chowder

Well, it started with a graduation party for a friend who is now a doctor of computer science. Besides kebabs, homebrew, and bubbly mojitos -- there were freshly dug clams from the puget sound. By the end of the night, the host was well into his celebration but only a fraction of the clams had been cooked and eaten. There was still a bucket full of the things sitting out on the back porch. I was gone only a minute and when I came back, Nick was graciously taking a bowlful of them for us. Long, flaccid tubes hung out of the clams' shell and the doctor was squeezing them to test for liveliness. We packed them in ice and headed home, both of us not really clam eaters. A few days later, and a few hundred miles down the road to our home, we still had a bright pink bowl full of shellfish in our fridge. When we would take them out and open the lid, they would move around slightly and squish their shells shut. Already afraid of poisoning ourselves, we broke out the oyster crackers and set out to make a chowder.


With chopsticks we poked and poked to make sure the clams were really alive and once we felt satisfied, we set about cooking them in wine, butter and herbs. The chowder was on the milky side, but full of good flavor and clammy goodness (admittedly chewy clams, but still). We gladly ate the spoils of the party, but decided that good chowder should be reserved for the restaurant. Not a month later, I had a bowl of gooey, congealed "chowder" and I longed for a little milky bowl of homemade.