Trials of a Mussel Slut

I refer to myself as a mussel slut. I'm one of two, actually. My friend, Kate, is just as slutty as I am when it comes to these precocious little bivalves. Every so often we'll hear of a delicious plate of mussels being served at a restaurant here in Sacramento and we immediately call a Mussel Slut Meeting in order to go and get our fingers wet in broth and ocean-brined sauce. Our commitment is inspiring and respectable, a dedication toward pleasure on behalf of these tasty critters.

Of course, it's more than just taste. Mussels are sustainable and usually farmed under small production conditions that don't have a lot of impact on the environment. Since they're farmed year round you can find them served at restaurants at any time, in fact more restaurants are generating their menus around them due to their impressive flavor and striking visual appearance (who isn't awed by a steamy plate of pasta pierced with the long obsidian peaks of fresh mussels?).

And the cost? Well that's one of the best parts. I cook mussels pretty often, usually as I attempt to recreate a dish I had at a restaurant once Kate and I have pumped the server for all the ingredients (see, slutty). A pound of mussels usually go about four or five dollars, which isn't bad. You do have to assume about a quarter of them are dead so you may usually want to buy a quarter-pound more mussels than you think you'll need but overall it's a fiscally sound dish when it comes to purchasing seafood.

Take them home, drop them in some water while you prep. A quick, though often tough, debearding - No gym needed on mussel days! Work your muscles on those mussels! - and another quick rinse, and you're ready to go. They cook up in a flash and always fill the house with that distinct sea smell. A quick rendezvous in the kitchen with stellar results across the board. Whether served in a Belgian beer broth, a classic white wine broth, tossed with tomatoes and cream, or perhaps in curry they're sure to be a winner.

Now, no relationship is perfect. Being slutty always has its risks and downfalls, especially when it comes to mussels. My relationship with mussels has been, at time, tumultuous. This is to be expected as accepted risk of being a mussel slut.

Of course, this doesn't always come in ways you might expect it. Going into the ocean and accidentally swimming across a shallow colony of mussels is a good way for these humble little bivalves to unintentionally exact their vengeance upon you for your voracious decimation of their brethren.

When I was on the island of Nevis my brother and I had swum out into the ocean to a giant floating trampoline (yes, just what I said, it is as awesome as it sounds). After a few hours of rambunctious play, bouncing, doing flips into the water, and overall being stupid, exuberant teenage boys with a newly discovered toy we decided to go underneath the trampoline. The way it was set up was that it was a well constructed inflatable ring buoy that suspended the net well above the water's surface and kept it taught. The buoy had anchor ropes at eight ends tying it tightly down to an anchor at the ocean floor. These eight ropes all converged together to a central anchor line about 5 1/2 feet below the surface of the water.

When my brother and I swam under it we were overjoyed, a sort of secret cove we had discovered where the strangely filtered light cast an odd fractured shimmer across the water. We sat around enjoying the scenery when, suddenly, I felt a knife slice through the bottom of my foot.

"Ow! Jesus! What the hell was that?!" I looked around and my brother seemed perplexed when suddenly he too was slashed across the top of his big toe.

We looked down to see that each rope was covered in mussels. Tiny narrow colonies built upon one another starting about four feet down. Their tips were razor sharp, and when a paddling foot keeping a heavy body afloat skims across their calcium carbonate shells, well, the flesh will loose.

"Oh crap!" my brother called, and he began to swim out from underneath the trampoline and I followed. However, in our initial kicks, the wind suddenly twisted the trampoline and with it the colony covered ropes and our feet were lacerated further. We looked down at the tiny trails of blood and, like any reasonable person who saw Jaws, realized we had three minutes before a shark swam in at sonic speed after smelling sweet, sweet blood to devour us in a grizzly manner. I don't think I ever swam that hard in my life.

Once we made it to the shallows we tried to float on our backs to the rest of the shore line as walking on the sand was too painful. Our exposed feet however were however suddenly swarmed by tiny salt water minnows who in great numbers circled our bleeding feet to snack on the bits of exposed skin and meat. While it technically tickled (as one can describe a tickling feeling while being utterly disgusted) I was horrified at the realization that I was, literally, being eaten alive.

Fucking mussels.

Now this isn't a common occurrence. This sort of body wrecking by a tiny bivalve is rare at best, often brought on by inexperience or lack of forethought. If you're a mussel slut you have to make good choices and use protection. Food poisoning, the STD of eating, is your real concern.

Mussels become quite toxic when they die and this toxicity grows shockingly fast. Generally this is easily avoided by tossing out any open or broken mussels before cooking and the unopened ones after cooking. Easy enough, right? Well not always. Sometimes one slips past. Like last night when we had mussels. And I had one that was funky. My guests were spared.

Now, there are few worse places to get food poisoning than in a movie theater, but then, sometimes, that's just what happens. Praying to God that it would be quick and I would only miss the opening credits before the movie started I sat in the Men's Room in sweat and fear. I did not want to be sick in public. Let alone trapped in a stall horfing up curry colored vomit. I actually hoped, hoped, for diarrhea rather than throwing up.

Later (I will spare you any details), I felt fine and dandy as if nothing had ever happened. Apparently it had simply been one rogue mussel, one that I assume simply died on the way home right before he was cooked. I went back to the movie, sucked down some water and then was gleefully watching Sex and the City 2 and wolfing down the candy I had smuggled in.

Yes, mussels are a trial and tribulation, one well worth the effort as any mussel slut will tell you. Just be sure to be cautious around them in the wild (wear your flip flops) and toss any and all dead ones out (though one may slip through). Whore it up for your favorite little bivalve; they're tasty and more likely than not you'll have a delicious dish. Serve with beer and crusty bread.