If you've never seen one, soft shell crabs are all blue and spidery, and I wasn't entirely convinced that they were dead.
"Are you sure that one's not just old and sleepy?" I asked the man at the seafood counter.
He gave me a look, but I couldn't tell if I was the weird one or if he was trying to cover up his guilt.
A nice, warm bath would be just right for these old freaky claws of mine, those crabs were probably thinking as they tried to get comfortable on their bed of ice.
They never saw the hot oil coming.
Because their eyes were gone.
I had to Google how to eat one. When I did, I found out that people also eat soft shell turtles. Since we went to the park earlier today and saw some turtles paddling around all plump and juicy, I surreptitiously checked the town's laws on removing animals from a local pond for human consumption. As far as I can tell, it's a no on fishing, but turtling isn't even mentioned.
I guess it's no coincidence that the Mayor of Lancaster's nickname is TURTLE SLAYER.
I'm not really sure why I feel okay about frying up turtles and not crabs, but that's beside the point. You come to me for fine culinary information, and I'm here to give it to you. Fortunately, there really isn't much to making soft shell crabs, which is good because I don't want to think about it any more than I have to.
- Dredge 'em.
- Fry 'em.
- Set 'em in front of your squeamish girlfriend along with a big bowl of hot sauce.
- Sit back and watch as she starts to cry a little bit. Adorable.
It wasn't all that bad when I was just poking at it with my fork, nodding my head and trying to look super adventurous and totally game while The Boy ripped an entire claw off his crab like some feral beast. I put my head down and daintily cut off the tip of a leg, dipped it in hot sauce, and set it on my tongue just as The Boy said, "Okay, I don't know what this green stuff is that just shot out, but I don't think it's bad."
Here's an artist's rendering of my face, drawn on a used paper towel:
 |
| Just look at those eyebrows. |
I made it through one claw and a bite of meat before I had to give up. So while I ate a lovely, light summer salad with sliced strawberries and vinaigrette, The Boy finished up three crabs by himself, then tried to to make me feel better by showing me pictures of all the gross sea creatures he didn't try to feed me for dinner.
But now, one of us is bent over the toilet, and it isn't me.
The crabs always get their revenge.
Image via Sober in a Nightclub.
