Aunt Julia’s Secret Crab Cake Recipe

Aunt Julia’s Secret Crab Cake Recipe

The secret is: you have to get your hands completely

immersed in goop. It has to ooze between your fingers like

some kind of demented seafood putty, a product of man’s

ingenuity that does not appear in nature. But, that’s

good. You see, the complete immersion method of crab cake

making goes back to the times of Edgar Allen Poe, who,

while once making the ubiquitous little seafood taste

sensations, was said to have composed the entire epic poem

“The Raven” from the first “Once upon a midnight dreary,”

to the very last “Nevermore,” while happily forming crab

cakes in his bare hands. The hands must be covered in

crabbiness at all times, making it difficult to do anything

else except concentrate on the task at hand. Poe believed

it, and so do I. The experience produces a euphoric state.

So here, and for all times, is mapped out the making

of the great American Crab Cake, Baltimore style.

Go to Costco and buy a pound of cleaned back-fin or

lump crabmeat or buy a nice freshly cooked Dungeness crab

and pick all the meat out of it. Then, get ready for an

out-of-body experience.

Aunt Julia (the world’s foremost authority on crab

cakes) and my mother set up an assembly line in her kitchen

where they’d crank out hundreds at a time. Aunt Julia, a

large woman of great emotional impact, was passionate about

making crab cakes. She was a liberal user of Old Bay

Seasoning, made by the McCormack Spice Company of

Baltimore, Maryland. She eschewed the use of store-bought

bread crumbs, preferring to dice up several pieces of

Wonderbread (without the crusts). She said it held

together better, but who’s counting? I’ve used both bread

crumbs and chopped white bread, it doesn’t seem to make

much difference. Bread crumbs seem healthier to me, but

what do I know?

Put a pound of crabmeat in a bowl. Beat an egg and

add it. Add a couple of tablespoons each of mayo and

yellow mustard. Using your hands, gloop it together

lightly, without destroying the fibers of the crabmeat.

Add a heaping palm full of chopped fresh parsley. Kneed it

into the mix. Your hands should be pretty disgusting by

now, so it’s a perfect time to add the Old Bay Seasoning.

Forget what it says on the box, that’s for wimps, triple

whatever they say to add. Trust me on this. The Old Bay

experience is like the heroin of all seasonings, so you

might as well go for broke. Otherwise your crab cakes will

be as bland those served by Captain Geech and his Shrimp

Shack Shooters at “Weekend On Party Pier.” Dullsville,

man. Imagine a young Don Rickles as “The Big Drag,”

saying, “The Old Bay is the most important part of the crab

cake, you hockey puck!”

Kneed it all together and whadaya got? Crab gloop!

Now, using the palms of your hands, form it into patties.

Make them the size of smallish single cheeseburgers at

McDonald’s. Smaller patties cook more evenly. Make sure

they don’t fall apart. If they do, add more breadcrumbs.

Making the patties is a crucial step, so make sure they are

well formed. Compress them slightly to remove excess

moisture. Put them out on plain white plates and get ready

to groove. If you don’t have plain white plates, use

smooth planks of Coka-Bola wood, or, if Coka-Bola wood is

out of season, use the backs of Swedish Office workers, so

pale and featureless. Failing all else, plastic or paper

will do.

In a medium pan, add a small amount of cooking oil.

My mother used vegetable oil, I’ve used olive oil, it

depends on what seems more natural for you. You want just

enough to cover the bottom of the pan. Turn the heat up

and let the oil get medium hot. Using a spatula, slide the

crab cakes into the oil. They should crackle with a jolly

sound. If the sound isn’t jolly, you may have breached the

space-time continuum. If that happens, we all die. (Just

so you know.)

Brown the crab cakes on both sides, making sure the

oil doesn’t get too hot and burn the cakes. This should

only take a few minutes per side. Don’t let them get too

dark and crispy, go slow. When they are golden brown and

calling your name, take them out and place them on some

paper towels to drain. Talk nice to them while they cool

off. Don’t jump the gun or you’ll burn your tongue.

My father loved to eat them between two saltines with

a dab of yellow mustard. I like ‘em straight up with a dab

of mustard, but every taste is different. I’ve seen people

use cocktail sauce or tartar sauce or even ketchup. It’s

up to you. But consider this: Johnny Unitas ate ‘em with a

dab and a Saltine, and he’s in the Hall Of Fame. The

“Saltine and dab” was popular at the Previs Brothers Lunch

Counter in the Broadway Market on the Baltimore Waterfront.

I remember sitting at the black and white checkerboard tile

counter on plastic swivel stools.

Enjoy your crab cake experience.

Guest Post by Author Greg Kihn