Today I woke up, got up, and dragged myself around….
All parts of a conch are supposed to be edible, which is okay if you don’t mind eating intestines and brains (however small conch brains may be). But a conch’s foot has the best white meat – not to be confused with pork – and if you don’t mind eating the equivalent of an overgrown escargot, conch fritters are delicious, grease and all!
After gorging on conch fritters and a lot of beer, I woke up the next morning with a heavy chest. At first, I thought that it was last night’s conch fritters, and that all that fritter grease had formed one big gas bubble in my gut. It felt like flatulence was pushing all my internal body parts up against my throat. But it wasn’t flatulence and it certainly wasn’t gravity. It was just my cat, Tom Brown, standing on top of me.
Now I wonder, how many conch feet are in a fritter? Probably four or five. Unless you use the whole thing. I’m beginning to feel sorry for the conch. How does a footless conch put its best foot forward? Wading must be difficult. How can a footloose conch set foot anywhere?
But conchs can get even, After the fritters slid on down into my lower intestine, I began to think the conch(s) had an agenda of their own. Or maybe it was the grease. It felt like Custer’s last stand, a major gastric coup. Or maybe the conchs were just going to spawn….
Anyway, conchs are persistent little bastards. It took three hours and half a bottle of kaopectate to calm my intestines. From now on, I’ll stick to vegetables.
