I have significant memories of my grandmother combing the hills of our backyard plucking snails hidden within the ice plants. She would then plop them into boiling water, smother them in garlic and serve them up to us youngins as if they were a box Mac & Cheese. This didn't fly with me and I would NEVER partake in this one Nona delicacy (tripe either, but that's a different story). I used to have snail farms, not ant farms, as a child so there was no way I would be noshing on my loyal pets. This was way before my adventurous self emerged and I took such pleasure in eating weird stuff.
Peter and I were all decked out, him in a monkey suit and me in a hot little green number. We were attending the "formal night" on my first ever cruise and I was anticipating an evening of fine foods, elegant wine and romance. Warning: giddy teenage moment coming. The menus came and my eyes never made it past the escargot appetizer. Forget romance, they have escargot…for free. Should I pee my pants now or wait until after dinner?
I ordered the snails, without even a thoughtful glimpse of my former cherished friends. I have other human companions now, I don't need them. They were served in a six-compartment dish, each having its own home. These appeared to be of the most common preparation varietal; smothered in butter and garlic. I stabbed one with my fork and it pierced through smoothly. Is it trite if I say "like butter"? I didn't even bother to nibble the smallest tester bite first and just shoved an entire one in my mouth. Garlic was the predominant flavor, followed by the texture of a baked crimini mushroom. I, slightly willingly, ate two and covered the rest with my leftover bread, which Peter lovingly pointed out to the waiter. Thanks.
