Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Crabbing in Wildwood

For the past 3 years I have had the pleasure and privilege of spending the 2nd week of August with Jeremy's family at Wildwood Crest, a vacation spot along the Jersey Shore. I have really come to love Wildwood, and the best part for me is family all being together, spending time at the large hotel pool and at the beach, walking the boardwalk at night, eating lots of pork roll during the day and corn dogs come night, watching boardwalk trends change from year to year (this year it was Angry Birds paraphernalia and fried Kool-Aid), and getting to take part in activities never experienced before.

Last year, the big adventure was going deep sea fishing. Unfortunately, we didn't catch any fish that were "of size" to take back to the hotel, but it was an unforgettable experience for all parties involved (Jeremy, his younger brother and two good friends, who we call "the three amigos", and myself). This year, the great adventure was CRABBING, something that I had never done before, and couldn't wait to try.

One fine afternoon when the sun was just setting, the three amigos and Jeremy's older brother set out for the essential supplies to ensure a successful crabbing experience. Items required for crabbing include: raw chicken used as bait, crab "nets" which act as traps, line, hooks to attach bait, plenty of beer (my boyfriend's donation) and a lot of patience.

Jeremy came up with the brilliant idea to ride our bikes over to the bay where blue crabs are known to hang, just before the bridge to Cape May, assuring me that it was "like a mile" from the hotel. There we would meet the rest of the crabbing crew. "What in the world am I getting myself into?!" is the G-rated version of the words hurling out of my mouth while bicycling at top speed, pedaling as fast as my feet could go, the wind slapping my face, beach mobiles whizzing past me, and my boyfriend at least a mile ahead. Eventually, Jeremy did turn around to see the blonde dot in the distance, wait for me to catch up, and probably wish he hadn't...what can I say, sometimes my Irish temper just has to come unleashed.

After threatening to never come to Wildwood again, never go crabbing again, never go bicycling again, never speak to Jeremy again (all things I couldn't live without, if we're honest), and literally spewing every four-letter word in the book, Jeremy turned back around, pumped his pedals a few times, and said, "Hey babe, I think we're here!"

Enthusiasm aside, I was relieved to see some familiarity in Jeremy's brother's car. Even more settled, to see the three amigos and Jeremy's older brother standing silently, knee-deep in murky waters, their hands tightly gripping a long line of string which ended about ten feet in front of them, awaiting the elusive blue crab.

At first I was a little skeptical. I can understand using little metal nets with long strings attached, but using raw chicken as bait kinda freaked me out. No way was I touching any. Lord knows with my luck (of getting sick about every 15 minutes), I'd get salmonella just by sight. So I cracked open a Bud Light, forgetting that I don't drink beer nor like the taste, sat on a little wooden ledge, and watched the boys at work. Ever want to see 5 early/mid-20s men keep quiet for hours on end? Just give them a net and a bay and voila! A perfect silence, and dinner, too.

"We" ended up with a haul of about 15 crabs that day before heading back...and only because it was turning dusk and Jeremy and I had a 6 hour bike ride ahead (ok not really but it felt like it and ask my dad, I am the queen of exaggeration). We set off on our bikes, at a leisurely pace this time thank God, and headed back to the hotel.

But 15 crabs wasn't enough for the boys. They were hooked. Pun intended. Yes, I'm corny and so what?

The next morning I awoke to Andrew, Jeremy's younger brother, coming into the room and summoning Michael, who was sleeping on the floor below me, to come with him to the store for another crabbing excursion. All I really remember from the conversation between the two was Michael slurring, "raw chicken and old bay, lots of it" over and over again, with Andrew repeating it each time. After about three times of saying "old bay Andrew, lots of it, lots of old bay" Andrew turned around and headed out. Man, we're gonna have a freaking feast! Is all that was going through my head, when Michael catapults from his makeshift bed on the floor to hastily getting dressed (I would assume, I was still sleeping, or feigning sleep so as not to be recruited into the early morning crabbing mission). Jeremy had long since been gone (for some reason when we're at the beach he becomes a morning person), I think it might have been my birthday (turning 28 this year was pretty rough for me and I kinda blocked it out) and I just wanted to sleep now, eat crab later.

The boys arrived a few hours later with an impressive fresh catch. 15+ blue crabs, to be teamed up with the catch from the night before...to become a seafood extravaganza for all who were up for it.

The process of cooking fresh, snapping crabs is fairly humorous. Grown men (namely my boyfriend) grab any tool handy and clutch the tool, forcing it in direction of crab, whose claws are snapping open and closed so fast that it's difficult to latch on. Once they do latch onto the tool, in this case Jeremy's knife, they are then clawing around with the full force of their tiny yet fierce bodies so frenetically, that all you can do is throw them in the direction of the big pot of boiling, Old Bay-seasoned water, and hope they make it in.

Once one crab makes it into the pot, you gain a little more confidence. You may go to grab a crab with your bare fingers, but the inch long slash on your (Jeremy's, I wouldn't touch those suckers) hand from the day before reminds you to practice a little discretion. Confidence can come later, when the crabs are boiled up and ready to crack open (also an adventure).

Once each and every last crab goes from fresh blue crab to boiled (red) crab, it's time to lay out the newspaper, grab some crab crackers and mallets-in this case, the bottom of Jeremy's huge knife, and get to work. Now, there is a very meticulous, intelligent way to eat a blue crab properly. In fact, if I can find the hilarious video I found on one of my favorite food blogs, I'll post. But honestly, who really cares? If you're hungry, and anxious to see what your toil and trouble produced, at the end of the day all you really care about is getting to the meat, any which way you can.

Which is what we did. It was messy. It was kinda gruesome. But the taste of the bay soon took care of any hygiene concerns, and that meat sure was sweet!

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Crabbing in Wildwood

For the past 3 years I have had the pleasure and privilege of spending the 2nd week of August with Jeremy's family at Wildwood Crest, a vacation spot along the Jersey Shore. I have really come to love Wildwood, and the best part for me is family all being together, spending time at the large hotel pool and at the beach, walking the boardwalk at night, eating lots of pork roll during the day and corn dogs come night, watching boardwalk trends change from year to year (this year it was Angry Birds paraphernalia and fried Kool-Aid), and getting to take part in activities never experienced before.

Last year, the big adventure was going deep sea fishing. Unfortunately, we didn't catch any fish that were "of size" to take back to the hotel, but it was an unforgettable experience for all parties involved (Jeremy, his younger brother and two good friends, who we call "the three amigos", and myself). This year, the great adventure was CRABBING, something that I had never done before, and couldn't wait to try.

One fine afternoon when the sun was just setting, the three amigos and Jeremy's older brother set out for the essential supplies to ensure a successful crabbing experience. Items required for crabbing include: raw chicken used as bait, crab "nets" which act as traps, line, hooks to attach bait, plenty of beer (my boyfriend's donation) and a lot of patience.

Jeremy came up with the brilliant idea to ride our bikes over to the bay where blue crabs are known to hang, just before the bridge to Cape May, assuring me that it was "like a mile" from the hotel. There we would meet the rest of the crabbing crew. "What in the world am I getting myself into?!" is the G-rated version of the words hurling out of my mouth while bicycling at top speed, pedaling as fast as my feet could go, the wind slapping my face, beach mobiles whizzing past me, and my boyfriend at least a mile ahead. Eventually, Jeremy did turn around to see the blonde dot in the distance, wait for me to catch up, and probably wish he hadn't...what can I say, sometimes my Irish temper just has to come unleashed.

After threatening to never come to Wildwood again, never go crabbing again, never go bicycling again, never speak to Jeremy again (all things I couldn't live without, if we're honest), and literally spewing every four-letter word in the book, Jeremy turned back around, pumped his pedals a few times, and said, "Hey babe, I think we're here!"

Enthusiasm aside, I was relieved to see some familiarity in Jeremy's brother's car. Even more settled, to see the three amigos and Jeremy's older brother standing silently, knee-deep in murky waters, their hands tightly gripping a long line of string which ended about ten feet in front of them, awaiting the elusive blue crab.

At first I was a little skeptical. I can understand using little metal nets with long strings attached, but using raw chicken as bait kinda freaked me out. No way was I touching any. Lord knows with my luck (of getting sick about every 15 minutes), I'd get salmonella just by sight. So I cracked open a Bud Light, forgetting that I don't drink beer nor like the taste, sat on a little wooden ledge, and watched the boys at work. Ever want to see 5 early/mid-20s men keep quiet for hours on end? Just give them a net and a bay and voila! A perfect silence, and dinner, too.

"We" ended up with a haul of about 15 crabs that day before heading back...and only because it was turning dusk and Jeremy and I had a 6 hour bike ride ahead (ok not really but it felt like it and ask my dad, I am the queen of exaggeration). We set off on our bikes, at a leisurely pace this time thank God, and headed back to the hotel.

But 15 crabs wasn't enough for the boys. They were hooked. Pun intended. Yes, I'm corny and so what?

The next morning I awoke to Andrew, Jeremy's younger brother, coming into the room and summoning Michael, who was sleeping on the floor below me, to come with him to the store for another crabbing excursion. All I really remember from the conversation between the two was Michael slurring, "raw chicken and old bay, lots of it" over and over again, with Andrew repeating it each time. After about three times of saying "old bay Andrew, lots of it, lots of old bay" Andrew turned around and headed out. Man, we're gonna have a freaking feast! Is all that was going through my head, when Michael catapults from his makeshift bed on the floor to hastily getting dressed (I would assume, I was still sleeping, or feigning sleep so as not to be recruited into the early morning crabbing mission). Jeremy had long since been gone (for some reason when we're at the beach he becomes a morning person), I think it might have been my birthday (turning 28 this year was pretty rough for me and I kinda blocked it out) and I just wanted to sleep now, eat crab later.

The boys arrived a few hours later with an impressive fresh catch. 15+ blue crabs, to be teamed up with the catch from the night before...to become a seafood extravaganza for all who were up for it.

The process of cooking fresh, snapping crabs is fairly humorous. Grown men (namely my boyfriend) grab any tool handy and clutch the tool, forcing it in direction of crab, whose claws are snapping open and closed so fast that it's difficult to latch on. Once they do latch onto the tool, in this case Jeremy's knife, they are then clawing around with the full force of their tiny yet fierce bodies so frenetically, that all you can do is throw them in the direction of the big pot of boiling, Old Bay-seasoned water, and hope they make it in.

Once one crab makes it into the pot, you gain a little more confidence. You may go to grab a crab with your bare fingers, but the inch long slash on your (Jeremy's, I wouldn't touch those suckers) hand from the day before reminds you to practice a little discretion. Confidence can come later, when the crabs are boiled up and ready to crack open (also an adventure).

Once each and every last crab goes from fresh blue crab to boiled (red) crab, it's time to lay out the newspaper, grab some crab crackers and mallets-in this case, the bottom of Jeremy's huge knife, and get to work. Now, there is a very meticulous, intelligent way to eat a blue crab properly. In fact, if I can find the hilarious video I found on one of my favorite food blogs, I'll post. But honestly, who really cares? If you're hungry, and anxious to see what your toil and trouble produced, at the end of the day all you really care about is getting to the meat, any which way you can.

Which is what we did. It was messy. It was kinda gruesome. But the taste of the bay soon took care of any hygiene concerns, and that meat sure was sweet!