Foodaholic Daze

At the annual “Taste of St Augustine” and 5K event today, I managed to inhale too many samplers in a disgustingly brief amount of time. Roasted Parmesan oysters, grilled curried squid on a stick, a homemade Key Lime popsicle. A forgettable band made up for their lack of talent with sheer volume and familiarity, playing Allman Brothers classics and monster hits of the 80’s. Carla had gotten her pulled pork slider and a few broiled Sea Scallops with Aioli. Both are favorites of hers.

After two hours of wallowing in an excess of food, music and crowds packed like a overbooked United flight, I needed to get the hell out of there. We were both ready to break camp and head home.

Then she reached into her top pocked and pulled out another red ticket. “One more!” she said. This was carnival style, you get tickets from the main booth on the way in, to buy stuff. Naturally I couldn’t just walk away with an unspent ticket, I’m not going to throw money away, right? So I bought three more. That was exactly what I needed to get a Tuna Tartare on a mini soft-taco with a spoon of coleslaw for crunch and a squirt of some Tahini/Miso white sauce.

There was no more room at the Inn, but I squeezed in another lodger anyway.

Then I REALLY had to get out of there.

I asked Carla to take the back way home. She had insisted on driving. “Um…OK! you drive” Since I’ve always been the one to drive, she thinks I’m doing her a favor. She’s eager for an excuse to drive her new little Honda Fit. With her favorite CD from The Band, “The Last Waltz” in her player ever since she bought the car four months ago, Carla cranked up the tunes. She knows every word, sung or spoken, and stares at me as she regurgitates them animatedly into my left ear while driving at least twenty over the limit. Swerving, gesturing, lost in her wild serenade, I’m the only one watching the road. I try to point out potential disasters, yelling over Levon’s drums and Garth’s organ runs, suggesting urgent and immediate preventative actions that may keep us out of the trunk of the guy in front of us. But really, she’s the one doing me a favor whenever I can overcome concerns for my life. Being driven is a luxury I can wallow in. Anyway, by taking the back road we would just happen to pass the new food truck owned by my friend Mike. He smokes up the best brisket this side of Texas.

I thought it only made sense to get some provisions to take home, you know? And so we did.

Leaving the BBQ place and turning South on the highway home, we barely traveled two blocks before spotting a large refrigerated truck sitting on the corner of the Dollar Store parking lot. The canvas sign flapping along one side boasted in bright red letters the size of flagstones: LIVE CRAWFISH!

Live crawfish may very well be our favorite thing in the world. Well for me at least. My priorities are: Carla first, Crawfish second. Third place is a toss-up between Chicca and the girls. 

Like many guys do with their wives, sometimes I force Carla to wallow in my sick fantasies. I guess that’s just part of being married. “Which is better, a cup of warm lump crab meat, lobster meat, picked Snow crab, fresh Mussels, or crawfish tails? All swimming in butter turned brown by Paul Prudhomme’s Seafood Magic seasoning, of course. “You have to pick. Which is best? Come on, pick one!”

Anyway, with the image of that crawfish sign burning into my head, I obviously had no choice but to tell Carla that it would only make sense to pull a U-turn. We fantasize about when crawfish season starts and had just been talking about ordering 20 pounds from the online vendor who ships them overnight out of Louisiana. We had no reasonable course of action other than to turn around immediately.

So we loaded up on mud bugs.

Once we settled in back home with a three-day supply of Crawfish and brisket, I started to worry about how we were going to be sure to not let the last of my sausage meat loaf go to waste, or the fresh batch of Royal Red shrimp that I had boiled early in the morning, or the Collards with smoked turkey neck.

Too much food and too little time.

Not wanting to stress myself out, I decided to watch an episode of my new favorite show: “Carnival Eats”. The fresh baked apple/cheesecake pie segment was mesmerizing.

My name is Maverick, I’m a foodaholic with a serious substance abuse problem. The substance being much of the food that I tied off and mainlined today.

I need an intervention.