We swapped the central Ohio scenery for Georgia’s eastern coast during a break from school. Lichen dangles off the branches of willow trees like feathered boas around slim necks.
Ethan and George juggle a rainbow volleyball between them, intermittently stopping to swat at the hundreds of biting “no-see-ums” landing on their exposed skin.
The sun is beginning to set, and a cooler breeze moves the scent of the salt marsh surrounding our backyard peninsula.
I sit in the rough grass with Lydia, peeling shrimp Theo bought for us.
Holding the shrimp, I use my thumbs to butterfly the gills and pull gently at the tail so the shell slides off in one clean piece. We shelled dozens of shrimp, watching a bowl fill up with their plump, gray bodies. Although it can seem gross, the process was satisfying.
Before peeling the shrimp, I minced five cloves of garlic and a head of parsley. I also prepped portions of olive oil, butter, and pinot grigio.
Finally, it was time to make shrimp scampi.
Outside on the charcoal grill, I set up a small cast iron skillet and got to work.
After fragrancing the oil and butter with garlic and allowing the wine to simmer and evaporate halfway, I added the shrimp and let them cook for only a few minutes. The gray stripes and flecks near their gills turned a rosy pink.
Served with slices of toasted sourdough, we ate the meal together.
No plates, just awkward neck cranes to eat over the grass. No one wants butter stains.
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