Neighbors, Dungies

My neighbor Joe came round to welcome me home and gave me a Dungie he had caught earlier in the day.

Hello, Dinner.

I grew up catching blue tips in the Texas Gulf Coast, which are fantastic but it takes about a dozen for a meal.  But Dungeness are massive.  Boyfriend and I used to go down Cannon Beach in Oregon and one evening he suggested, as we walked that beautiful beach, Let's get a Dungie for dinner.

I ask, A Dungeness?  As in, One?  Which he totally laughed at.

But I do know how to clean a crab, Dungie or otherwise, courtesy of Grandma.

It involves your foot (preferably enclosed in a shoe), a strong stream of water and, um, an axe.  To split the carapace.

Yep.  This is how it's done.  

Apologies for the soft focus - I get a little nervous when exposed toes are near live crab claws.

Or a shovel.  Less classy but serviceable.

Here's a tip, learn from my fail:  I don't care how dead you think that crab is, those claws work.  Especially if the crab is only mostly dead.

Anyway.

Clean that bad boy out, get that boil going with a potato and some corn on the cob and life is good.

Also, be from Texas so you know how to spice n butter it.

Thanks Joe, thank you for the welcome.  

I'm so happy to be home.