Ahhh, warm weather! You're here, you're finally here! Nevermind that you go into hiding every other day, the fact that it's the middle of May means you must be returning for good, very soon. And with you has arrived our little friend, the Crawfish. Also known as a Mudbug, or Crawdaddy, these little mini-lobsters always make for a delightfully ritualistic shellfish feasting experience. Hundreds of them meet their ends in the roiling, boiling depths of propane fueled hot pots, brimming with exotic Cajun spices and other similarly fated food items like corn and potatoes.
Lucky for me, I have a reliable source here in DC, a nest of Tulane boys that have learned the art of the Crawfish Boil and perfected it's ritual. The ritual is simple. Hours spent drinking beer in anticipation lead up to a scorchingly hot, steamy feast of tiny clawed animals, that usually reasonable humans are willing to scald their hands and tongues over. The crowd you see above created a wall of Crawfish predators when the steaming pot was tipped, lava-like onto the white table (pictured below).
Lucky for me, I have a reliable source here in DC, a nest of Tulane boys that have learned the art of the Crawfish Boil and perfected it's ritual. The ritual is simple. Hours spent drinking beer in anticipation lead up to a scorchingly hot, steamy feast of tiny clawed animals, that usually reasonable humans are willing to scald their hands and tongues over. The crowd you see above created a wall of Crawfish predators when the steaming pot was tipped, lava-like onto the white table (pictured below).
(Just so you know, the air freshener you see in the picture above was not added to the pot at any point, although some ravenous party-goer may have eaten it later in the night. No one can know for sure.)
I remember the awe and horror I felt upon witnessing this sight for the first time, so many moons ago. So many insectlike creatures, displayed in a very communal format. I soon found my way to enlightenment: suck the head, pinch the tail and eat eat eat.
A Crawfish Boil is a time to make friends. See the above picture in which we take turns holding the platter and busting open the critters. See below for another example, in which my friend Hayne becomes The Human Stain. Astonishingly, this shirt is a constant at this annual party, and emerges each year with a fresh outlook on life, a blank canvas for the new party's messy artwork.
At the end of the afternoon, dusk
begins to settle. Waning light softens the harsh edges of the errant
claws, tails and corncobs that litter theCrawfish Boil Battlefield. The
kegs are kicked, money is collected for their replacements, and night
descends, as does a heightened level of madness. The carnage of the day
is concealed by darkness, lying in wait for an unlucky houseful of
young men to clean up in the morning.
120 lbs of live crawfish were flown in from Louisiana, boiled and eaten. Unfortunately, gentle readers, I do not have the recipe for this prestigious boil. But I also doubt that you happen to have everyday access to 120 lbs of live crawfish. I'd like to leave you all hoping, planning and praying that you shall feast on the sweet, succulent meat of crawfish in the near future.
