I've seen those television shows on the learning channel about the most dangerous jobs, and fishing for crabs is one of the top ones. And I'm grateful to those guys. Because I like crab legs. I've got a friend that tried it one year. They went out for a month, and endured cold and wet with very little sleep for the promise of a portion of the catch. Tales of coming home with thirty, forty, even fifty thousand dollars from a month's work were tossed back like so many beers.
But, alas, they had a terrible catch that month and he wound up with something like eighty dollars for his trouble, and had to have his dad wire him money to get back home. Swore he'd never do that again.
Which makes me even more grateful.
Kroger had a special on snow crab legs and I bought four pounds of them. The little bride and I, finding ourselves in one of those rare evenings without children, steamed them up and ate them with drawn butter. Okay, I didn't really draw it, but I melted it in the microwave and it was good enough. And these particular crab legs are already slit down the sides and cut around the claws and they are ever so easy to get the great, long, slabs of crab flesh out and run them through the butter dipping to the second knuckle. I nearly chewed off two of my fingers in the process.
I topped this off with some good dutch beer (I'm a sucker if it's in a green bottle) and a couple of Bordeaux cookies for dessert. Well, maybe more than a couple. Maybe one whole section of the bag. As far as I'm concerned, Pepperidge Farms has a license to print money with those things.
Now, I've got to go and hide the evidence... I don't like having to explain why I didn't tell the boys that we were having crab legs for dinner before they made plans to go off and do other things. Ha ha.