Several years ago I was a Host Mother for a young lady from Japan who was in the US for a year as a student. One evening I came home from work to find that she and a friend had gone to the waterfront and decided to buy a crab to have for dinner. Said crab was at that time wrapped in newspaper in the refrigerator.
Being a bit distracted at the time I said "Fine", went into the living room and sat down to read the paper. The girls poked their heads out and asked how would they go about warming up the crab, so I told them a pot of hot water and let it sit inside for a few minutes should do it. About 15 minutes later I heard shrieking from the kitchen and ran to investigate.
You see, Rieko and her friend had never seen a crab, much less cooked one. And apparently the words of the vendor dockside had not really penetrated. They had assumed it was ready to crack and eat and only needed to be warmed up, but as I rounded the corner it was immediately obvious to me that this crab was alive and well. If the snapping claws he was waving in the air had not tipped me off, then his muddy gray color would have.
There was a small saucepan steaming on the stove, barely the size of the crab, and he was perched atop the edge. It seems when they unwrapped it from the newspaper they had mistaken his lack of movement as meaning it was already dead, not sluggish because of the cold. So they had picked it up and started to place it in the water. Of course when his first leg had hit the hot water Mr. Crab woke up REAL quick and was now poised on the edge of the saucepan like a tighrope walker. But not for long as he launched himself off the pan and headed across the counter.
The girls were squealing and poking it with chopsticks, too afraid to get near it as the crab took off. I quickly rushed in and grabbed it from behind to set it into the sink where it could not get any leverage to escape, especially with his one red leg. Of course his clattering about in the stainless steel sink added to the general din of the room.
After calming the girls I explained how to tell a cooked from a live crab and we set about getting a large pot for his final "bath". As the kitchen sink was occupied they had followed me into the bathroom as I filled the pot from the tub faucet. That's when the curtain rose on Act II. You see, the scurrying sound of claws on stainless had proved much too intriguing for Patch to resist investigating. So my 10 year old, 12 pound cat had jumped onto the counter to investigate. I guess the crab was just incensed at this new outrage and as paw had gotten too close to pincher ... well, you can just image the noises now eminating from my kitchen.
Eventually the crab met his long delayed demise in a large stock pot, I got the girls calmed down and the cat's "owie" looked at. As I surveyed the disaster zone that was now my kitchen I sighed and did the only thing that made sense - I ordered a pizza.
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