From the Shore to the Kitchen

A crab that was lifted from a creel in the morning and eaten the same evening asks almost nothing of you. Good bread, a lemon, a knob of butter. That is genuinely the whole recipe. The work — and it is enjoyable work — sits either side of the cooking: in how you chill it, and in how carefully you pick it. Get those two things right and you will taste the coast on your plate. Rush them and even a fine crab turns woolly, watery and disappointing.

This is the quiet end of coastal travel: a day spent watching the water, a bag of crab in the cool box, and an evening at the kitchen table with a pick and a bowl. The cooking itself takes minutes. The patience takes longer, and it is worth every second.

Choosing Well Before You Cook Anything

If you are buying from a harbour stall, a fishmonger or off the back of a boat, you have a little control over quality. Use it.

• Weight matters more than size. A crab should feel surprisingly heavy for its shell. Light, hollow-feeling crabs have been sitting too long and the meat will be thin and dry.
• Smell it. It should smell cleanly of the sea. Any sharp, ammonia-like note means the meat is already turning.
• Know your cocks from your hens. Cock crabs have narrow abdominal flaps and big, meaty claws; hen crabs have broad, rounded flaps and carry far more brown meat in the body. Many people buy one of each and mix them.
• If buying cooked, ask when. Cooked crab is at its best within twenty-four hours, and the seller should be able to tell you exactly when it went into the pot.

A live crab should be lively — legs tucked, claws tucked in, a bit of fight in it. Cook it the day you get it home. Around fifteen minutes per kilo in heavily salted, vigorously boiling water, plus five minutes, is the standard approach, and a cooked crab sinks rather than floats.

The Chilling Step Most People Skip

This is the single biggest difference between mediocre crab and superb crab. Once cooked, lift the crab out and cool it quickly — an ice bath or a basin of very cold water for ten minutes works well — then drain it and refrigerate it properly.

Chill it for at least four hours, and overnight if you can. Two things happen. First, the meat firms up, which makes it far easier to extract in clean, generous pieces rather than shreds. Second, the flavour settles and sweetens. Warm crab picked straight from the pot tastes flabby and oddly flat, however fresh it is.

Store it wrapped loosely in a clean cloth or covered in the fridge, not sealed in a swimming pool of its own juices. And never leave it sitting out on a warm kitchen worktop while you get round to it.

Picking: Patience and Two Bowls

Set yourself up properly. You want a crab pick or a sturdy skewer, a nutcracker or small hammer, a rolling pin for the leg shells, and two bowls — one for white meat, one for brown.

• Twist off the legs and claws first, then crack the claws with the back of a knife or a cracker, not a smashing blow.
• Lift the carapace away and set it aside if you want to serve in the shell. Remove the greyish feathery gills — often called "dead man's fingers" — the small stomach sac behind the mouth, and the dark intestine running down the middle.
• Scoop the brown meat into its own bowl. It is soft, rich and intensely savoury, and it behaves completely differently from the white.
• Break the body into sections and work through the chambers with the pick. Then roll the legs with the rolling pin so the meat pushes out of the open end.

Two rules. Never rinse white meat under the tap — you will wash away the very thing you paid for. And pick it over twice; a fragment of shell in a soft mouthful spoils the whole plate.

The Plate: Bread, Lemon, Butter

Warm the brown meat very gently in a pan with a knob of unsalted butter, a squeeze of lemon and plenty of black pepper. Do not let it boil or it will tighten and turn grainy. The white meat needs nothing at all — a little lemon, perhaps a scatter of good salt, and room temperature rather than fridge-cold.

Bread should be serious: a decent sourdough, or a dense brown loaf, thickly cut and lightly toasted. Butter should be melted slowly, never browned, and served in a small jug so people can help themselves. That is the meal. Any more and you are decorating rather than cooking.

Dressed Crab, and Using Up the Rest

For a classic dressed crab, mix the brown meat with a spoonful of fresh breadcrumbs, a little lemon juice, chopped parsley and a grind of pepper. Spread it back into the cleaned shell, pile the white meat on top, and finish with a wedge of lemon and a dusting of cayenne if you like it warm. Serve it cold, with the bread and butter alongside.

Keep brown meat for up to two days and white meat for three, both well chilled, though honestly it is best eaten within a day. Any leftovers — and there rarely are — fold into warm butter with lemon and a little chilli and toss through pasta, or spread on hot toast with a pinch of salt. Nothing wasted, nothing complicated, and a very good evening's work.