As we wearily trudge into barely the third week but also the 187th year of this lunacy, I find myself once again thinking of signs of spring and summer — not that anything is necessarily going to be resolved or even better by then, but at least it won’t be February (side note: gosh I hate February). The other day my neighbor mentioned, “Thank goodness Easter is late this year.” Why? Nothing to do with the little baby Jesus, don’t worry. It’s crawfish. Peak crawfish season runs roughly March – June*, and there was some concern that the recent snowpocalypse might delay the crawfish harvest**.
Look out, now.
Thanksgiving turkey, Christmas ham, and Easter crawfish — those are the rules. And then after Easter we just keep on eating crawfish at every opportunity until one batch is just a little small and a little too hard to peel, and we realize, reluctantly, that crawfish season*** is over (albeit never in our hearts).
My favorite thing about a crawfish boil is how egalitarian it is. For one thing, like any good boil, there’s no pot limit. Growing up, my family stuck to my dad’s traditional — crawfish, potatoes, corn — but people also toss in sausage, carrots, fruit, whole chicken legs, mushrooms****, whatever. Toss a shoe in; see what happens. Plus a crawfish boil is messy. There is no dignified way to properly serve or eat crawfish. No matter how rich or poor, crawfish boils are people standing around newspaper-shrouded plywood tables, fingers covered in crawfish juice and beer condensation, politely asking each other to pass the paper towels. I like that.
Also, y’all should know that crawfish racing is a thing.
*The concept of crawfish season and what constitutes peak crawfish season is kind of contentious. This is my take. Please don’t at me.
**Ew, something about “harvest” applied to an animal, even a sea bug, is very discomfiting.
***See *.
****Mushrooms in crawfish boils were a revelation to me. I can’t convince my family to try it, but y’all: little spice sponges.
Have a good Thursday, Avocados! Hang in there!