Don't look a gift crab in the mouth

Years ago, holidays meant large gatherings with extended family. Usually, these were held at the home of my great-aunts, sisters who lived together in their home near the river. The feasts they prepared were traditional; turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes.  Nothing fancy, but well prepared in quantities to feed the small army of family and friends.

Once in a while our relatives from up North visited during the holidays.  It was a tradition to take visitors on the requisite boat ride and fishing trip.  The goal wasn't to catch anything, except envy from the visitor who couldn't believe it was warm enough to go boating in December.

My brother took our brother-in-law on one of these outings on Christmas Day. They had been warned by our mother to be back in time to arrive in time for Christmas dinner at our great-aunts' home.  We waited and waited for them to return, and in the time before cell phones, this could be a frustrating exercise.  An hour passed and my mother announced we were leaving and they could catch up with us there.  Thinking back, I wonder why she wasn't worried about them, but I guess she was used to my brother, then in his early twenties, being on the water so wasn't concerned anything had happened to them.

We arrived at the party and were busy socializing with the rest of the family when my brother and brother-in-law finally arrived.  My brother-in-law had a large stack of newspapers in hand and my brother carried a large stock pot.  Much to the chagrin of my great-aunts, the boys proceeded to cover the dining room table with layers of newspaper and placed the large pot in the middle.  Family gathered around to see what was going on and my brother proudly opened the pot to reveal several dozen freshly caught steamed blue crabs.  The smell of the crabs seasoned with Old Bay and beer wafted through the house, instantly overpowering the turkey which had just came out of the oven. 

The boys were quite proud of their catch and invited everyone to dig in.  It didn't take long before every chair around the table was full with the rest of us standing around watching as claws cracked and shell fragments flew.  My great-aunts did not participate in the feast and returned to the kitchen in a huff after cornering my mother and giving her a brief lecture about how my brother had "ruined Christmas dinner." 

Everyone around the table witnessed our aunts' departure. There were a few smirks and guilty glances among the pickers, but no one got up from the feast until every last one of the crabs were picked and savored.  The mess was cleaned up as quickly as it had appeared, and soon family members went back to their prior activities while my mother and cousins headed to the kitchen to "save dinner" and smooth over ruffled feathers. 

Soon the dining table was full again, this time with turkey and all the trimmings.  In deference to the matriarchs, everyone filled their plates and stuffed themselves silly.  My great-aunts seemed pleased, although one of them couldn't resist telling us how blue crabs were "bottom feeders," which I'm sure in hindsight was a veiled insult directed at the boys. 

Our family has grown and changed quite a bit since that memorable feast.  I'm often the chief cook now and would be thrilled if  any of my guests, invited or not, would repeat the crab feast at our next holiday.  Just for old time's sake--not so I could get out of cooking dinner.  Really.  Any crabbers out there?