This is a true story, every word.  Which is why it’s long.

DUNGENESS CRABS
 
St. Paddy's Day Crabs cooked in Bouillabaisse Style
Where do I file this? crabs, St Patrick's Day, or animal murder?

March 17, 1997
I had been hunting for a way to get real west coast
Dungeness Crabs ever since Jeff Mallory Fedexed me a
few cooked ones two years ago. I never forgot the flavor, and
how jealous I was that they weren't East Coast.

Then I saw Mario Batali cooking some on his TV show,
and I decided that if he could get some, well, so
could I. He might have the entire Food Network at his disposal,
but that was a minor detail. I had determination on my side. /
My first call was to his restaurant, left a
message, but he never called.
Maybe too busy, maybe
never got the message.
He probably gets a lot of calls --the show and all.

Anyway, I called the place I originally got them from, in
Monterey. Too complicated. Too much money to ship them.
Undaunted, I thought..."why not
Chinatown!
after all we ARE in New York, where everything is
available
if you look hard enough (and pay enough)” A few persistent (really

pushy) phone calls to our seafood purveyor yielded the name and
location of "Chinatown Seafood" on Elizabeth Street, well, it was also
St. Patrick's Day weekend, Saturday, (this will be important later)
and there was nothing
to worry about at The Black Sheep. Everyone in
town is cooking corned beef, and so was I. I never sold any,
and we usually had serious leftovers, but it was a tradition,
and I happen to love good corned beef the way I prepare it,
and the kind we got was the very best you can buy.
I lived next door to the restaurant, and brought the meat home
so I could keep an eye on it. The house was filling
with the aromas
of that wonderful spiced tradition, mine as
Jewish as Irish,
slow steamed over fragrant spices and herbs,
never boiled,
and my steamer was huge, and new, I paid too
much for it,
so decided, sell the CB or not,
I was going to
use that steamer.

Easily distracted, and always bad at focusing on only one thing
at a time., I grabbed the car, Eric King to ride shotgun, and drove
down to Chinatown that Saturday afternoon. What a mob
scene! Never ever, ever go there in a car on Saturday!
Unbelievable mobs! The streets of Hong Kong... Calcutta riots...
evacuation of Saigon... actually, worse! much worse! They practically
walk over your car, look straight ahead as in a dream, ignoring you.
your horn is useless, you know you are driving a machine capable of killing,
but there you are...invisible, stuck.

We finally locate the place, Eric takes the car with orders to drive
around the block a few times, gangster style, and I cautiously went
inside. One look told me an adventure was under way.
Shades of Dr. Fu Manchu! -- dim, dank air, filled with bubbling

green-grey tanks on the high dark walls, barely see the ceiling, fresh,
sweet sea smells.. I felt a presence of danger, and there... in one of
the tanks were my Dungeness guys!

There was a lone darkly-clad figure working the tanks, and I explained
in pidgin English why I was there and who sent me, but he spoke not
a word, gestured over to the end of the room where I saw a man
inside a window. I walked over and explained again what my need
was. A quickly barked command from him to the minion, and three
HUGE
crabs were placed on the scale. Wow! It is truly said that

Fortune favors the bold. The price of $42 surprised me, but hell, I
came all this way and was not to be stopped by a few bucks.

Now Eric had got himself lost, so I started to jog for blocks while
hauling my hefty prize, to find him -- he had got himself stuck
in the middle of a traffic jam, which he actually caused, double parked somewhere

with traffic noisily telling him to move. Ah, Eric, disaster was always
his homing signal.

Home we went, back to my corned beef which was steaming quietly
on the stove, the vapors were awsome, the house smelled like Irish
Heaven, (recall what day it was). I distracted myself as I fussed with
the cabbage, the potatoes, the carrots and the leeks,
the steaming of these vegetables in the corned beef steam
would give them a special flavor, but the crabs – they were sitting in their shopping bag
wondering whatever was going on,
and no doubt in discomfort.
(do crabs wonder things?)

“Murder in the kitchen”
Now the old anguish came again. What was I to do? Surely

they weren't to be pets! They have to die, but humanely, and
soon. God, again I'm a murderer. I hate this part of it,
I recall my first lobster, same awful feeling in the pit of my stomach,
I HATE killing things.

The new steamer with the corned beef beckons, I hesitate, tell
myself it will be quick and painless, then gently place them on
the rack inside the steamer, giving each one a kiss on its
enormous back shell. Kissing a crab, such a stupid gesture, I
know -- I felt helpless. Committed but wishing I could have turned
back. So I've resolved to make their existence worth something,
and devote my best energies to turning out the best damn crabs
I can cook.

Now that the restaurant is gone, I am enjoying Tofu more often,

A few notes on cooking: Total steaming time, 15 minutes, with
the vapors of the corned beef to enhance the
combination. No, the crab juices did NOT mix with the
Corned Beef! I know what the CB did for the crabs,
they picked up heavenly and exotic colorations. This is the

stuff of gastronomy.

The Corned beef was the silkiest, most delicious I ever ate, and
of course, no one bought it, even the waiters didn't want to eat
Corned Beef that night, but I eventually got rid of the leftovers
with CB Hash at brunch. Poached or fried eggs over the top.
Yes. That’s another bit of ‘stuff of gastronomy: leftovers.

The crabs were better than expected. I was at once back in Provene.

RECIPE SECTION:
Inspired by Julia's Bouillabaisse, I decided to confront my now chilled crabs: Pulling off the carapace from the rear, and pulling off and discarding the heads, and the gills (dead man's fingers) I cut the crab pieces up and set them aside. I smashed whatever shells there were and placed them in my pot. Minced leek tops, onions, garlic, and plenty of olive oil went in. Then when the vegs had softened, I doused the pot with brandy, and flamed it.
After the flames died down, in went the following:
4 tb tomato paste
Bay Leaf ( 2 )
Orange Peel
A teaspoon of fennel seeds, crushed
mercilessly fry the mess, you want to fry the tomato paste and mash
it with everything else, it helps the flavor, then add:
half a bottle of white wine, or a glass of dry vermouth
water to cover the shells
the juice of the orange
salt & pepper
pinch of saffron - it’s costly, but worth it.
around half a cup of olive oil
Make a broth (simmer 30 minutes) and strain it, reserve the pieces of crab which you have cut up into portion size pieces, so your guests can eat, let them know they are encouraged to use their hands.

The beautiful rich broth is ladled over the crab parts, served
in a broad bowl with grilled bread with garlic, lots of napkins
and a shell cracking thing, as I recall there was enough for
two days, the first day we did it with only the crabs, the
next the broth simmered with some clams, shrimp and a
mussel or two, I don't recall which version I liked more, but
I was content. I hope the crabs know I did my best, I doubt I
will ever again serve that dish with steamed corned beef as
a starter course.

Of course you can make a Bouillabaisse using this technique. Make the broth,
cut up pieces of whatever fish you can find, I like to use snapper, cod, hake, halibut, grouper, or just about any fresh firm-fleshed fish, hopefully with some flavor. I avoid salmon, sole, tuna, sword fish. I just don’t care for the strong fishy flavor. Simmer the fish in the broth until cooked, and serve. In Marseilles, where the dish was supposed to have been invented, the broth remains all the time, simmering on a pot on the lowest back burner, and all sorts of fishy and vegetable things go in, and the broth keeps brewing. I say “supposed to” because the same or very similar versions of it are found in every culture where seafood and water are found. One of the best, and equally as good from what I’ve tasted, is Cioppino, San Francisco’s answer.