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One Saturday we had brunch at a small fish restaurant and shop near the Junction Market. This is where we saw the clam-eating girl.
Seated beside us were a grandmother, her daughter, and the five-year-old culmination of their gene pool, who ordered a plate of steamed clams. I thought to myself, Really? This little girl wants steamed clams? Does she know what she's asking for?
When they were set before her she dug in. The first two were so steamy hot she had to ask her mother to blow on them. And then, one after another she tackled the clams, prizing the meat from the shells, drinking the juices then downing the meat in a few fast chews and it was on to the next one. Her hands and chin were a mess of briny shiny liquid that made its way also in drips and drops onto her sunny yellow summer dress. But there was nary a scold from doting loving mother and grandmother who rejoiced, as did I, to see a five-year-old with such a gargantuan appetite for clams.
I, the more so because I have never met a clam I could eat: always too chewy.
Food blog: http://fastandfearlesscooking.blogspot.ca
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