“A rose by any other name, would smell as sweet.”
- William Shakespeare
Here's Shakespeare's theory: it doesn't matter what something is called, but only rather what it is. Makes sense, right?
Sorry, Will. Some people can be fooled by a name. And I can prove it with two words: Clam Nectar.
The word “nectar” conjures up something delectable. But the word “nectar” in conjunction with the word “clam?” That’s a stretch so big it leaves marks.
This story begins – and ends - many years ago. Steve and I were newlyweds, and were invited to a picnic on the shores of the Puget Sound. A friend of ours, Ted, promised fresh clams, cooked on the beach. A large group showed up on a typical, blustery northwest day, prepared to eat and drink. While mingling before the main event, Ted turned to me and asked, “Hey, do you dig clams?
“Yes!” I replied. I LOVE clams.”
Only he wasn’t asking if I liked clams. He was asking if I’d ever dug clams. From the sand. With a shovel. You're not familiar with the procurement of clams? At the risk of destroying your ignorant bliss, here’s a primer from the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife: “Clams show at the edge of the surf line when you pound the beach with a shovel handle or your foot. They may squirt sand and water out of the hole where they are located. You need to be quick when digging in the surf as (razor) clams dig quite fast in the soft fluid sand."
Yuck. But once they're cooked and presented on a platter, they're delicious....
On this day, Ted tossed freshly-dug clams into a big iron pot on the rocky beach. There they simmered over an open fire. The clams, possibly trying but failing to “keep clam,” burst open, were cooked to tender perfection, and piled into bowls for our enjoyment.
I was munching away, when, mid-clam, I saw Ted reach back into the pot. Retrieving a stray clam, I wondered, accidentally left behind?
Unfortunately - no. With a ladle, Ted reached in and scooped up some of the murky, gray liquid left in the pot. He ladled the salty fish-water - dotted with flecks of seaweed and shell - into a mug. He held it out to the group. “Who wants some Clam Nectar?” he asked.
Excuse me? "Clam Nectar?" I thought. You've got to be kidding. This is more like “Dregs of Boiled Mollusk!”
I could see right through the ruse, if not the murky brew. You'd be a fool to drink that stuff! I thought, confident Shakespeare would agree.
"No...thanks..." I managed. I stood next to Steve, dumbfounded. First one person, then another, accepted a steaming mug and sipped it like it was.... good! Were they crazy? Apparently they were blinded by the fact that Ted was calling this disgusting brew "nectar." This was a deception a kindergartner could recognize. This was The Emporer's Invisible Clothes! A Pig in Lipstick! Superman's Clark Kent disguise!
The next day, it was back to reality and the plain fare I knew how to cook in those days. As a new bride, I kept meals simple (twenty-four years later, some things haven't changed). That evening I boiled some hot dogs from the fridge.
As I was dishing them up, I had an inspiration. “I have something to serve with the hot dogs," I told Steve.
"Potato chips?" he asked.
"Nope." I set a steaming mug next to his plate. “Hot Dog Nectar."
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. "No way."
At least I didn't marry a fool.
