I have always found there to be a macabre beauty to Mexican seafood.
Whether it was enjoying a cóctel at a seafood shack down by the shore or delicately sliced and fried cúbera roja at a seafood joint over by the pier, growing up around the Gulf of Mexico taught me to appreciate the darkly gorgeous arrangements of mariscos, where every plate is an organic sculpture, a flesh-bound work of art and a Lovecraftian study of the darkest depths dedicated to those blessed warm waters and their grotesque bounties.