We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
It's the time of year when you send your kids or grandkids on the coast of New England out to the salt marshes and mudflats to dig Steamers at low tide. They are the most delicious seafood in the world. AKA Soft-Shelled Clams.
Digging for Steamers takes a bit of skill and gentle use of the right tool (a clam rake or, better yet, a clam fork), because you don't want to crack their fragile shells. And you have to know where to look, because they cluster. The fun part is getting covered with black marsh mud without having to pay for a spa.
You steam up a giant pot of them, just long enough for them to open and cook a bit, but not so long that they get tough or fall apart. You want to steam them, so don't use too much water in the pot. It's acceptable to throw a slice of onion in the water.
Then you pour everybody a mug of the broth from the pot and a heaping pile of clams. That broth is the essence of the sea and the marshes. And you give everybody a bowl of melted butter. I prefer them without the butter so you get the pure clammy flavor. You pull them out of the shell using their long necks as a handle, and I toss the necks to the gulls.
These in the photo below are not Steamers. These are Littleneck Clams, which should never, ever be cooked for any reason - which they have been in the photo. It's a disgrace. Cooking them turns them into clam-flavored chewing gum. They should only be slurped down fresh and alive:
These are Steamers. These precious critters are only eaten steamed, and I am convinced that God made them for that purpose:
I liked cherrystone for slurping (when I could eat raw shellfish). Now just looking at the picture makes me break out in hives and run for the benadryl. Ahhh the memories. Enjoy them and hope you don't get a bad one that sensitizes you so that you can't ever enjoy them again. sigh.......