Crustacean Nation

In this part of the world, at this particular time of year, hairy crabs are seen as a delicacy on par with the controversial shark's fin and the acquired taste of abalone. I had the pleasure of being invited to a friend's place for a hairy crab feast to see what the fuss is all about.

Traditionally the best crabs are held to be those from Yang Cheng lake in Suzhou, China but our crabs came from some market place in Hong Kong and I'm not sure where they were from. I did get a chance to see the local crab seller tying up live crabs with big straw threads, sitting on a stool with a small cobbler's table in front of him where a live, bristly, greenish crab was waving its claws about in a dazed manner. No doubt it had survived an arduous transportation process - there were dead crabs scattered about the man's feet. The hapless crab, which was only about the size of your palm complete with its claws, was trying to wriggle away from its fate but failing to escape incarceration. The tied up crabs thrown into the basket next to the merchant looked like parcels similar to the steamed dim sum delight of lotus leaf with rice. The crabs are weighed per 'catty', a local term derived from Malay which now refers to around 500 grammes.

Back at home, my friend built a neat tower of six crabs into the large metal pot and covered it with water. After half an hour, the steaming pot was drained of the hot water and the process of eating these freshly cooked, bright red creatures began in earnest. We cut loose the wet straw binding and the salty smell of cooked crab softly pervaded the atmosphere, perfuming our clothes and hair.

As with every culinary delight that has some reputation for being a delicacy, there is a formalised way of dining on hairy crabs that is considered to be the best way to bring out their flavour.
"Take off the 'apron' and the top shell of the crab," my friends said, and they demonstrated with their crabs. I flipped around my crab to do likewise. The golden, dark roe came to sight.
"You know that's roe, right?" said one of my friends before she scooped up hers. Apparently you have to eat the legs and then the rest of the body, but I was busy taking off the shell to eat the body first.
"Wait, you have to clear away the lungs and the intestines," said my friend, showing me how to scrape away the black tipped innards. Thus prepared and eaten, the tiny crabs yield only about three spoonfuls of meat, which are dipped into a vinegar and grated ginger sauce, but the extraction of this flesh is a very messy process. I pricked my thumbs on the hairy bristles of the claws.
"Wow, J-A's already finished her first one," my friends marvelled, "And this is the first time she's having one."
I grinned happily. My thumbs ached, but I started to tackle my second crab. The crab meat was very tender and sweet, but I enjoyed the messiness of eating the crabs more, I think, than their delicate flavour - eating with my fingers appealed to my childish nature. The area surrounding the table was dotted with tiny pieces of crabshell as we briskly cracked open legs and claws with tiny pairs of scissors. Later, I tried to get rid of the smell of crabs later from my fingertips, but the savoury odour stubbornly refused to be washed off.