Shemp, a really wonderful story, thanks for posting it. **
--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "shempmcgurk" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > (I wrote the following for my two brothers on the anniversay of my > dad's passing) > > So I was thinking of my father the other day, being that it was the > first anniversary of his passing...and I thought you may be > interested in this little anecdote. > In the last 5 or 6 years of his life, even before he had his first > stroke, I would cook for him when he came here in the winter, simply > because he was getting on in years; I would cook for him here and > his care-taker, of course, would cook for him back home in the > summer. Breakfasts, though, were his exclusive domain...even after > the stroke and, I assume right up to the last, life-ending stroke of > last year he still made his breakfast of 11 grain cereal, a tomato, > green pepper slices, cheese, and 5 olives. He'd cook the cereal on > the stove, which was quite a feat for an 86-year-old. I always > expected the house to burn down but, to his credit, it never did. > Anyway, I would cook for him but never, ever knew whether he > actually liked my cooking because he was more concerned as a father > to give me positive reinforcement for my activity...so I never knew > what the hell he liked when I made something. I always told him to > be honest with me so that I knew what to make and not make for him > but the feedback system never caught on; it was like dealing with a > Japanese businessman who, as I understand from reading about them, > never tell you their true feelings because their culture is never to > insult their associates so you always have to divine what they're > thinking. "Dad, I'm not a mind reader. Tell me if you don't like > something." The best I could decipher was that the > word "interesting" meant he hated it and "superb" was passable > and "absolutely superb" meant he may actually try it again...but > only once again. The man loved his platitudes and superlatives. > Well, one of the things I knew with 100% certainty that he does like > is seafood and, with the exception of my favourite -- sushi -- he > likes all kinds of it. And the king of seafoods is lobster. The man > loved his lobster. > And you'd think that getting lobster out here in the desert would be > a hard, expensive task but, thanks to the good people at Wal-Mart, > it wasn't. For about $13.00 a pound you can have the near-minimum- > wage Wal-Mart fish-monger scoop out a live lobster in their holding > tank and steam it there for you right on the premises. > And did you know that there is a difference between male and female > lobsters? Females have the roe or babies within them practically > every time you open them up. My experience is that most people love > the females for that reason; not Dad. He loved the males because he > didn't want any little fetuses infringing upon any of his beloved > lobster tail meat...and he also claimed that the male meat tastes > better. > So I learned about 20 years ago from him how to feel for the penis > of a lobster. Yes, I'm not kidding. I got instructions from the man > on how to pick up a lobster at the store, turn him over, and put my > index finger on the double icky protrusions on the crustacean's > underside -- two insect-like mini-extremities on each side of the > underbelly. I know that if they came together in the middle like two > swords crossing at the beginning of a joust that it was a male and > if they just stayed on each side of the underbelly it was a female. > But, oh no, visual inspection wasn't enough; you had to run your > finger over the two digits "and if they're hard, they're male; if > not, they're female." > It's a wonder I haven't needed major psychoanalysis. > And I never got it right. Why? Because the turn-over of personnel at > Wal-Mart, that's why (bear with me here because if I can show you a > cause-effect relationship between the geo-economic hiring practices > of Wal-Mart and the science of crustacean gender-determination I am > an utter genius). > You see, whoever works the fish tanks at Wal-Mart knows enough how > to fish out the lobster you point at outside the tank, and knows how > to steam them but doesn't know the "secret" of penis-feeling that > had been handed down to me in a secret family ceremony. And I'm > sorry, but I am too embarrassed to run my finger over lobster > genitals in a busy Wal-Mart Superstore. And on top of that, every > time the monger would fish out lobsters from the tank it would > attract a crowd (I think Americans view any holding pen with live > animals in it as a petting zoo). So there was no way I was going to > stroke lobster penises in front of the monger, let alone the growing > crowd of moms with tykes in strollers. And, besides, I think > there's a bylaw prohibiting inter-species fondling. > But Dad was right: you do need to get down and dirty; visual > inspection is not enough...you actually do have to feel for it. > So half the lobsters I bought ended up being females and he would > demand to know why I couldn't conduct the simple procedure he had > painstakingly taught me in order to secure males. I would meekly > say that Wal-Mart had a strict rule against feeling lobster genitals > (okay, it was a little white lie) but that I had asked the monger > specifically for males but that he told me he didn't know how to > tell the difference. > "Doesn't know the difference?" Dad would say. "What kind of > operation is Wal-Mart running? What type of training are they > giving them there?" "Dad," I would respond, "they have over 50,000 > items that they sell. Lobster gender identification is not a top > priority in their training schedule." "I simply don't understand > it," he would say, shaking his head in disbelief, "How someone can > sell lobsters and not know the difference between male and > females?" This scenario replayed itself so many times that on one > trip to Wal-Mart's I actually tried to show the monger-of-the-minute > how-to and I've never been more embarrassed in my life. After I > imparted the procedure to him, all he said to me was: "That's more > information than I need to do my job, but thank you anyways." > Okay. Since his first stroke, I did all the shopping for Dad. And my > philosophy for him was always: you can't take it with you, so enjoy > it. So at least once a month I would buy him lobsters...and damn the > cost. > But I would always surprise him with it. While he was inevitably > sitting in the living room watching TV, I would sneak into the > kitchen and "prepare"; that means cutting and shelling the Lobster > in exactly the way he taught me to do it about 20 years ago (I got > similarly exacting instructions for both oyster-shucking and shrimp- > deveining as well..."that's the shit canal, son, and although many > find it to be crunchy once in their mouths, you really don't want to > eat it so get rid of it!"). > So I would, in stealth, prepare his lobster as well as his > condiments and place them on the table along with the necessary > large, empty bowl for shells...and, boy, he needed that because he > cleaned out each and every shell and each and every nook and cranny > of a lobster in a precise, methodical way...nothing was every wasted > in any confrontation between Pater and Homarus Americanus. Plus, he > ate the various parts in the same exact order each and every time: > little appendages first; then the joints; inner body; shells and -- > grand finale -- the tail! > And his condiment was unique. I've only seen people eat lobster with > melted butter or melted garlic butter. Dad hated melted butter with > lobster. He absolutely loved mayonnaise with it along with an over > generous portion of lemon. He mixed them both together in a bowl > which he would then dip his meat into (did you know that in his > younger days Dad made mayonnaise from scratch?). > So I would set all this stuff up for him and then go into the living > room to announce to him that dinner was ready. And with a mixture of > fear and anticipation, he would say: "So, son, what did you cook for > me today?" > And this is the stuff of which traditions are made. I started this > the very first time I bought lobster for him, so it probably was a > few years before his first stroke. And I told him: "Dad, we're > having something really healthy tonight. It's something new." The > words "food" and "something new" had a genetic, involuntary response > in him: it would furrow his brow. This was because (1) he never > liked to try something new. He liked only tried, true, and tested > dishes he'd ate all his life; and (2) he almost never liked > anything "new" that I made, particularly if it had cilantro in it > which he basically considered a poisonous weed that Mexico had > introduced into American fare in order to reclaim California. > "Dad, tonight we're having tofu chicken, something new that I think > you're just going to love." At this point, his shoulders would droop > in utter disappointment. But, in haste, and in order not to make me > unhappy, he'd bravely pick himself up from the easy chair, put his > smiley face on, and come into the kitchen to get to the table > saying, "well, I'm sure if you made it, it's going to be very > interesting...I'm really looking forward to it." And all the while, > as he's walking towards his place, I'm telling him the virtues of > the soy-bean and even though tofu is basically flavourless, it's > just so good for you, etc. > And then he gets to the table, sees the lobsters (if they were > small, I'd actually get him two or three) sitting there in all their > glory, all prepared and with no work for him to do, and despair > would turn to utter glee. He would physically brighten up and he'd > say: "What's this? Lobster? Son, you shouldn't have. Gee, look at > all the hard work you went to!" And then I'd put his bib on, get him > his 23 cent beer, and he'd go to work, as happy as -- as my mother > would say -- "a pig in shit". > Now, I repeated this whole episode every time I bought him lobster. > And his memory being what it was in his later years, the surprise > factor was still there for about the next 4 or 5 times...but > eventually, whenever I announced "tofu chicken" he finally > understood that to mean lobster. And the way I knew he knew (because > he always played along) was that his shoulders didn't droop when I > said it and his gait into the kitchen was more pronounced than the > I'm-going-to-the-gallows trot I'd come to expect. > But the story isn't over yet. Inevitably, once he had his lobster > and was, simply, satiated and had the facial expression of total > satisfaction, I would get the digestion lecture: how lobsters > naturally improved his elimination and digestion. "Son, my feces are > healthy. They're round and they float." (Dad's theory was that if > your bowel movement floats in the toilet bowl, what you ate the > night before was good for you) > You see, lobsters are health food. > To subscribe, send a message to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Or go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FairfieldLife/ and click 'Join This Group!' Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FairfieldLife/ <*> Your email settings: Individual Email | Traditional <*> To change settings online go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FairfieldLife/join (Yahoo! ID required) <*> To change settings via email: mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/
