Anyone born in Maryland has earned the birthright of ordering crabs without seeing the rest of the menu. It's a biological necessity; something in the blood calls out for the unique flavor of Chesapeake Blue Crab on the tongue, whenever it's available.
Granted I was born in Bethesda, which is a far cry from Baltimore, Annapolis, or the Eastern Shore, but jeez. It still counts as Maryland. The Call of the Crab is still in there.
Today's feast was a classic Baltimore Backyard Bash, at the home of a good friend who has been making truckloads of fine music for thirty-something years. And more music is on the way. But that's another post. Let's get back to the crabs.
So even in these days of stressing over work (I have too much of it, Marian has not enough of it), the house (holy crap, that's another roof leak, isn't it), the dog (or is it the spawn of satan?), it's reassuring to note that there ARE still blue crabs in the world, and a cozy back yard in Baltimore in which to inhale them...as is the birthright of schmucks born in Bethesda.
It was a good day.
And yes, there is a new roof leak.
But that's another post. Let's get back to the crabs.