Okay Hooks...It's time. You know that time. When the crawdads are ready for a good boiling! Nothing says Spring like a huge pot of mudbugs boiling with potatoes and corn. Or mushrooms and sausage!
Growing up in the South I have lots of crawfish memories. Notice I said crawfish not crayfish... I'm Southern after all. Crawfish boils that might have been 20 pounds or 500 pounds were a common thing. Spices making noses runny and beer making throats wet. However, there is one time that stands out in particular. One spring I'll never forget.
I had started my first semester at the University of Southern Mississippi during a very cold January. The first month of school was bitter and February wasn't much better, however when March rolled around the world took on new life. I had learned of the local crawfish hot spots, but I hadn't found one to call home. Then one day I strolled into my favorite little corner store/ bar-b-que joint. The name of this landmark of college life in Hattiesburg was "Strick's." At least I think that's the correct spelling. I never really paid that much attention. My bad. I eased in the door one Thursday afternoon and BAM...I saw it. The biggest dang wash tub of crawdads I'd ever seen. It must have had a kajillion pounds of boiled crawdads in it ready for the taking! On either side of the tub were plastic sacks and a gallon milk jug cut artfully into a scooper. I walked around in amazement and finally was able to pull myself away long enough to ask the young lady behind the counter how much a pound. She replied in the sweetest voice I'd ever heard, "only .99 cents." I had found paradise. I clutched a scooper in one hand and a plastic sack in the other. Like a mad man I went to filling the sack. When I had finished, I walked to the counter and sat the sack down. The young lady took this moment to further thrill my soul. "You need some beer with these," she sang out in a voice laden with Tupelo honey. I nodded and walked to the beer cooler. I snatched up a 12 pack of Bud and made my way back to the counter.
After paying, walking to my truck, and climbing in, I sat there and simply enjoyed the aroma. The smell of those crawdads was like Easter, Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. I started my truck and eased to my apartment on Ross Boulevard. After the short 5 minute ride I pulled into my parking lot. I climbed the stairs and opened my front door. As I sat the bag of boiled heaven on the table, I pondered a moment. It was just too beautiful a day to sit inside and eat my little treasures inside so I made a command decision. I would eat on the steps! I was a king and could look over my empire with glee. So I popped the beer in the fridge after collecting two from the box and turned on the stereo. I just happened to have been listening to Bob Marley the night before and he was still able to croon to me that next afternoon. With Mr. Marley telling me of life in a far off place, I took my throne outside. I said there and waited teasing myself as long as I could stand. I finally opened a beer, took a big swig and grabbed the first crawdad. I looked at him and I swear he was smiling at me. A quick twist and a pull had head in one hand and tail in the other. A crunch and a slurp later, the spices from that little crustacean flowed into my mouth and were quickly followed by the meaty and soul cleansing tail. I was home in the South with a beautiful March sun shining on my face. I had a cold beer and a sack of joy. I promised myself that every Thursday through the season would be thus. And it was.
Yes indeed, Mr. Buffett. A white sport coat and a pink (or cayenne red) crustacean. Stay Southern, Hooks.
- JD
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