I first became enraptured with the taste, the smell and the texture of crab as a small child, when I was assigned the task of picking out meat from the crab claws for the family. The intense but fragrant flavour is simply exquisite and unlike anything I have ever savoured. However, during my many years of life in Switzerland, crab has remained an elusive memory, reserved for holidays, purely because it doesn’t seem to be available anywhere.

So, when we were in the Old Town of San Sebastian this summer, and we stumbled across a neat little fish restaurant in the middle of the pedestrian area, we strolled inside and claimed the only unoccupied table. By pure chance, this table was right opposite the most stunning aquarium of surreal fascination. There were handcuffed lobsters and looking as glum as lobsters do, and in among their colony were my beloved crabs. These magical crustaceans were crawling around tenaciously over and under their close associates in a mysterious marine ballet. Their choreography was leisurely but resolute, between the bubbles and within the constraints of their environment. I was mesmerized and completely distracted from the business of studying the menu. I was so entranced with the circus of seafood right in front of my eyes that I almost forgot that I was hungry.

As we sat there sipping our aperitif and reading the menu, the cook emerged periodically to extract an unwilling lobster for his final bow. Then a process began which plunged me into an unsolicited inner conflict. I simply couldn’t delete the mental image of Calvin, my favourite crab, meeting his sticky end, and then reclining on my plate. I reasoned that if I didn’t eat him, some other diner would, but nothing could appease my uneasy sensation that I was about to defect on my own conscience.

As the waitress approached our table for the order, my struggle reached an agitated pitch. With one eye on Calvin and the other dithering agonizingly over the menu, finally, Calvin won the debate and I selected an item that had ceased to live a while ago. It was by no means comparable to my preferred dish and Calvin was unaware of my magnanimous gesture. But as I left the restaurant at the end of the meal, I muttered a fond farewell to my long-legged friend and continued to reflect on his assured imminent demise.

Unbelievably, I could find no peace overnight, and we returned to the same restaurant the following evening, to find the same table still empty. It occurred to me, that maybe the other diners deliberately avoided that table, to create a visual gulf between themselves and their predetermined feast. However, Calvin had vanished, leaving only a photo on my handy, and his carcass probably in the kitchen bin. As a result of my solidarity with the crabs, my conscience and their destiny, I didn’t eat any crab at all during that holiday. I would like to report that I feel good about that, but, as they say: «there’s nowt so queer as folk».

Photo: Stefan Wälti