Beach-Walking and Crab-Cooking

  An old friend once advised me to spend New Years Day doing the things I want to do for the rest of the year. Besides visiting  my long time friend, Laura, in the hospital, which I certainly hope won't happen again, I accomplished a couple of things Tuesday which I hope will foreshadow my new year. 

The weather was fine on with the temperature registering a comfortable 81º. So, in the middle of the afternoon, I donned a sleeveless linen dress and a pair of sandals and took Della to the beach. Once we were on the soft sand, I kicked off my sandals, and we walked to the edge of the ocean to dip our feet in the cool water. I wiggled some sand up between my toes, and we started our walk. You would have thought it was the middle of summer. A light breeze was blowing from the south, and the beach was crowded with colorful umbrellas, under which sat people of all stripes, from toddlers to old folks. There were stickball games, Frisbee exchanges and Happy New Year greetings etched in the sand. Small children in floppy hats splashed and squealed in the water as we passed. Three catamarans were parked in the surf, ready to skim across the water, and bright kites sailed above it all. Optimistic fishermen anchored their rods in PVC pipe pounded into the sand and waited for a bite. 

And there were dogs, lots of dogs, reminding me of all the times I read P. D. Eastman’s Big Dog, Little Dog to Parrish when he was a small child. Della was in heaven. Except for a cranky old woman who were afraid my 12-pound dog was going to somehow harm their large, coifed and bejeweled darling, Della was welcomed by all when she swooped in to see who wanted to play. Okay, okay. There is a leash law. And we routinely break it—but we’re not the only ones. Della is trained to return to my heel after venturing off and whenever she hears the command, “Here!” 

Yes, that’s a rationalization, but don’t forget what the character Michael said in The Big Chill: “I don't know anyone who could get through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations. They're more important than sex.” 

When we encountered a four-month-old black and white Boxer puppy it was a match, to unabashedly use a cliché, made in heaven. We humans stood around and watched as the pups took turns chasing one another, in circles, in and out of the water, their muzzles bearded with sea foam and sand. It was something to see. 

We walked for nearly an hour before we made it back to my Yukon. I even got a tiny blister on the bottom of my heel. After we rinsed off, Della jumped into the back of the truck and we came home. I was putting her towel in the laundry room when my phone rang.

  “Miss Claudia! I got some big blue crabs! I know you want some of these bad boys!” Crab Man pretty much speaks in exclamations, and yesterday was no exception.

  “I don’t know, Crab Man. It’s late in the day. I just got back from the beach and I’m not sure I want to fool with crabs.”

  “Now, Miss Claudia!”
  “All right, fine. I’ll be down to pick them up in about 15 minutes.”

  Crab Man saw me pull up in front of the Village Pier and came walking up the dock, swinging a ten gallon bucket teeming with some of the biggest blue crabs I have ever seen. He used my big tongs to transfer ten of them into my bucket. I usually don’t want to cook fewer than a dozen, but they were so large, I was afraid my pot wouldn’t hold them all.

  When I got home, I poured water and seasonings into the jumbo-sized aluminum pot I bought myself for Christmas and turned up the heat. My back was to the stove when I first heard the banging. No, the crabs weren’t in the water yet. I was waiting for it to boil. The “boiler” I bought didn’t have a flat bottom, and on my confounded ceramic cooktop, it was throbbing back and forth, more rapidly as the water got hotter. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. I tried to true it up, reposition it so it would sit flat, but nothing worked. Rat-a-tat. I finally decided the pot was not designed for the stove but instead was to be used with a propane-fueled fish cooker—outside. Great. Can’t really return it after boiling water in it laced with Tony Chacheres Creole Seasoning. So, I dragged out the big cast iron pot with a porcelain glaze I’ve been using for years but had decided to retire because of its weight. I transferred the seasoned water, brought the whole thing to a boil and poured in the crabs, which filled it to the brim. Twenty minutes later, they were done and cooling in the sink. 

  I snapped off the flippers and claws, then pulled off the backs, broke the bodies in two and cleaned out the innards and gills. Crabs are easier to pick if they’ve been in the fridge overnight, so I boxed them in a plastic tub with a tight fitting lid and stowed them to pick later. I'll be making crab and sweet corn soup this afternoon.

  Happy New Year, everyone. May you have many days of your version of beach-walking and crab-cooking in 2019.  

© 2019 cj Schlottman