crab cakes

Saturday, October 20, 2012

The other day, Jack demanded a tortilla with his dinner.

Two and a half year olds are demanding.  This is not a newsflash.  Jack likes to eat.  Also not a newsflash.  So, the demand for a tortilla was totally not a problem.  And, I confess that as an assimilated Texan, I find that a flour tortilla complements almost any meal.  

I obligingly heated one up for him.

He promptly rejected it.

Why?  Because it was not as good as the last one he'd had.  Which was at a Mexican restaurant.


Fair enough.  He resumed eating dinner and I tweeted something about how you know your child is a Texan when they demand a tortilla for dinner.  And that you know they're two when they then refuse to eat it.  I crack myself up sometimes.

And then I thought, holy crap.  He's a Texan.  He was born here.  This is home.  His frame of reference will always include knowing the difference between a good tortilla and a shitty one.  That's nuts.

And then I thought, HE WON'T KNOW ABOUT CRAB CAKES.

In case you're new here, I grew up on the completely idyllic and often very backward Eastern Shore of Maryland.  Its dearth of urbanity is made up for by its wealth of fresh seafood from the Chesapeake Bay.  Crabs are The Thing.  Crabs rule.  

Not even kidding.  This is Chestertown.  [image credit]

It goes without saying that I don't eat crab cakes in Texas.  Because I know the difference between a good crab cake and a shitty one, and in Texas, they are all shitty.  THEY ARE ALL SHITTY BECAUSE THEY ADD BREAD.  Crabs are expensive, I get it.  And you can put all the breadcrumbs and stuff you want into your crabcakes, but they're shitty and I won't eat them.  

Ahem.  Where was I?

Right, crab cakes.

I know that I can make him crab cakes and teach him.  I know that we'll visit Maryland and I'll force encourage him to try them.  I get it.  This is not, shall we say, an insurmountable obstacle.  But the forceful part of the realization for me is that his little postmodern self is being formed here.  Crabs will be a stretch.  Tortillas will not.  He is my child, and will always be my baby, but he's different than me.  And that's trippy and scary and miraculous and awesome.

You know you're from Maryland when a crab cake makes you this philosophical.

Hope your crab cakes are bread free and your epiphanies are awesome today.

Talk soon,
Heather 

5 comments:

  1. Crabcakes are like life. They are great when simple and pure. No need for too much fancy stuff. Just the natural ingredients as they come, not altered. Dont compromise for integrity, hold out for the real deal. Guess you better come visit and we can eat crabs.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Aw. Jack is not a future KCHS Trojan. But he will be awesome in his own right.

    ReplyDelete
  3. He's no fool. Jack knows whats good. He will not be tricked by the bread in the crab cake. Now, if he could only reason with us on the pasta.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Jack looks all philosophical in that picture! Great, now I want a quesadilla. ;-)

    ReplyDelete
  5. I definitely have thought about how Ike will never cross the border of Vermont and think, "Ah, this feels like home." Weirdness. Also, I would like Jack to teach me the ins and outs of good and mediocre tortillas.

    ReplyDelete

Saturday, October 20, 2012

crab cakes

The other day, Jack demanded a tortilla with his dinner.

Two and a half year olds are demanding.  This is not a newsflash.  Jack likes to eat.  Also not a newsflash.  So, the demand for a tortilla was totally not a problem.  And, I confess that as an assimilated Texan, I find that a flour tortilla complements almost any meal.  

I obligingly heated one up for him.

He promptly rejected it.

Why?  Because it was not as good as the last one he'd had.  Which was at a Mexican restaurant.


Fair enough.  He resumed eating dinner and I tweeted something about how you know your child is a Texan when they demand a tortilla for dinner.  And that you know they're two when they then refuse to eat it.  I crack myself up sometimes.

And then I thought, holy crap.  He's a Texan.  He was born here.  This is home.  His frame of reference will always include knowing the difference between a good tortilla and a shitty one.  That's nuts.

And then I thought, HE WON'T KNOW ABOUT CRAB CAKES.

In case you're new here, I grew up on the completely idyllic and often very backward Eastern Shore of Maryland.  Its dearth of urbanity is made up for by its wealth of fresh seafood from the Chesapeake Bay.  Crabs are The Thing.  Crabs rule.  

Not even kidding.  This is Chestertown.  [image credit]

It goes without saying that I don't eat crab cakes in Texas.  Because I know the difference between a good crab cake and a shitty one, and in Texas, they are all shitty.  THEY ARE ALL SHITTY BECAUSE THEY ADD BREAD.  Crabs are expensive, I get it.  And you can put all the breadcrumbs and stuff you want into your crabcakes, but they're shitty and I won't eat them.  

Ahem.  Where was I?

Right, crab cakes.

I know that I can make him crab cakes and teach him.  I know that we'll visit Maryland and I'll force encourage him to try them.  I get it.  This is not, shall we say, an insurmountable obstacle.  But the forceful part of the realization for me is that his little postmodern self is being formed here.  Crabs will be a stretch.  Tortillas will not.  He is my child, and will always be my baby, but he's different than me.  And that's trippy and scary and miraculous and awesome.

You know you're from Maryland when a crab cake makes you this philosophical.

Hope your crab cakes are bread free and your epiphanies are awesome today.

Talk soon,
Heather 
 
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