My Adult Life is One Long Euphemism
Monday, July 7th, 2008“I’ve never cooked shrimp before,” she said, looking at all the little gray crustaceans scattered about on the table. “They look horrible raw.”
“They do,” the master chef responded, smiling softly at his apprentice. “Fortunately, they become a very nice shade of pink and sometimes orange after they’re cooked. Ironically, I’ve never really cooked shrimp before either but I’m sure my experience with other things will work just fine here.”
The two went to the main table, an old oak monstrosity the chef had possessed for many years, and began to shell the shrimp. The clear outer casings were discarded into a trash bin and edible portions were placed into a large glass bowl with a mild brine mixture in it.
Once all the shrimp were shelled and placed in the bowl, the two allowed them to sit for a while. During this time the apprentice suggested, “We should probably wash our hands. You know how I am.”
“I do,” the chef responded as he walked to the sink, turned on the water and lathered up with a bar of mango soap. She followed and did the same and once clean, she reached under the sink for a bottle of lotion she kept there.