My first taste of fresh shrimp came as a little boy exploring among the returning shrimp boats at the dock. The smell of warm and freshly cooked shrimp wasn’t all. It was about handing coins over to a fisherman and a stranger. It was about returning with a full bag, feeling like a big boy. It was about uncles and family, peeling and eating the shrimp, throwing the shells into the harbor – along with me. But more than anything it was about tasting your first shrimp, cooked the way they should be cooked, by a man who knew how.
In the picture below there is also the ferry that would take us to our summer cabin a few miles out.