There were some marginally fresh shrimp on hand, smelling rather sketchy when I unwrapped them, even to my practiced and permissive schnoz.
In our house, there are varying degrees of tolerance for food that is in that purgatory between vibrantly fresh and far too spoiled to eat and must be thrown out. One of us, being properly oriented towards the health and safety end of the spectrum, would likely have rejected this particular raw material. The other of us is apparently in possession of a large number of canine chromosomes (and indeed often characterized as part Labrador Retriever). This genetic irregularity results in a remarkable acceptance of sketchy-smelling food and a singular aversion to its disposal.
However, in this case, the inspector was out of town and the chef was convinced that the smell was resident only in the shells and liquid of the shrimp, and that the flesh itself was uncontaminated. This theory was based on extensive empirical evidence and augmented by the exigencies of the situation (there was nothing else to eat in the fridge and he didn't feel like going out).
And so, said chef painstakingly peeled and cleaned these delectable Louisiana prawns, rinsing them continuously with copious quantities of water. Thinking that a strong spicy marinade would cure any residual whiff of the considerable stench now (hopefully) relegated to the trash, he chopped and minced an enormous pile of fresh, bold elephant garlic. This was combined with an entire tub of spicy tomatillo salsa (a regular ingredient almost always on hand in our kitchen) and the shrimp were deeply submerged in the resulting marinade. They remained there for quite a few hours since, theory notwithstanding, no sense taking chances. Who wants to get food poisoning when you're by yourself?
Finally, at dinner time, the shrimp were extracted from the ritual purification bath and quickly grilled in a stove-top pan. (Actually, it was more like a saute than a grill because our most annoying electric range is not really capable of achieving the high heat of a hefty gas model.)
The tasty and piquant prawns were served on a bed of cous-cous cooked with the reserved marinade. They were absent any foul odor or noxious taste whatsoever, at least to this dog's discriminating taste buds. I think even the health and safety chief would have agreed.
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