One Thing People Failed to Tell Us about Fresno
We like Fresno. A lot!
Having said that, there are a few things people failed to tell us prior to moving here. Maybe they simply took them for granted and assumed we would know about these things. But we didn't know. Now we do.
For example, each morning our front porch and lawn seem to be experiencing a storyline from a B movie thriller that I would name, "Attack of the Hungry Snails." These snails, both old and young -- how long do snails live, after all? -- munch down on any greenery and leave their slimy residue behind them. I haven't accidentally stepped on one yet, but I think I backed the car over one recently -- at least I guess I did due to the shell fragments left on the driveway.
I remember an old Czech codger, Mr. Němeček, in a small village outside Prague who served us snails once as part of an evening at his wine cellar. One of our Czech teachers had invited us out to visit with this man & spend a "cultural evening" in his courtyard. It was a great experience. (Julie and I also drove the commuter train that evening, but that's another story.) He was the local winemaker and treated us to all kinds of delicacies that evening.
One of those treats was grilled snail. He had learned a long & complicated process from a Frenchman, a process that produced the most delightful tasting bite of meat you can imagine. I can't recall how he did it, but I know he soaked them for a year or more in different liquid concoctions, first to kill it and loosen its grip on the shell, and then to tenderize and flavor the snail. He saved the shells and then cooked the snails over the fire until they popped to signal they were done. We were all skeptical, but I couldn't believe how good they were. (I can't recall if Julie actually had one.)
If only Mr. Němeček were still around so I could ask him what he did with those snails. Then I might appreciate Fresno even more!
Having said that, there are a few things people failed to tell us prior to moving here. Maybe they simply took them for granted and assumed we would know about these things. But we didn't know. Now we do.
For example, each morning our front porch and lawn seem to be experiencing a storyline from a B movie thriller that I would name, "Attack of the Hungry Snails." These snails, both old and young -- how long do snails live, after all? -- munch down on any greenery and leave their slimy residue behind them. I haven't accidentally stepped on one yet, but I think I backed the car over one recently -- at least I guess I did due to the shell fragments left on the driveway.
I remember an old Czech codger, Mr. Němeček, in a small village outside Prague who served us snails once as part of an evening at his wine cellar. One of our Czech teachers had invited us out to visit with this man & spend a "cultural evening" in his courtyard. It was a great experience. (Julie and I also drove the commuter train that evening, but that's another story.) He was the local winemaker and treated us to all kinds of delicacies that evening.
One of those treats was grilled snail. He had learned a long & complicated process from a Frenchman, a process that produced the most delightful tasting bite of meat you can imagine. I can't recall how he did it, but I know he soaked them for a year or more in different liquid concoctions, first to kill it and loosen its grip on the shell, and then to tenderize and flavor the snail. He saved the shells and then cooked the snails over the fire until they popped to signal they were done. We were all skeptical, but I couldn't believe how good they were. (I can't recall if Julie actually had one.)
If only Mr. Němeček were still around so I could ask him what he did with those snails. Then I might appreciate Fresno even more!
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Jon Frame