Clambo

Yesterday I partook in a true Rhode Island tradition. I went quahogging. A quahog is a hard shell clam. It is a very tasty shellfish. I have been hooked on these little suckers ever since I was a baby girl. The story goes that my grandfather was shucking them, eating them raw on the half shell and I kept bugging him that I wanted to try one. He thought a three year old would get grossed out by this raw delicacy that kind of looks like a large booger; so he shucked one and let me slurp it down. Much to my grandpa’s chagrin, as soon as it hit my tongue I was hooked. From that day on, I was first in line to get my own quahog whenever grandpa was shucking them.

The best way to get the freshest quahog is not to go to the market or your local fish monger to buy them, you must dig them yourself. I come from a long line of do it yourself quahog pro’s. My grandpa had a knack for it; a real legend, he not only caught them, his super secret clam chowder recipe was coveted by many. There is also my aunt Millie, who at, 84 years old, quahogs circles around most people I know. Then there is my aunt Judy – she calls herself “Clambo.” Clambo is her name and digging clams is her game.

When it comes to quahogging or clamming, I can’t hold a candle to most people in my family, but I give it my best shot. I figure I got to go out there and at least try since I like to eat them so much. My aunt Judy is a generous clammer, she does not mind sharing her best clam digging spots with her loved ones and yesterday was no different. I was a little skeptical since she tends to pick places that no one else goes, and there is usually a reason for it. There was the time she had me walk through a mile of muck up to my shin to get to the prime spot. I found myself falling ass over elbow into the most putrid mud because I kept sinking too deep to get a solid footing. Then there was the time she had me knee deep in eel infested seaweed – it was like fear factor quahogging. So this time, before we embarked on our quahogging quest, I had to ask my aunt Clambo if there would be eels or muck I needed to be aware of before committing. She said no, this is a great place, you’ll be fine. Uh-huh.

Now, I’m certain she thought I’d be fine with the eels and the muck, but I still trusted her. Living in the Midwest I don’t get many opportunities to become one with my beloved quahog, so when I get a chance to go clamming, I take it. Usually when you go quahogging you are up to your knees in water but yesterday’s expedition required a snorkel. My aunt Clambo was up to her shoulders in water diving down to get the quahogs she felt below. I was not so brave – I need to see the ground below – you never know when a crab could attack, so I stayed in the shallow water. Three hours later I had six quahogs. Clambo had about 100. My whimpiness cost me a good take.