My son Connlann went clamming for the first time ever, and got his limit in about 20 minutes.
Unfortunately, it would take me a little longer than that to drive to the airport, fly to Sea-Tac, and invite myself to dinner. He plans to make a chowder.
Now I have to change my shirt, what with all the drool.
That’s Chow-DA! CHOW-DA!
A chowder?!?
Did you not teach him about steamed clams? Fried clams?
Might as well use the clams for fill at the nearest construction site. What a waste.
The clams must be let in the saltwater for one day because of the sand.
If he cooks them rigth now, the chowder will got the sand from the clams.
I told him about pounding and flouring and frying them. I think he wants to ease in to the clam diet.
What I used to do is slit the siphon open and wash out the sand directly. Works especially well since he’s planning to cut them into chunks for chowder anyway.
Clamming is one of the oldest foraging means of humans, and the debris heaps (“kökkenmödding”) that indicate human settlements from the paleolithic to the iron age are often dominated by the shells.
A proud tradition. You should mark your own debris heap with a black monolith.
We always went after little necks when I was a kid. All over the sound. The ocean was too far away.
Very nice. When I was a kid, every spring break our family would go to the Oregon coast camping. I remember the clamming at low tide… that was a lot of fun.
I remember when as a child, my grandmother taught me to say,
“I have eight clams and I dug them myself.”
My grandfather loved razor clamming and in fact that’s how he met his demise, he had a heart attack while up to his armpit reaching for a clam.
It’s good to see that the population has recovered enough for harvest to resume.
Make sure that he knows it’s pronounced “gooee•duck” before he levels up.
What, you don’t have a drool-colored shirt? You could change that.
Then you could have little flies embroidered in places and then, well, you know.
Bon Appétit.
Nice looking Razors. They’re the best.