I’ve never been accused of having an abundance of culinary talent. I’ve never been a cook, much less chef. However, I am a bit more skilled than I was some 47 years ago. Actually, let me rephrase that. I’ve grown my culinary knowledge. 

I stay away from cooking shrimp. Tried it once, It didn’t go well. I can fire off omelettes, grilled cheese sandwiches, and I know of no one any more skilled at buying a frozen lasagna and “cooking” it. I can even prepare meals in my pressure-cooker.

Okay, let me explain my shrimp avoidance. 

I fell for a young woman in 1975 and invited her to my house for dinner. To my amazement, she accepted. I egged and breaded and cooked up shrimp because I knew my regular fare of macaroni and cheese did not have the class this lovely young woman deserved.

Shrimp was and is classy. Not so my cooking. My shrimp were nice and crunchy. The lovely young woman hadn’t even finished her first shrimp when she said, “Did you shell them?”

“Shell them?”

“Shrimp has shells.”

“You’re thinking about lobsters, crabs.”

“Look,” she said, laughing, and removing a shell from the shrimp. 

Soon we were staring at two piles. One was a pile of naked cooked shrimp. The other was a pile of beautiful, breaded, browned, shells.

I’m hungry just writing about all this, so I’m going to make some toast.

Smile.