Unless you’re visiting your mother and she makes them for you
I’m on my way back from the Carolinas as we speak. Even with a 12-hour drive, I love visiting my mother; it’s a bonus during shrimp season, which is now. She lives right in the thick of it, where you can buy it from roadside stands or Georgetown docks and pick your size. That shrimp is so sweet, so of-the-moment: a freshness you can’t ship up North and replicate.
My mother also knows I’m trying to cut back on carbs, so in her effort to support me, she made zoodles (aka zucchini noodles), instead of pasta, while I made Mark’s shrimp. That’s why I’m here today (instead of Mark), writing why I have zoodles in our lead photo. Might I add: I’m fairly sure there’s no way Mark would ever make zoodles. (Actually, I’m wondering, how many of our readers would actually make zoodles?)