The post I had planned for today is important to me, and I want to give it justice. I think I might be feeling short on justice right now, so for today you get to feast your eyes on these mud-burrowing spice symbols of the dirty South.
Put your imagination’s elbows on the table, and get ready to be covered in a dripping salty rub. Ahh – the lips burn pouty for hours.
We went to Cormier’s in Monroe, LA, and there we sat outside on picnic tables across the street from houses wearing their new Spring. Kids ran amuck. Paper-towels spun out of control. I wished I could ask my waiter to pull my hair back in a ponytail so I didn’t get it in my fuss over the tiny piece of meat within the intimidating armor.
With crawfish, eyes google, clawed arms dangle limp, the head oozes a fatty intake of bayou and seasoning, and you still eat it. Your hangnails sting, and you love it.