When I was a barefoot kid growing up in rural Louisiana, I spent a lot of time crawfishing. (Any good Southern boy knows only Yankees call them “crayfish.”) We had ditches that ran along the roadside (dirt road) and those ditches were full of large, dark red crawfish. We’d never eat the small, pale, almost grey crawfish, and frankly, there didn’t seem to be that many. The ones we sought were the size of a small lobster, were of a deep, black and red hue, and had some real claws that could draw some blood.
