I have a lot to say about clams. I love them. I love them in chowder, hot and buttery. I love them with linguine, served in the shells, drizzled with butter, white wine and garlic. I love them in chip dip. I love going to the market to buy them, sometimes all netted in the cold water tank at the fish market. I like crusty French bread and a glass of cold white wine served with my clams. The clams must be small. The baby ones are delicious.
The part about clams I am not thrilled about are two-fold. I am not fond of clam digging at the cold ocean beaches. Buying them at the fish market makes much better sense.
The other part about clams I do not enjoy is the ttwd part. When I clam up and refuse to shrug off what has happened, or become silent and withdrawn when decisions do not go my way, the clam analogy gets me spanked in a heartbeat. Clamming up is spankable. In fact, it is a surefire way to end up over Jack's knee. He is quick to notice it and even quicker to act on it. I am not allowed to clam up. If I do, I am spanked and mighty fast.
So where are you on the clams and the clamming up. Do you like clams? Is clamming up spankable at your house?
My husband wants me talking, not clamming up and he knows how to make that happen if I choose to clam up. I will not need to worry about hot chowder, warm clam broth, or chip dip. I will just need to worry about holding still over his knee.
Thank you, L.