Ben is working on a sculpture that requires crab claws. They will be molded and cast in resin, of course, but in the meantime, he has the task of finding at least one each that is 'perfect' for the part he needs.
We decided, being the dedicated artists we are, that this will require eating crab once a week or so.
I made a salad with baby greens and bell peppers in bright yellow, red and orange, grape tomatoes and carrots in a balsamic vinegar dressing. Perfecto.
Ben made Poke. (Po - kee) which he says is a popular dish in Hawaii of crab, scallions, and raw tuna with sweet/spicy seasonings and tons of sesame seeds.
Though it was delicious, I couldn't eat the raw tuna. It's a mental thing. Ben allowed that, yes, this is a fairly advanced level of raw fish eating.
Of course, being me, I wanted to explore why I couldn't eat the raw tuna. Was it some personal psychology? Was it associated with my time in the morgue? Was it some anthropological hard-wiring? Was it that I just don't trust Ben, who is known for offering exotically 'difficult' foods to persons just to see if they have the nerve?
I recalled the large bowl of raw chick peas he once kept on his coffee table. He'd munch from them occasionally, looking greatly satisfied, waiting, like a sessile sea creature, for his guests to do the same. To his evil amusement, of course they struggled to maintain composure when what looked to be a sort or peanut-y experience became a horror of sawdust-tasting paste that just wouldn't go away.
So, I mused aloud the question. What was it that kept me from eating the raw, red, slightly transparent cubes of tuna? Before I could expound my theories, he offered that it was simply because I am a princess pussy pants without an ounce of epicurean courage.
I have an ounce. I do have plans for a non-Ben sushi experience.
The king crab legs were delicious though I fear I've created a Gurtie monster. Something in the look on her face as she crouched dog-like, awaiting the next nibble dropped her way made me think of nightmares I had once.
Indeed, it was a idyllic looking tableau, eating delicacies under the canopy by the pool in gentle seventy-degree breezes. From a distance, we seemed to be basking in paradise. like gods.
From a distance.
Ben is three claws the richer for his creation.