Just Add Butter.

What do the Tooth Fairy, Y2K, Prince Charming, Dr. Phil's wisdom and my future modeling career all have in common? I once believed in them despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary (see supporting photographic proof below). Of course, so did a lot of you (save my modeling career, which I'm quite confident I alone saw as a real possibility), so stop judging.




My "I'm so playful--look how my hat points one way and my hips another--I live by my own rules" pose.



And, if you're one of those people that protested to the inclusion of Prince Charming in my list because you found your Prince Charming, I'm happy for you in the way I'm happy for people that don't have to watch what they eat. And since I support you, I encourage you to talk about him on your blog. As for me and my blog, P.C. is going to continue to fall in the same category as magic carpets and small dogs that are easy to potty train. Furthermore, I reserve the right to start believing in him again whenever I feel like it, but doing so now feels as futile as believing that tomorrow I'm going to wake up leggy and with good hand-eye coordination. 

I mention my past beliefs only to help you better understand why, when my beloved Uncle Rusty told me that in order to catch crabs with chicken legs you must first boil the chicken in water laced with butter and garlic, I actually believed him.  

Here's what happened: a couple of weeks ago, I went down to Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina, a beach my family and I go to at least once a year. This time, my best childhood friend, Hunter*, and I had a few days to ourselves before my Uncle, Aunt Sandy and Granny joined us. After a couple of days on the beach, Hunter and I were ready for some excitement, and I had just the right adventure in mind. 

Awhile back, Rusty and Sandy had taken me to the end of the island for my first crabbing experience. Knee deep in grassy water we would hurl chicken legs attached by a hook to a spool of string out into the water. We would slowly pull in the string, dragging the chicken along the sandy bottom. More often than not, as we brought the leg to the surface of the water, a medium-sized blue crab would be clamped onto a hunk of meat, so intent on its prize, it wouldn't notice the predator inches away. By thrusting a large net into the water and underneath the crab, we managed to bring home over thirty crabs, which we promptly steamed and made into three tiny shell-filled crab cakes. Despite the amount of work for such little bounty, I loved every second of that day, and I was eager to share the experience with Hunter. My memory being a bit hazy, I called Uncle Rusty, who was more than happy to help. 

Steaming crabs many moons ago

His preparatory instructions were simple enough: buy chicken legs, boil in water, butter and garlic and hook them to crabbing rigs. Pack a bucket for the crabs you catch, bring some beers and a net, and you're good to go. I judged this sage advice, and thus, Hunter and I quickly went to work. I even posted a picture of our first batch of bait on instagram, as further proof that I am outdoorsy and good at survival stuff. 

What's wrong with this picture?

Within an hour, Hunter and I were back in the same brackish water hunting down supper. There, we greeted fellow crabbers and fishermen, and feeling as though we were among equals, it wasn't long until we were sharing our family crab catching secret with them. Looking back, they all regarded us as one regards a small child who claims to be able to talk to monsters or to have invented a time travel machine, but at the time, Hunter and I were too proud of ourselves to notice their mocking expressions. After about four tosses out into the water, each chicken leg was picked clean by fish or missing entirely, and we were catching no crabs.  

Undeterred, we rushed home, cooked nine more chicken legs, this time adding even more garlic and butter. Sadly, our tweaked recipe seemed to make no difference, and in less than a half hour, we were down fifteen chicken legs and had managed to catch one blue crab large enough to keep**. 

At this point, I must provide some background on Uncle Rusty. This is a man who has spent his entire life instigating arguments, playing pranks and telling outright lies to children and the elderly. I learned this firsthand when between my sophomore and junior year of college, I spent a summer living with him and Sandy. Part of my living there required me to do various chores around the house, which, under Sandy's watch, rarely amounted to more than unloading the dishwasher. Rusty, however, had other plans in mind. 

Once on a viciously hot day, he called from work to tell me that I needed to move a heaping pile of firewood from one side of the yard to the other. Sadly, the wheelbarrow was missing, so I would need to do this by carrying them. With just a few hours until he would be home, I went to work, grabbing whatever firewood I could and half jogging from old pile to new. When I was nearing the halfway point, Sandy arrived, looking puzzled by my work. I explained his instructions, and she kindly pointed me to the wheelbarrow, which I realized Rusty must have known about the entire time. When he got home that evening, I had completed the project with just minutes to spare. 

Once inside, Sandy and I both questioned him on the wisdom of moving a pile of firewood a few yards, at which point his eyes started to twinkle, his mouth curled into a thin upturned line (picture the Grinch), and in a tone that barely concealed his glee he asked, "You...You didn't actually do that, did you?"  At that point he didn't need me to answer, as my expression, sullied clothes and sweatstache told him enough. He turned red faced, doubled over and burst into fits of laughter, shocked that anyone would be dumb enough to actually carry out such a chore.

To this day if you mention this story to him, a look of extreme pride and joy washes over his face as remembers just how hilarious he is. Over the years, I've seen this face more times that I care to recall, and it terrorizes me like Jack Nicholson's The Shining face. So, when he asked how the crabbing went, I told him I didn't think we added enough butter to the boiling water. His face flushed crimson, and I knew we had been duped.

*This may be her real name, a nickname or a completely fabricated name. My blog, my rules.

**North Carolina state law requires that you release any blue crabs that aren't at least five inches from point to point.