The Hungry Barbarian

I returned to base exhausted and empty handed.  I knew what I had to do: fill up the mummy trap and collect mussels to get them soaking.  Even if they made me almost boot with everyone, I still had to have something ready to go.  Just looking at them filled me with dread.

My other set of grandparents (nicknamed big, because of the size difference from my dad’s parents) showed up, as they had been dying to see how I was.  My grandmother is an encyclopedia of beach fruits, especially what was safe and unsafe to eat.  I had a hunch a plant I had found was rose hips, which she makes into a delicious jelly.  While bitter, the berries would provide a different flavor and some much needed nutrients:

She confirmed that it was indeed rose hips, but the berries were nowhere near ready.  Those were buds and the berries didn’t come around until July.  Damn July was haunting me.

So all I could do was admire the plants, which wasn’t much satisfaction right now:   

At that point I scoped out someone’s private garden that I had seen in my earlier travels, hoping there was a little bit of lettuce I could snatch:

Nothing, not even a string bean.  Instead I had to head back and watch everyone enjoy my favorite beach beer (Miller Chill):

And my favorite type of beer, A belgium white (Southampton double white to be exact, a fantastic beer):

Lauren wouldn’t even sit next to me because I was a bit gross.

This was just getting depressing.

So my day started with a serious of efforts to catch anything of substance, and especially anything that wasn’t mussels or killies. 

First up, crabbing.  

There is a marsh where with a series of bridges crossing it where crabs apparently hang out.  While I was doubtful (crabs usually blossom July or later), anything was worth a shot.  I was desperate though, so off I went with crabbing gear and my rabbit/squirrel as well.  I had learned my lesson the day before when I was ten feet away from a rabbit, but all of my equipment was back at base.  That would not happen again.

So off I went with camera crew in tow, trekking long and far until finally the bridges came into view.  

While bridge spanned more marsh than water, it was definitely the right location.  With at least ten more bridges in view, there was a lot of ground to cover.

But what’s that?  Movement!  A rabbit no less!  I already had visions of Roger over an open fire.  

Gone.  Before I could could get out “wunderstick” (here’s the inspiration for the name) out, the bastard had already hightailed it out of there.  All I was left with was an insult:

Fresh rabbit droppings.  Nice.

Well, nothing to do but to continue onward.  

At bridge three we sighted our first crab, but it was too far and too deep for me to get at.  Even if I jumped in after it, it would be long gone before I had a chance.  We spotted another one closer to the shore and were unsure if it was alive or dead as it hadn’t moved at all since we had been there.  Naturally, I jumped in after it:       

The mud was so deep, that any attempt to walk in would be pointless.

That was the last crab we saw (it was dead), which meant a long depressing walk home.  

Yesterday was my lowest day, it was the day I really began to have serious thoughts about everything.  I woke up sad, tired and worn out.  My hands were freezing and wouldn’t warm up not matter what I did, while my throat was sore and a bit swollen which means I’m likely getting sick.  

On top of it all, I knew it was going to rain sometime soon.  No matter what, I was screwed.  If it rained during the day, there was no dodging getting wet.  Even if I did get anything, the firewood was all wet as I have no dry place to store it.  

I had planned ahead somewhat in the form of dried seaweed.  I had been drying batches of the stuff for the last 2-3 days knowing that rain was inevitable.  I figured this way I had some dry, edible food reserves that did not have to be cooked.  Just the thought of eating any type of creature (or plankton) from the sea however was enough to make me gag.  I was not looking forward to it.    

My biggest worry though was not food related, it had more to do with my health.  I’ve been perpetually (slightly) dehydrated, despite my best efforts to the contrary.  My body now rarely tells me when its hungry or thirsty, except when truly necessary and as I mentioned I’m getting sick.  My stamina is low, and I get dizzy when standing up which indicates I now have low blood pressure.  For someone who is predisposed to high blood pressure, is Sicilian (naturally hot blooded, and has had 90/120 all his life, this was a radical change.  If not for my current circumstances I might even be elated, as this would please my doctor greatly.   

Drastic action was needed today or all would be lost.

So today was likely the most dramatic to date.  I’ve already give you some of the groundwork, but let’s just say the rest of the day didn’t disapoint.  I’ll break it up into several posts, but there’s no way I’m going to get them done tonight as heaven is about to open up which means I’ll lose my connection.  Don’t worry, I’ll have all the drama up by tomorrow.    

They’re cooking bacon this morning.  I can’t hide from it, the smell is everywhere.  Needless to say, I am not happy.  

But there appears to be a nice subplot that has developed, which makes me feel a hell of a lot better.  Want a clue to what it is?  Here’s a hint:

Any guesses?  No?

Well my grandmother feels horrible for eating in front of me in addition to everyone breaking my chops regarding my food situation.  So bad in fact that she has subtly suggested that should the transgressions reach a boiling point she just might stop cooking for everyone.  That, having eaten her food for many many years, would suck.      

No one knows the fine art of deterrence better than she does, proved by threatening a f-bomb (no, not the curse, but rather “food”).  So now its a balancing act: break my chops enough to satisfy the urge (because you can’t fully suppress it), but not so much as to piss off the matriarch.  Kissinger couldn’t have done it better.

I told you grandma has my back.

I wrote this in the middle of my adventure, day 4:

My aversion to mussels is reaching an all time high.  I really hate the damn things.  I don’t chew them, just swallow them whole, gagging the whole way.  In fact, just watching me eat is grossing out everyone else, thus, I’ve been looking at alternative foods sources.  Thankfully, I think I found the answer:

Once upon a time that was likely my arch-nemesis (though without dental records that can’t be confirmed), the squirrel.  Sure I didn’t make the kill, a Range Rover or a Mercedes likely did the dirty work, but am I really going to complain?  Its a bit dried out, but that might work to my favor.  I hope there are no maggots in there, questionable because there’s an awful lot of flies hovering around.

But I’m also feeling a little more health conscious these days, and my parents are always reminding me to watch my cholesterol.  White meat is the only substitute:   

Unfortunately there’s not much meat on those bones and I’ve awfully hungry, I’m going to need more than that.  Thankfully, nature (and traffic) provides all:

I got options baby, options.

I’ve had some problems making a fire lately though; I can’t seem to get it to last long enough.  This has been a big problem while trying to boil water for those damn disgusting mussels.  Thankfully, I found a finished product that would save me the hassle:

If only I found some blue cheese sauce, I’d be set!

While I really am joking about eating most of this stuff (ok, quarter joking) I did see about 3-4 giant strawberries smashed on the roadside.  I didn’t stop to take a picture, because I would have eaten them if I did.  

I regret not making that stop.

While it might be the weekend for the rest of the world, today is just another day in my week, albeit one step closer to the end.  While you’re likely sitting in front of the boob tube, I stupidly brought a few cookbooks to read, because that’s truly what I do in my spare time.  I wholeheartedly regret that decision now.  I had to bury them in the deepest recesses of my tent to keep their black magic away.  So today I think I need something more substantial.  Thankfully, due to some clever scouting, I have a few options. 

Seagulls unfortunately are out.  I really wanted to nab a “pigeon of the sea” more out of curiosity than anything else, but there doesn’t appear to be any around.  That sucks because I want revenge for the mortadella and provolone hero (sub, hoagie, grinder, etc; sandwich descriptions are not a unified language) they stole from me back in the summer of ‘97.  It was a really good sandwich.        

We all know my obsession with squirrels, so that’s still on the table.  My friend Kara mentioned that yesterday was Friday the 13th, and that I shouldn’t tempt fate.  Being half Sicilian, that’s something you just don’t mess with.  Additionally, my friend Tony sent me a separate warning regarding squirrels; I’m a big fan of that graphic.  

While the brains are not at the top of my culinary list, its likely that once I got my hands on a cooked squirrel I’d eat anything that wouldn’t choke me.  So squirrel brains are out, but squirrel meat is still in, if I can wring one of their scrawny little necks.

Yesterday I happened to see some ducks go by.  While its a huge longshot, duck is one of my favorite meats.  Fatty, all dark and delicious, it would be easy to cook and even easier to eat.  Sure its likely a pipe dream, but its my pipe dream.  I’d club Donald over the head and not think twice about it while Mickey watched.  Hell I’d eat Mickey and Minny if given the chance.

More likely to be my prey of choice today will be rabbit.  I’ve seen a few of them around, and yesterday was no more than 10 ft from one; sadly I had left my throwing stick back at base and by the time I got a new one it was long gone.  Hopefully we’ll have some good footage of me crawling through the weeds like my idol Bear Grylls, clubbing one of the little buggers; if I do, I’ll be running up and down the street for an hour screaming while doing an victory dance.  I imagine a call to the cops soon afterwards.     

Thankfully, if I ever get truly desperate, I always have one other option:

Hopefully the neighbors won’t mind too much that I turned the family pet into cat-kebabs.  

I know I won’t.

Have you ever had 5 people just stare at you without saying a word?  Welcome to dinner with the Barbarian and family!

While everyone else dined on a spread I would kill for, I saved my main course to have with them.  What could that be?  God forsaken mussels of course:

What else did you expect?

The divide between the two camps was wide and the table long however:

On one side sat the residents of the beach front house, on the other the resident of the tent in their backyard who was almost booted out by the gardener.  

Everyone did feel bad for my predicament, my grandmother really wouldn’t look me in the eye she felt so bad, but that wasn’t going to stop anyone from eating:

or some friendly taunting:

I can’t blame him; I’d do the same if the roles were reversed.

Two seconds later my father recommended I roll one of my mussels in the eggplant.  I had no comment; I was already considering doing that.

This is going to be a looooooooong weekend.  

Dinner however changed everything.  I went for a walk, and when I came back the table was set.  Let’s take a look at what they would be having:

I believe that’s my friend Mr. Hamburger, and oh wait who’s that:

Their buddies hot dogs and cheese!  Huzzah!

In comparison I had a multi-course meal (two to be exact)  The first course was killies:

And how was this fine meal prepared?  Well, first cut the heads off and pull out the guts:

Now remember that these are typically used exclusively as bait fish though.  Hopefully you’ll have a big old pile of them, I actually did with a few baby shrimp mixed in:  

Finally boil them all (using a mummy trap as a giant strainer), and you have course one:

Want to know how they tasted?

Answer: not good. 

To be honest the food situation wasn’t as terrible as I had thought (because I’m pretty sure I’ve already lost my mind), but it was the small stuff that made for an interesting day.  

The first thing everyone did when they got in (after saying hello of course) was to go into the kitchen and eat.  Its what Italians do.  Hearing people talk about “splitting a cookie” did however blow my mind.  Yea, I’d split a cookie…into half dozen batches.

Sure when everyone is outside its great, not talking to anyone for 4 days can be trying, but when they’re inside those screendoors begin to feel an awful lot like prison bars.  The worst part is of course that this is a self imposed prison sentence.    

Everyone was having a grand old time though:

But we were drawing closer to dinner, where the differences would become more stark.

“Is that you that smells like fish?” asked my brother Mike.  

I’d say that was a fair question.