turkey on Thanksgiving day. But once Thanksgiving is over, I think it is time to move on. And you know what they say. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. That saying really doesn't work at all in this situation, but I think you get the idea.