|Sea Urchin present and accounted for.|
Maybe you've done it, or maybe someone's done it to you: You tell someone to close their eyes, hold out their hands, and you'll give them a surprise. Well, I haven't been doing much cooking lately, by popular choice -- in fact, no one will even let me near the kitchen, gross as I am right now. And spouse Andy has been pretty busy building websites and such. Thank goodness for takeout. So when he went off to shop for our upcoming Croatian Festa and dinner blowout, I asked him to bring me some veggie selections from Ocean Beach People's deli counter.
When he arrived home I ran over from the couch (it was 12:30 p.m. and I was starving-- I don't do breakfast) ... where I was hand-sewing the binding onto Tropical Sundance. He bade me close my eyes and hold out both hands. I did so, with gusto. Of course I was expecting my palms to be filled with little containers of tofu something-or-other and a salad. When he plopped a baggie-wrapped parcel into my hands, it wriggled on my palms! Then I opened my eyes. More parts wriggled.
It was spiky, black and alive. I screamed. Then I started crying.
My husband had given me the worst scare in my life. A large, very much alive sea urchin, its spikes digging through the baggie into my flattened, outstretched palms, was not quite what I'd expected for my lunch surprise. Andy seemed rather deflated at my response. Strangely enough, when I went downstairs, sobbing, to check on the kitties' response (I thought they'd be scared to death, as I'd managed a rather loud and blood-curdling scream), they sat non-plussed on the bed.
What I want to know is, since when have I become such a ruddy crybaby? I'm the girl, who, at Hospitals surf break, over near La Jolla, walked into the tidepools, pried off a living sea urchin, broke it open with my thumbs, and ate the raw, lovely, unctuous meat right there and then, chin to the sky, in my bikini. That was only 32 year ago ... how can I have changed a bit?
|Happy Lunch Surprise?|