Tonight, if I had my rathers and could choose any place and any food, I know exactly where I’d be and who I’d be with.

And I know already, that my friend Jesse is gonna say, “I thought I told you to come over to Louisiana the next time you ate that.”

And I know, that if it were in my power, I’d be there with him, but it ain’t, and I haven’t eaten what he says is good yet, so I’ll go with what I know is good, even if it isn’t good by his standards.

Anyways. 

I’d call my sister-in-law Sharon, tell her to go pick up Mom-in-law, and I’d tell them to start moseying in a southwesterly direction and me and my wife would do likewise, except we’d go southeasterly, not that it matters to you.  I like their men and all, but what I’m thinking about this time doesn’t concern them, and they’ll have fend for themselves I guess.  At least until we get back with our leftovers and such. 

Because this meal won’t taste right if we don’t go back and do it just like we did one other time.

*****

It’s been about a year ago now, that we were in Wichita on sort of a rarified pleasure trip that involved taking care of two precious little souls whilst their Mama got through some Doctor visits with that good hubby of hers.

The question came up, towards evening, of what was for supper.

Someone mentioned a restaurant that specialized in seafood, and we all said we’d go for it. 

I went there with the intention of maybe some fried catfish, or perhaps some shrimp.  Either way seemed good to me.

But when we got into the joint, Taylor (Dad of the little tykes) asked me if I had ever had crawfish.

I said no.  I also asked myself quietly if I had the strength to do this. 

He was a pretty good salesman, showing me how to order and all, and telling me how good they were and everything, that I ended up with a low country boil plate with half a pound of shrimp, and half a pound of crawfish.

Shrimp are amazing.  For sure if you eat them down south with folks who know how to boil them up.  And I know enough about shrimp by now that I usually peel them first before I try to eat them.

Crawfish are a whole ‘nother story.  Especially considering some of the stories I had heard about them previously, such as how they were tossed in the kettle live, and you ate the tail and the tail was right close by the ‘you know what,’ and many and gruesome picturesque approximations were made concerning what the tail may have encountered as the crawfish endeavored to extricate himself, whether inside or outside.

But Taylor has always been one to inspire confidence, and he didn’t seem to bother about the stories that went around and proceeded to show me how to eat those things, or at least what part of them to eat. 

My first go around, that evening, gave me a fair impression, although it seemed then like a lot of work.  Enough so, that I had them another time at a place not far from where I had them the first time.  The second time I was sufficiently impressed.

And that’s been the problem now.  Every now and again I get a hankering for them.  And once I get that hankering, it’s like there is a slow, torturous gash that starts cutting itself into my belly, begging me to satiate it with more of them. 

And so, like I said, if I had my rathers, I’d get me down to Juicy Seafood in Flowood, Mississippi with the aforementioned folks.

Because, you see, it was like this. 

Dad in law in was in the hospital, and none of us could go see him since it was so late in the day. 

Mom looked so tired, I almost didn’t suggest it.  But when you spend the day in the hospital or nearby it, you start feeling like you need a little something to change the scenes. 

And since it was just me and those three ladies, I told them I was down for seafood at Juicy Seafood.  I really don’t know what they thought, it not being your general lady thing to do when you are just one guy and three ladies like that, but it seems they were desperate enough that they took me up on it without giving it much thought. 

They got shrimp and fried catfish.

I got sweet southern tea and crawfish. 

And even though the restaurant gave me this cute little bib to wear and these pansy plastic gloves to put on my hands, I forsook all. 

Because, it like the Tanzania gal who sat beside me on the plane said, “Food just tastes so much more nutritious and all when you can eat it with your fingers.” 

And believe me, that food was some kind of nutritious. 

So, if I was there again tonight, with those fine ladies, I’d convince at least one of them to order fried catfish, and I’d go with the crawfish and sweet southern tea. 

And I’d order the crawfish just as hot, spicy-wise as I did last time.  Enough so that I’d have to filch a bite of catfish every now and again to cool down. 

That’s where I’d go tonight.  It’s like my daughter Doc said the other day when we got crawfish here in Wichita, “Okay, but sure nothing to write home about.”

I don’t know why it is, but some food you just have to eat with the right folks and in the right places.