Ruminations on Moules

One of my first few dates with Chris was to an Italian restaurant in Queens, where he and his friend John Greg used to regularly dine. That date didn't go so well.

First, we ordered mussels as an appetizer (I was thinking we were ordering clams) & oohhh what's this? oohh I'm not a fan of these...the word 'dishwater' comes to mind. Then we argued over whether or not un-opened mussels would make you sick. I couldn't imagine a restaurant putting out something that could make you sick -- a lawsuit waiting to happen, I would think. Apparently, it is common knowledge that one should avoid closed mussels and I was very wrong. Then, to top it all off, at some later point in the evening, I dumped a glass of red wine all over myself. Total class.

7 years later, I gave mussels a try, once again. This time, I was in Manhattan at Cafe de Bruxelles celebrating my friend's engagement. Zut, alors! What have I been missing? C'est vrai, j'adore moules! [Apparently one should speak of mussels with french phrases thrown in. Especially whilst reading a mystery novels, with characters that do just this.]

I'm still afraid of oysters, mind you. No amount of french phrases could quell that fear. But mussels...I'm on good terms with mussels. My latest moules frites, 'house' style, at Red Stripe in Providence, confirmed that the little critters can be prepared quite well. We're not fancy-restaurant goers, but we try to kick it up a notch when guests are in town and this place was a hit.

Do you know what else is a hit? When someone shares with you their homemade sangria & lobster prepared on the backyard grill. Eh, oui. C'est bon. Merci Theresa!