Steve Hutchison (foomf) wrote,
Steve Hutchison

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Every January, Reedville Cafe, a nearby eatery, has Crab Month.
For a long time Penny and I would meet up with Brad and Linda and we would all devour CRAB.
Whole steamed Dungeness Crab (sans guts).
It's served with a slice of cheese-toast, a small bowl of coleslaw, a little shot-glass-sized thing of ketchup with pretenses (and not very good ones), a similar shot-glass-sized thing with melted butter in it, and a slice of lemon.
There is a bucket on the table for shells, a little fork designed for eating crabby bits, and a nutcracker.
There are never enough napkins.

We did that again tonight.
The smacking, slurping, munching, and devouring was horrific, tremendous carnage of crab.
We talked about everything we hadn't done, and had done, since the last time we'd had dinner together.

Then, at 7:30 we were off to see Johnny Depp demonstrating that Tim Burton can bring out the creepy in him.
That wig made my head itch to look at, even worse than Captain Jack Sparrow's wig. Burton took the wide-stage over-the-top insanity of the Broadway Musical, trimmed off the shaggy London Chorus (sadly lost the framing song, which I love) shifted a few things around in service of the movie being a narrow, tight, claustrophobic close-up.
It was perfectly cast. The actors for the roles, and the voices. Nobody is a rock-star singer, nobody is an operatic genius, but they're all good enough, and anything better would have been just WRONG.

As we left the theatre I was reminded that, on Thursday night, I was watching a documentary on the Donner Party where the survival expert suggested that many more people would have survived, had they realized the situation and started respectfully eating their deceased friends and family as soon as they were available. The energy demands of that mountainous winter were very high - a minimum of 4500 calories to break even - and by the time everyone had starved down so long, they were getting only carb-depleted, lean meat, not life-saving fats.

The Donners would not have made the best pies in London.

Also, staxxy ... there's a scene in the middle which I want as a postcard. Can you tell which?

Also, I rather want a meat pie now.

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