Creamy Crab Dip
It’s a simple crab dip.
I have always LOVED the taste of crab and had an affinity for crab legs, crab claws, crab cakes, etc., even as a kid – and associated them with going to the beach because that’s when going out for seafood was a given.
Awww – that makes me want the beach! I’m so sick of sweatshirts and socks. And shivering my ass off walking from the parking deck to the door to work.
Want to go down memory lane? Let’s peruse a typical day at the beach as a kid-stay with me here, I won’t be long.
- 8 am. You get up in the morning, go out to the beach early with your family, flop around in the water, beg your parents to get up off their beach chairs. They don’t. They’re too busy reading People magazine or a book, sleeping, or talking about where we’re going for dinner. (They certainly weren’t busy on cellphones or tablets.)
- 11 am. Parents open the cooler full of canned Pepsi’s, ham and cheese sandwiches and potato chips – barely protected from the melted ice thanks to those lame ass fold-over plastic bags. You try to eat your almost soggy sandwich and pray to God you don’t get sand on it.
- 11:10 am You get sand on your ham sandwich. Damnit. You try slinging it off, it does no good. Doesn’t matter, you’re not hungry anyway. You ignore your mother’s insistence on another layer of sunblock and trample back into the water like you don’t hear her. Who needs sunblock? You’ve got more important shit to do. Somebody has to find those damn whole sand dollars.
- 12 pm. You turn around to make sure your parents are still there. Little do you know the tide has moved you sideways about 500 feet. You instantly hyperventilate - they have literally left your ass.
- 12:01 pm. Continue to hyperventilate while you’re walking out of the water, scoping the beach for your parents, wondering WTF you’re gonna do being abandoned, you’re an orphan, who will take you in…
- 12:03 pm. You spot your mother on the beach, breathe a sigh of relief and go back to your business. Back to the water. You eyeball a sand dollar. Son of a bitch, it’s not whole.
- 2 pm. You watch a Cessna-type plane fly across the sky with a long white banner advertising the latest seafood deal at whatever restaurant paid them enough to do it. You shield your eyes from the blinding sun that is unrelenting and try to ignore the slightly intense burning on your back/cheeks/scalp knowing that if you hadn’t ignored your mother you wouldn’t be suffering but the water/sand/waves call you and you currently don’t give a single shit. Oh, you will later.
- 3 pm. Your ass is burned up to the point that you can barely move. You go back to the room and take that shocking shower. Then you argue with your mom about the sunblock.
- 4 pm. Go to “the strip” to one of the many souvenir shops. Stand in line for two hours to get an airbrushed multi-colored “Panama City 1986″ shirt. You beg for stupid pens, sand filled shit and bobble heads that are such a waste of money. You promised your best friend. Remember?
- 6 pm. Dinner – Seafood Buffet. Parents complain about the price because it’s $27.00 a plate, when the kids are only gonna eat a handful of mac ‘n cheese, 4 rolls, maybe some french fries and a shit ton of soft serve ice cream.
- 9 pm. You get slathered in that slimy green stuff that soothes the burn because you’re fried from the sun. Off to bed. You decide sunblock isn’t such a bad idea.
I think I was an exception to most kids when it came to food – I ate the hell out of some crab legs. My dad, for some reason, would bring that up during our few meals together before he died in 2009.
He was definitely a foodie!