On Sunday, Edison and Gladys went to a market in Quito to get 30 crabs. As can be seen in the first picture, they were quite big. The second photo shows them in the rapidly filling bucket. The third photo shows Marguerite with the cauldron they used to boil them, and the last photo shows my plate with the two crabs sitting in the soup/stock in which they were served.
The pot they were boiled in actually contained a sort of soup, with vegetables, spices (but not Old Bay), and onions, etc. You know the crabs are done when they turn orange.
They are served in a bowl of the soup/stock. They are eaten with mallets, but, curiously, no other tools to crush the shells or to extract the meat from all of the little crevices in which you find it. It's just the mallets and your bare, messy hands.
Marguerite and I were reminded why we never do crabs. Some people love them, but for us they are not worth the effort. (Heresy for an adopted Marylander.)
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