Rantings, ravings, and random thoughts on work, home and living.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
F is for Frog Legs
When I was a teenager, I was a waitress at a local seafood restaurant. I lived way out in the country, the middle of no where, and this seafood restaurant was situated in a big old barn that had been renovated. In fact we referred to it as the red barn more often than we used its official name.
The restaurant was situated next to a business that made cement garden sculptures and birdbaths. It was surrounded by acres and acres of farmland, and on the other side of the path leading up to the restaurant was the canal.
One of the items on our menu was frog legs. We used to tell folks that we went gigging in the canal for the big bullfrogs, but the truth was that they came frozen in the Seaboard truck right along side the shrimp, flounder, and oysters, although the seafood was fresh. Folks knew it was a joke.
I only remember a couple of folks ever ordering frog legs for or with their meal, and I was curious to try them. So one night when business was slow, the manager fried me up some frog legs to try. I've always been willing to try most foods, even as a youngster, so I wasn't necessary disgusted by the idea of frog legs, but I was cautious. They looked like small drumsticks sitting there on my plate. I tentatively picked one up, eyed it for a second, and then took a bite. The frog legs tasted like dry chicken. I remember shrugging and saying that they were okay. I've never tried them again.
Maybe someone has a great recipe for making a more delicious version of frog legs.