Mr. T’s parents belong to the Swedish Cultural Center and tonight, we went with them for the Crawfish Crayfish dinner the Center holds every year. (Note: the word crayfish sticks in my craw, almost irrationally and I believe unjustifiably as who is a transplant to tell these folks what to call it? I’m trying to get beyond myself. This irritation lingers despite my knowing that these are a different kind of crustacean and so they are completely justified in calling them whatever they like. Or at least that’s how I can handle it. Also, these come from a nearby lake, not a bayou!)
The Swedish prep them with dill and lemon. The claws were several times the size of their southern cousins, making them more akin to baby lobsters. Aunt Mary Joyce was with us, still visiting from the South, and when asked by a Swede which she preferred, she quietly said, “I think I prefer a little cayenne with mine.” Amen, sister. I believe it has a lot to do with what you were raised with. Trying new things is what it’s all about though (at least in my life), so I’m pleased I finally made it to this dinner.
Let it be known that their hospitality was top-notch at the SCC. The hostesses running the show were very chatty and welcoming. I learned more than just the Swedish drinking songs! Also, I’d like to visit their country sometime but that should be a given at this point in my story.
My favorite moment of the evening: the lady peeling off her Crawfish costume to demonstrate how you eat them, pictured above. Now, I never saw that at any backyard crawfish boil in Louisiana.