Molly Malone can keep ’em.

In Dublin’s fair city, Where the girls are so pretty,

I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,

As she wheeled her wheel-barrow, Through streets broad and narrow,

Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”

“Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh,”

Crying “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh”.


My husband decided to make seafood cioppino tonight. I really tried to find someplace else to be, but I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse.

Don’t get me wrong–my husband is a fantastic cook. However, seafood and I don’t get along all that well. It’s not that I’m allergic–I just can’t stand the stuff.

He went out and bought all the ingredients he needed–and shared with Daughter Dearest and me that he could hear the little critters clicking and moving about as he drove home with them. It almost made me feel an affinity for the outlook of vegetarians.

Now, I love beef–ask anyone who has ever asked me “How do you want that cooked?” My usual answer is, “Bring that critter out here and let me chase it around until it gets tired.” But to hear things chittering in the grocery bag – that’s different for some reason. I imagine it’s the sound of them writing their last wills, saying good-bye to their friends, getting Last Rites, whatever.

Hubby put these clams and mussels, in all their shelled glory, on a plate in the fridge. Uncovered.

Now the refrigerator smells like Pier 39. Or maybe like this:

I had a really hard time opening that door to put away the groceries I’d just bought. So, like any red-blooded denizen of the Pacific Northwest (who can’t stand seafood), I opened a large bottle of bravery and waited for the inevitable request for help from my dear spouse.

Now, I knew that I would be called on to clean the shrimp. I had no problem with that, since those suckers had been dead and frozen for, like, two years. Zip, zap, done.

Then came the words that caused me to step back and stare, uncomprehending:

“Could you get the beards and other unnecessary stuff off the mussels?”

Do what to who now??? I was really hoping to avoid touching them. I’d dissected clams for biology class in high school, and really didn’t have much interest in looking at them ever again.

“I’ll buy you a beer later…”

Well, alrighty then…





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