I've been reading The Pat Conroy Cookbook , and let me tell you it is a great read. But at a later time; first: my story. I was home (in BC) for Mother's Day. I was walking to my parents' house from my in-laws' house when I saw a woman wandering around the yard in a conical straw hat and a surgical mask. She was asking if anyone wanted to buy shrimp--her husband had been out on the boat that morning, and she had a pickup bed full of ice chests. I had to weigh my sister Peetie's warnings about botulism against $5.50/lb. So I drove home with two adults, two kids, a yellow lab, 20 pounds of shrimp on ice and three buckets of iris bulbs from my mom packed into the Ford Escape. Man, I love my car. The good news is that I haven't died yet--so far it seems that the shrimp are fine. And last weekend I finally got to make pickled shrimp. Pickled shrimp are evidently a Low Country thing, but they need to be an everywhere-people-sell-shrimp-out-of-their-pickups thi
