I Have Met the Enemy - And He Is Lunch

I was face-to-face with one of the meanest, nastiest, ugliest things on the planet. Then I ate it. Of course, you probably realized already that I had some Alaskan King Crab. Great food if you a) like seafood, and b) are permitted to eat shellfish according to your religion or doctor. There I was, doing battle with this long, spiny giant sea spider and it set me to thinking: What the hell am I doing? I am sure there are swarthy he-men, who, when they see a spider in the bathroom, make an Olympic-sized leap onto the toilet lid (provided the seat is actually down) and start screaming like the housekeeper on the old Tom & Jerry cartoons. That’s basically what crabs are - sea spiders without the menacing fangs but, instead, equipped with nasty pincers.

Ok, before some of you start rifling through your "Animals of the World" encyclopedias in order to point out the fact I could be stupid enough to compare crabs and spiders, I say this to you: Shut yer yap and write your own story! Besides, there is an arachnid known as the crab spider and that’s good enough for me (and yes, there are camel spiders, wolf spiders, and probably poodle spiders somewhere on this planet, but I'm not eating camels wolves, or poodles today). They both have eight legs and both are eaten around the globe. Don't believe me? Take a few hours and fly to Indonesia or the Amazon jungle and watch the locals chow down on tarantula. I am not suggesting you strap on the feed bag when you see a spider on your porch, but, hey, couldn't be any worse for you than a cheese steak sandwich.

When my order came to the table, they had to deliver it in a wheelbarrow. That sucker was huge. Legs were dangling over the edge like medieval weapons. They were long, and covered in spikes. The damned thing was about the size of a foreign car and equally as threatening. I knew I was in for a fight. I fastened my chain mail gloves, lowered my welder’s mask and went to work. The restaurant provides you with various Inquisition torture devices and a jackhammer. The shell was thick and stubborn - not unlike a teenager’s skull. I lined it with plastic explosives, and with all the grace of a humpback whale, did a back flip under the table behind me. Tables, chairs, and wait staff were thrown 50 yards and a nice-sized hole was punched through the wall, but at least the shell was loosened. I unfolded my napkin and set it on my lap. After all, I didn't want to cause a scene. I took the crowbar, and with the help of the local motorcycle gang, pried that sucker open.

Inside was a labyrinth of chambers that would scare a Minotaur. There are all these levers to pull and cavities to hunt and peck through just to be able to get a chunk of crab meat. For those of us who eat crabs, you know about the "goop" you have to sand-blast away, along with a marine biologist’s treasure of organs and such. The cartilage is sharper than an infant’s fingernails, and you end up needing to have a paramedic nearby to bandage you up by the time you've finished. The next time you see a mummy walking out of a seafood restaurant, you'll know he had crabs for dinner. Of course, the real prizes in this culinary punishment are the legs. Nothing but pure, unspoiled crab meat. It’s your bonus for the self-mutilation you went through earlier. There’s only one problem - you have to break the legs open first. You start by ripping them off the shell. The spines dig themselves into your palms so it looks like you shook hands with everyone at the Cactus Family Reunion. If you don't own a pair of the aforementioned chain mail gloves, pay a college intern to do it for you. They're used to pain and it would probably only cost you a pitcher of beer. Restaurants will provide you with some drawn butter, which is specially extracted for you from the depths of the old butter swamp. It’s rich, tasty, and thick enough to stop a cannonball. One taste and the veins in your arm raise up to form "S.O.S." But, you're eating king crab legs, so the punishment can be rationalized.

Of course, you get other food with your sea spider, but it’s not really necessary. The corn of the cob is a garnish and the mashed potatoes are just there to anchor the plate. By the time you have finished conquering your enemy, enough time has passed to shave again and wake the bartender.

I am sure the first person to eat a crab or lobster was urged to do so on a dare. So, let us turn back the clock to the time of ancient man. We'll call him Og. One day, Og is cruising the beach for chicks with his buddies, Ook and Larry, when they come upon a crab.

Og: "Grunt!" ("Hey, what the hell is that?")

Ook: "Snort! Growl" ("Looks to me like some sort of sea spider.")

Larry: "What?" ("Snarl")

Og: "Grunt. Snarl. Grunt." ("It looks nasty.")

Ook: "Howl!" ("Hey, Larry, I dare you to eat it.")

Larry: "What?" ("Snarl")

Ook: "Roar. Growl." (Hey, Og, I double dare YOU to eat it.")

Og: "Howl. Roar." ("What? Are you nuts?")

Ook: "Yip" ("I double DOG dare you!")

Og: "Woof." ("Dammit! Why is it always me? When we found those poison ivy leaves, you double dog dared me to wipe my bottom with them. And when you sent me to drink milk from that female mammoth, you KNEW it was a male. You could have at least told me before I finished. And now…this. Well, this is the last time!")

Larry: "I'll get the drawn butter." ("Unk.")

So, the next time you come across something foul, scary and dangerous, take a tip from our friend Og. Today’s monster is tomorrow’s lunch.

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