Feeling Crabby

Like every good New Yorker, I'm an elitist about my town.  As far as I'm concerned, there is no better city...in the world.  Paris comes close.  Really, really, close.  But Parisians won't deliver me anything I want at 3am.  And they have that whole reservation system that prevents me from deciding, at the last minute, that I want to eat at the hottest restaurant in town, and showing up unannounced at 8pm to sweet talk my way into a table.

But maybe everyone's an elitist about the place they love.  This certainly holds true for a friend of mine who is undeniably in love with Maryland.  I've often wondered what was so great about such a tertiary place.  I guess they have DC.  Is it wrong that I can't think of DC with out thinking of Marion Barry.  Tee hee...damn shame...

But even I had to admit that Maryland rose a few ranks in my elitist mind, after we took a weekend trip to St. Michaels, MD.  Of course, it doesn't hurt that we did a little crab cracking that weekend.

Mmmmm...crab.

But after it took me a solid 5 minutes to crack open my first crab, I had a new appreciation for all those containers of jumbo lump crab meat that I'd previously thought were over-priced.  I'd charge $3 an ounce too if I had to do all that work.  Fortunately, as a native Marylander, my partner in crime was also a nearly professional crab cracker. 

Thankfully, this allowed me to focus my energy on dipping my pre-cracked crabmeat bites in clarified butter.  I know...it's a hard job, but somebody's got to do it.

I don't know if it was the clarified butter, or the pitcher of beer, or the sailboats floating by outside, but I think I felt my little New York heart grow three sizes that day.  Only the coldest heart wouldn't love a place with sunset sailing like this...