When your family joins a family recipe sharing website, tell them you’re going to join too, but don’t. Make excuses like “Oh, I couldn’t open the link,” or “My Internet is really slow,” or “I’m missing all of the vowels on my keyboard.”
After an amazing meal, I’m going to share the secret of cooking Bermuda (spiny) lobster. First, you go to the burly fisherman on Trimingham Hill (risk your life trying to park and cross the road) and stare into his cooler looking at all of the crustaceans. You inspect the ones that are still crawling and decide you’d rather have a cool dead one. You decide upon two lobsters, one size up from the smallest ($30 each). He packs them up, you thank him and drive off with the prize in hand.
When you hike in Cape Breton, and come across wild strawberries, the succulent kind, the kind that drop off the stem, you eat them. You don’t bring them home and wash them and fuss. You pick until you have a healthy palm-full, and then you munch as you walk.
You don’t worry about dust or dirt. You don’t think about bugs or spiders or acid rain, and you certainly don’t dwell on dog pee or moose droppings. You eat them, one at a time the way they should be enjoyed. Continue Reading…