Crabs, carbs, and kicks

My hands smell like fish. Lin called at 11.20 this morning. My alarm had just gone off. She said she was glad she knew someone who slept in later than she did. She asked if I were still interested in the Singaporean crab festival in Dumbo. She said she was meeting Sugi at the water taxi on east 34th Street at 12.45. I had an hour.

I met Lin and Michael in Herald Square. We caught a cab, who decided to head west instead of east. We got to the taxi with moments to spare. The line started moving but the attendant cut us off as we reached the gate. The taxi was full, he said. A voice then said that people should walk to the water taxi. Ten people shoved in front of us, pretending to be taking the New Jersey ferry and boarded the water taxi. We pushed forward and reached the taxi as the attendant stopped us. One more couple squeezed past and then the taxi pulled away. There was an uproar.

The attendant tried to placate us, telling us that another taxi was on its way to pick up the overflow. We said we should have been on the taxi that just left. He asked us to return to the gates, but we told him he would have to start from the back of the line and convince them to move backwards before we would shift. He assured us we'd be the first people on the next taxi. By then it was a moot point. The crowd had dwindled.

The water taxi ferried us under the three bridges en route to its final destination. The day was sunny and cool. At the terminal, Lin bolted for the festival. Sugi's brother had called to make sure we would all leave early; he was afraid they'd run out of food. A band played on one side of the tiny street, sandwiched between industrial buildings. The line stretched. I ran into Zoe, my neighbor, and we chatted before Lin called to tell us she was in the front of the line for the restaurant from which the crab was being shuttled to the outdoor stands. She said that Jean was on her way.

We sat down and ordered. The waitress told us they were out of crabs. Lin pleaded. The waitress said she would see what she could do and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned to tell us that there were plenty of crabs, but they had run out of sauce. Lin told her we'd all have crab and to bring salt, pepper, butter, and hot sauce; we would improvise. And if there were any sauce being brought back in empty trays from the outdoor stand to bring some of that. The waitress looked surprised and then laughed. When she returned, she said they had found another vat of sauce. We waited. And then the crabs came.

I made a mess. Sauce ran down my arms. Lin sopped up her sauce with bread. Crabs were ripped apart, the meat sucked out of their shells. Sugi ordered a second plate. When we finished we were still not sated. Lin wanted a Thai iced coffee and Jean suggested Rice, just around the corner. We told Sugi where we were going and walked back into the festival.

At one end of the street a wrestling ring had been set up. Two professional wrestlers were tearing each other apart. As we approached, one grabbed the other (a bald, masked man) by the hair and lifted him up for a suplex. The ring shook. Moments later the tables turned and the unmasked man was on the mat, pinned. As he got up, delirious, he asked what had happened, then attacked the referee. The ref returned the attack and soon the wrestler was back on the mat. Jean and I took pictures and then hurried to join Lin, laughing over what we had just witnessed. (Is professional wrestling a big part of Singaporean culture?)

At Rice the Thai iced coffees were delicious. Lin ordered rice pudding; Jean rice and plantains wrapped in bamboo leaves. We ate and drank until we were sated. And then we parted ways. Sugi returned to the river with her mother and brother. Lin and Michael went north to Williamsburg to see a loft. Jean went home. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory and to continue sneaker shopping. But I still haven't found a pair I want in my size. Posted by eku at August 8, 2004 6:54 PM