Mussels
“Do you wanna cuddle?” I asked with an eager grin, turning on my toes and walking, cat-like, back to the bed. My linen shorts were rolled at the waist, a lightweight sweatshirt zipped halfway up my chest.
He nodded and lay down next to me with a book of local history and recipes. I snuggled my head onto his chest and lay quietly for a few moments, listening to the Adirondack birds. I traced his skin, sticky from the afternoon’s sunscreen. I drew a deep breath; I could smell his clean, light cologne through the Banana Boat. He held the book with his left hand and fingered the fabric of my shorts with his other.
Earlier that weekend, the four of us had sat lawn chairs right down in the knee-deep water, reclining back and trailing our hands in the lake. We laughed and teased each other, stopping every once in a while to proclaim absolute contentment. I couldn’t be happier if I tried. While the boys drank beer, O and I walked a few laps around the shallow water, searching for fresh-water mussels. We found handfuls of slippery black shells and carried them back to the dock for inspection.
“We should cook these tonight,” we said. The boys’ faces twisted with a combination of amusement and horror. “Yeah … maybe …” Finn said, his voice trailing off as he put a tentative hand on my lower back. “I don’t know how …” he searched for a polite word. “… good they’d be.” T wasn’t quite as tactful. He grabbed a mussel and hurled it back in the water. “Yu-ahhhhh!” he shrieked as the bivalve whipped through the air. I squeezed Finn’s hand and I laughed hard, happy to be comfortable with friends, happy to be with him.
—
Back in bed, I recalled the scene. He smiled and turned the page of his book. “The mussel has probably stuck itself back in the sand by now.” I nodded. Mussels liked to burrow, cozying into the ground. I’d noticed the circular patterns they made in the lake floor.
He kissed the top of my head and began to read. “Good eating and hospitality have long been a tradition for residents of Upper Saranac Lake,” he started. I closed my eyes and pulled myself deeper into his side, cuddling up.
Mussels with White Wine Sauce
- 1 pound fresh mussels
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 medium-sized shallot, diced
- 1 clove garlic, crushed
- 1 cup white wine (Whatever variety you have will do, but I do like Chardonnay for this.)
- 1 generous pat of butter
- Fresh herbs, such as parsley, picked and chopped roughly
- Salt and pepper
Soak the mussels in a bucket of fresh, clean water for a half-hour, then scrape them clean of any grit or beards. With your finger, tap any mussels that may have opened, and if they refuse to close back up, discard them. The healthy, live ones will snap shut at the intrusion of privacy.
Meanwhile, soften the shallot and garlic in a large, wide pan with the olive oil. Try not to gain any color on the shallot; using a patient, medium heat will typically do the trick. When they are soft and translucent, add the mussels to the pan. Pour the wine in and raise the heat to medium-high. Cover the pan and shake it gently. The mussels will open almost immediately – in about two minutes.
As soon as they’ve opened, kill the heat and use a slotted spoon to transfer them to a serving bowl. You may wish to reduce the wine by a touch; to do this, just keep the heat on for a minute more. Once sufficiently reduced, swirl in the butter. It will thicken the sauce further. Season well with salt and pepper. Pour over the mussels and serve with a loaf of crusty, crackly bread. Some people choose to pull the tender meat from the shell with a fork, but I prefer to use my fingers.
