This weekend, we long-suffering residents of Anchorage were finally rewarded with two beautiful sunny days. It was a great moment for being outside in the yard and enjoying the 58 degree weather (chilly by southern Californian standards but quite blissfully balmy for an Anchorage spring day).
Inspired by the decent-looking weather, my friends and I decided to hold a Crab Night. We've had a number of crab nights this year in response to somebody's realization this winter that everybody loves crab, yet nobody buys crab for himself. Somewhere deep inside all of us is a small little person who thinks he does not deserve crab unless he is inviting guests or putting on a fancy spread to celebrate a special occasion. It is a sad statement of low self-esteem... especially in a state where we have such delicious indigenous wild crab all around us.
You've probably seen these Alaskan beauties before -- long spindly crustaceans with legs which seem to go on forever, available in either the Red King or Golden King variety. I once tried to conduct a very scientific experiment to determine which is better but after they got mixed up on my plate, I had to abort my quest for knowledge. Generally speaking, the Golden King is more affordable -- whether it is due to an inferior flavor or due to its spiny shells which may cause injury (or at least certainly materially slow down crab-eating), I do not know. If I weren't so crazy about crab, I could remain level-headed enough to conduct another experiment.
I did have some apprehension about our first Crab Night; like others, I did not think I was worth crab. As a kid, the family ate crab to celebrate birthdays or when the supermarket was having an unbelievable sale. At no point would anybody in my family buy crab alone and go off into a dark corner by yourself to eat crab just for the sake of having it. So for our first crab night, it took a great deal of determination to buy a bag of these luscious crustaceans, just for me and no one else.
Despite my trepidation, the first Crab Night was a smashing success. It ended up being a ladies-only affair, a group of women huddled on the kitchen floor, with crab and happiness dripping from our chins.
Sucking the rich flesh out of the shells with reckless abandon, I felt a great sense of inner peace.
The success of Crab Night One spawned a series of other crab nights, the best of which occurred this year on Valentine's Day. In the past, Valentine's Day had been about little more than the unfortunate proliferation of pink junk, overpriced bouquets, and cheap and unwanted milk chocolates. This year, however, the ladies and I decided that We Were Worth Crab.
I realized then that my problem with V-Day past was not that I had been spending the "holiday" alone or with imperfect men, but rather, I had not been spending them with Crab.
You see, nothing says I LOVE YOU like the Gift Of Crab To Yourself.
From now on, rain, sleet, or shine, man or no man, I am having crab on Valentine's Day! You're worth it! You're worth crab!
(not to be confused with You're Worth Crabs... nobody is worth crabs.)
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