The mean ones taste better

Tambo and I have this tradition, on each other’s birthday we make the other a grand meal. Anything they want, no holds bared and no request too great. So one year, on her birthday, Tambo asks me to make her fresh crab from the market. Now for those of you who don’t know. Crab is best when served VERY fresh. As in just killed, cooked and then eaten.

Now this was early in my culinary career so I was not exactly sure just how to go about preparing a live crab. So I called the one guy I knew who would have the answers. My dad, a deep water sailor of many years. He tells me, “Oh it’s easy. Get him into the sink, flip him over and grab him from around behind and grip his belly with your thumbs and hold the top of his shell with your other fingers. Now pick it up and find yourself a outdoor faucet or something. I just use the side rail of the boat. You take it and whack it really hard across the back and that should spilt the shell in two. Clean it and then drop it in your boiling water.”

So now armed with what has to be the most barbarian method of food preparation yet, we journeyed to the famous Pikes Place Market to pick out our meal. After poking and staring at the crabs as they swam about in the tanks we decided on a good subject. A nice big ol’ bruiser of a crab.

Returning home, we set about to prepare our feast. First thing, free the crab from its paper cocoon and let it soak a bit while I prepared the rest of the meal. Unwrapping the beast into our sink I was delighted to see that it was still alive. Very much alive in fact and very pissed off. With an eerie skittering, its tiny legs tried to find purchase on the porcelain sink while angry claws snapped at the air in vain.

Water now boiling, spices set, bread warming and beer on ice. Now was the moment of truth. Time to turn this large sea bug into dinner. Flipping him over with a set of tongs, I noted to Tambo as I began to reach down and grab the beast. “Ya know, this sorta looks like one of those face hugger aliens”

At that precise moment, as my fingers made contact with its shell, the crab’s legs flexed and wrapped themselves around my thumbs… locking them in place. With a start I jerked back, picking up the crab, and looked about for something solid to whack it on before it tried to implant an egg in me. Rushing out the back door, I reach my destination. The outside water faucet, a nice sturdy old fashioned thing. With a swift and adrenaline fueled blow I brought the crab down on top of the thing. Hopefully planting the spigot right in the center of the thing’s back.

Now one would think that this would kill the beast. Nope. Now frantically thrashing its legs, the crab is not dead. Either that or this is some kind of re-animator crab. Attempting a second strike, I try to draw the crab away from the faucet. Only to be met with a wet sounding resistance. In my panic, I had driven the crab deep onto the faucet, nearly impaling it in fact. Bracing myself I gave the beast a mighty heave and was rewarded with a sucking pop as the thing came free. Of course the spigot was now covered in green ooze and the crab… well the crab had a perfect hole in the top of its shell…. In the exact shape of the faucet.

Still twitching (that would be the crab, not me) I set about beating the beast wildly against the nearest deck railing until it had been torn into several pieces.

When all was said and done we did enjoy a terrific meal. Of course as I recounted the tale to my brother, another accomplished cook, he explained to me that I could have just dropped the live crab in the boiling water and been done with it. Our dad just did it that way due to the small size of his stew pot on the boat.
“Boil it alive?!” I said with shock, ”That’s just inhumane!”

I think this year we are going to break with tradition and go out for dinner. Something Mediterranean I think.