Little grimy crabs

They came with one of the courses my date and I shared at a Japanese place in Gramercy last night.

"These are all the rage these days," he said as he took a bite.

The course itself was a sort of fried crab popover. The plate was adorned with spinach leaves in a sweet brown sauce. Then on the side of the plate there were these tiny crabs.

"You eat 'em whole," he said.

I'm from Maryland. I cannot refuse a crab product. Still, these looked nasty. I mean, soft shell crabs are one thing. They're heaven-sent, if you ask me. And I've seen a look not unlike the one I had on the faces of others who've never tried soft shells as they've eyed them for the first time.

"Go ahead," I always say, "You won't regret it."

And they never do.

But I didn't have a good feeling about these suckers. Still I forced myself to take a deep breath. I went in for the kill.

Sure enough, my Maryland-bred instincts had not led me astray: the mini crabs were hard, sandy, and tasteless.

I looked around at my posh Manhattan surroundings, my adult home, and for a moment felt very much in touch with my roots. But then I looked back at my date, a nice guy looking to make a good impression.

I smiled.

"Fabulous," I said.