Shell-shocked

Day 14

I survived the drill; the lobster didn't.

Today, I killed my first crustacean. I wasn't sure how I'd do. People go on and on about how traumatic their first experience was and often suggest ways to make it less painful for the bottom dweller, such as sticking it in the freezer or stabbing it through the head. I'm fairly confident those are both BS suggestions and they're just trying to make themselves feel better about doing the dirty work.

Turns out it wasn't so bad—for me, at least (I did hear a few squeals throughout the room.) I covered its eyes, twisted the tail in the opposite direction of the head and the job was done. The most distrurbing part was afterwards when the segments continued to squirm on the cutting board in front of me.

Besides lobster, we swam our way through a sea of shellfish: We practiced searing scallops, simmering mussels, sauteing snails, and shucking clams and oysters. I was more nervous about accidentally stabbing my hand for the latter than I was about ending the lobster's life. I guess you could call me selfish (or shellfish, perhaps).

After three days of eating aquatic life, I'm over it. Don't get me wrong: I love a great seafood dish. But when your stomach feels like the sea itself—with bits of fish floating around in a tide of butter and white wine—it's not appetizing anymore.

I'm personally making a motion to stop eating from the ocean for awhile.