That Mississippi Delta day was ideal for a crawfish cook, and my boyhood best friend and mentor, Jaybird, could boil them to perfection.
When my friends and I visited him, the old black man said just what we wanted to hear: “Dat rain last night is just what dis cotton crop needed. Hit’s too wet to work, so let’s cook some crawdads and enjoy a little country-style cuttin’ up.”
Our favorite place to undertake excursions into crustacean culinary conviviality was at Skeet’s crop-dusting strip, known locally as Redneck International.