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Big, Fat, Hairy Deal
Hong Kong becomes a city obsessed. Taxis sport Godzilla-sized rooftop replicas heralding its arrival. Food festivals are launched. Restaurants devote entire menus to it, and denizens spend up to $120 a pound for the fleeting delicacy. “Since hairy crab is a seasonal item, you have to wait all year for it,” explained chef Chan Yan Tak of Lung King Heen before we began our feast. “Among all the varieties of crab, the roe of the hairy crab is the best. The distinct taste lingers long after the first bite.” The wee green hairy crabs are bound with raffia and stacked high within glass display cases outside of restaurants like so many freshwater cigars. Not surprisingly, the crab craze has spawned an underground industry of charlatans. It is thought that only one of every 70 crabs sold as a genuine Yang Cheng Lake hairy crab is the real McCoy. The Jiangsu area is riddled with small lakes breeding a similar crab species, making imposters five times cheaper. The difference in taste? Think organic, free-range chicken versus the Supermarket Brand C. Which brings me back to my meal at the Four Seasons. Sort of like a Peking duck meal on crab roe crack, the six-course extravaganza starts with a baked stuffed hairy crab shell, followed by the textural bliss of silken tofu soup with hairy crab meat. Then comes the steamed whole hairy crab, which is perhaps my favourite dish. Naturally balanced in flavour, inherently salty, sweet and as rich and gooey as egg yolk, it comes simply sided with a dish of Chinese black vinegar and minced ginger to cut the fattiness. Here’s how you eat it. The first step is strictly visual: Take in the ugliness that only a mother crab could love. Next roll up your sleeves; this is going to get messy before it gets delicious. Expert eaters palm the crabs, using special scissors to cut the body in half, snipping away at the legs and shell casings, the dreamy, creamy roe flowing out like lava. Get out those chopsticks. Dig for moist meat, scoop up the roe. Dip it in the sauce and then onto your tongue. Chef Chan Yan Tak was right: I can taste it still. Write to us: letters@enroutemag.net |
