If you’ve seen Groundhog Day, you have an idea how disconcerting this morning’s trip to the market was. Sweet Jesus, more tuna?!? My suki — of the squid from the day before — shook his head as I approached. “Nothing here for you, sir,” he said.
Eventually I found myself at the crab lady’s. She had the cutest critters, as if they had been kidnapped Abu Sayyaf-style from a crab nursery. “You’re kidding me,” I said. “I am not paying for those.”
“Pssst! Hoy!”
After several beats, a guy ambled over. The help, or her husband? I decided on the latter. It was his deliberately lazy gait, I think, suggesting he had no choice but to be there, but damn if he was going to rush over whenever the boss yelled “Tukoy” (in English, that would be “Rover”). I took a better look at Manang. With her arched brow and shoulders just a little too squared, she looked the boss, all right.
“Go get ser something bigger.”
Said something being the ones pictured here, so as you can well imagine, not really that much bigger than what were on display. At least they were meaty. And quite sweet.
I hate photographing crab dishes, by the way. Despite those vibrant colors, they all look the same. The only thing different here was the sauce — from last week’s pata tim. It was a bit too sweet, so I thinned it with water, then added a tablespoon or two of oyster sauce and a good helping of sriracha. Looked like a lot, too, until I added the crabs to the wok, and then it dried up. We had to lick the shells to get at it — messy, but great fun. I don’t mind saying I could do it forever.
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