Clams are difficult to find in a land-locked state. I’m not sure I’d want to eat clams out of the Mississippi River. I’m not sure I’d want to eat a pig that drank out of the Mississippi River. I’m not sure I’d want to be near the Mississippi River, which is a problem considering it’s about a mile from my front door.

I decided to make Linguine with Fresh Clams this week. I was going to write about how it’s my dad’s favorite Italian dish, which is true, and that I was honoring him by making it, which would not be true.

In reality I chose to make Linguine with Fresh Clams the same reason I do almost everything, last minute panic. I blindly pointed to a recipe in the pasta section of The Food Lab while sitting in my car at the grocery store.

I landed on Linguine with Fresh Clams. I did not make Linguine with Fresh Clams. Apparently, the grocery store doesn’t carry a lot of clams this time of year. Or any time of year. This is not a clam-rich part of the country. We have highway construction, racial tension and the wrong type of crabs, but unfortunately just no clams.

We do have shrimp. Which is odd considering the no clams thing. As far as I know these two shellfish grew up in the same neighborhood. I guess only the shrimp had the guts to get out of the ocean and try to make something out of himself in the big bad Midwest. You go shrimp. You go.

So I made Pasta with Extra-Garlicky Shrimp Scampi (Page 690). It has almost the exact same ingredients as Linguine with Clams, but with a main ingredient that’s actually available. I look at this as a lesson in love. Don’t discriminate. If you can’t find the mollusk you’re looking for, you might be looking for a crustacean and just not know it.

Scampi means “shrimp” in Italian. So when you order shrimp scampi, you’re ordering shrimp shrimp. Don’t you feel like an idiot now. I did after I read that fun fact on the internet.

After the seafood counter saleswoman and I decided that shrimp and clams are pretty much the same thing anyway I had to pick up some other ingredients, including a dry white wine.

The only wine I know anything about comes out of a box. So I wandered up and down the wine aisle reading labels like a soccer mom searching for gluten-free crackers. Sterling. Guenoc. Clos de Bois. These sound like World War II battlefields. I need something relatable. Something that I know won’t let me down. Something friendly and approachable.

My wine’s name is Josh, which really stands out next to a fancy-ass name like Estancia. Josh is a bro. He’s cool, maybe a little standoffish at first, but Josh is definitely a good dude. I’m feeling strongly about Josh. No one named Josh has ever let me down. Except maybe Josh Duggar, he let us all down.

Josh and I went home together (wine will do that to you) and started thawing out shrimp. Weird, yet sensual first date. Next, following traditional first date protocol, I introduced him to my oldest enemy and one true fear, parsley.

Something has changed in me and the parsley. The chopping process has become easier. The Devil’s Herb isn’t making me want to find the nearest parsley farm and start a labor dispute. I finished chopping the parsley and thought to myself, “maybe we’ve both grown up a little.”

Then I dropped the parsley on the floor.

I hate this stupid plant. I hate it more than I hate Charles Schulz’s Peanuts and James Cameron’s Titanic. I hate it more than I hate chocolate and peanut butter. I hate it more than I hate Family Circus and Luke Bryan.

I may need to lighten up. I seem to hate a lot of things that normal people enjoy. Except parsley. Parsley can go straight to hell. Luckily I have extra to chop up. Oh boy.

I do love garlic. Which is good because there is enough garlic in this recipe to ruin next week’s vampire convention. The full recipe calls for 12 cloves of garlic prepared in various ways. The smashing gives me a chance to take out my remaining parsley rage like a UFC fighter would, violently. The slicing gives me a chance to practice not chopping my fingers off. The mincing presents a problem, as I do not own a garlic press.

A garlic press and a lemon squeezer look the same. They are not. After loading up the lemon press full of garlic and squeezing it several times, I’m left with garlic boogers. The smell of eating these garlic boogers would make me as much of a social outcast as eating real ones.

Oil, garlic and salt are added to the shelled grey decapods while the shells themselves are cooked in oil. The Food Lab says this is the secret to achieving full shrimp flavor. Full shrimp flavor sounds like an excellent ska band. Like a ska band this whole ordeal just seems unnecessary.

The oil is strained and everything goes into the pan. Shrimp cooks faster than a man running to the bathroom after a Chipotle burrito. I must be getting better at this because I’m not as stressed about how fast things are happening. Maybe it’s because of my second conversation with Josh.

Pasta is ready. Everything is thrown in the big pot and cooked down. I’ve made close to two pounds of pasta and shrimp. Probably three pounds if you count all the garlic. I’m going to be a very fat, very sleepy, very smelly person this week. Kind of like last week. And the week before that.

Pasta is difficult to plate without he fancy pasta dishes they have on Food Network. I went with a more traditional Italian plating style. I call it, heaping on as much pasta as possible.

For having 12 cloves of garlic prepared in various ways, the pasta itself is a little bland. It’s scampi so I know it’s supposed to be lighter, but I feel like there should be more flavor to the noodles. Especially since there’s still clumps of garlic booger hanging around in there.

The shrimp themselves are spectacular. I feel like a real Italian. My German mother would be proud. There’s only one real complaint that I have about the shrimp.

They’re not clams.

Recipe: 8/11

Did I do the Dishes? No

Did I pick the parsley off the floor? No