Photo by Judd Pilossof; food stylist: Liz Duffy; prop stylist: Phyllis Asher
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Open to Possibilities
By Steven Slon, May & June 2008
Tasting a steamed clam changed my life forever
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How to Eat a Clam
Pull open the clamshell.
Peel away the membrane.
Dip clam into broth, then into melted butter.
“Like to try one?” my father asked, pointing to the pile of ashy-gray shells on a white porcelain plate in front of him. Our family rarely ate at restaurants, but this Saturday afternoon, Dad had whisked us off to Lundy’s, the famous seafood place in Brooklyn’s Sheepshead Bay.
I’d never eaten a steamed clam. I was eight. I was hungry, and the clams smelled like the sea.
My father showed me how to pull the two halves of the shell apart with my fingers, lift the clam out by its rubbery “neck,” peel the black membrane off the neck, then dip the clam twice, first in broth, then in butter. He ate the first one. Then he handed me another.
I followed the ritual (open, peel, dip, dip) and then plopped the clam into my mouth. The butter hit me first, then the chewiness, and finally the pleasantly briny taste of the clam itself.
At that moment something changed in my perception of food and my relation to it. In my mouth—my mouth!—was a whole being. And it was delicious. My limited universe of hot dogs, hamburgers, mashed potatoes, and other things that had no obvious connection to nature had suddenly cracked wide open.
I wanted another. My younger brother and sister looked on in horror. They were “too young.”
“We’d better get him his own order,” said my father, savoring the moment of his son’s culinary awakening.
Life, I realized, was going to be an adventure.
RECIPES
Beer-Steamed Clams
Clams with Linguine (online extra)
AARP The Magazine Editor Steven Slon wrote about barbecuing in the July & August 2006 issue.
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