They’re wild, abundant in British waters, and freshly prepared are a delicacy to rival lobster.

In pictures: how to cook and dress a crab, and we’ll have a couple of fantastic crab recipes to try over the next week

Crabs were probably the first step on my journey to becoming a food nut. Long before I was old enough to get a proper kitchen job I worked evenings and weekends in a seafood stall tucked under Bournemouth Pier. It was a weird little concrete bunker with a hatch and a couple of minging fridges, but Mike, the lovely Scotsman who owned the place, ran it a bit like a charity. Any local kid in need of a few quid seemed to end up working there.

It wasn’t glamorous. The only thing more repellent than looking at a plastic bucket of jellied eels is watching what an 18-stone daytripper does with them – which might be sucking them in like a stream of snot and gravel and then hosing the bones, rapid-fire, across the beach. The cockles weren’t exactly soul-enriching either, and the whelks were so abidingly distasteful when dressed in pre-ground white pepper and unspecified non-brewed condiment that they’d make a goat retch. But I loved the crabs.

Mike was one of those men who could turn his hand to anything; painting, decorating, cooking, fitting out his house or his shops. Watching his capable hands strip a boiled crustacean down to its edible parts in less than a minute was like watching digital ballet.

Over a couple of seasons, I must have stripped many thousand crabs myself and I got pretty good, though never quite up to his speed. Then one day, quite unexpectedly, Mike took his own life. The stall was closed up, and as far as I know, never re-opened. It was years later, in a far more professional kitchen, that a box of crabs was again dumped in front of me. I still think of Mike every time I strip a crab, but back then I laughed, imagining how he’d have enjoyed me wringing grudging praise from the bastard chef for a scorching display of speed and dexterity.

Crab could well be one of the UK’s most criminally underrated foods. They’re plentiful, cheap and when served fresh rather than tinned the meat is, in my opinion, superior to lobster. As Rejina spotted at Taste of London, crab is getting plenty of fashionable attention in restaurants too. In fact the only thing getting between you and this goldmine of flavour is cooking them and getting the meat out. As luck would have it, I was doing both these things last week so I shot some ‘how-to’ pictures which we’ve put into a gallery.

After the rigorous flaming I received for the snail business I think it’s fair to warn people that the photographs show the process of killing a crab. I personally believe it depicts the most humane way to do this but I’m not going to deny that the series starts with a live one and ends up with crab on brown bread with a couple of slices of lemon. If this idea doesn’t appeal to you, please don’t follow the link.

If the idea does appeal to you then you’ll find a simple, step-by-step guide to getting all that lovely meat out that will also be useful if you’ve bought a ready-cooked crab and are pawing uselessly at the exterior, wondering where the latch is.

Method

If you are choosing a live crab, pick up several and try to go for a lively one that’s heaviest for its size. The lighter ones are at a stage in their life cycle where they don’t fit the shell and produce far less meat. I put the crabs into the freezer for around 20 minutes which is intended to render them dormant. Though most people believe that dropping a crab into boiling water kills it very fast indeed, you can add an extra stage, just to be sure.

Working as quickly as possible, raise the tail flap, drive a skewer or small screwdriver into the small ‘dent’ underneath and move side to side; next push the spike in through the mouth area, point upwards into the back of the shell and, again, sweep from side to side.

Drop the crab into salted water at a fast rolling boil. If you’re doing more than one crab, make sure you allow the water to come back up to boiling between each one. I cook crabs of up to a kilo for around 15mins. If you are lucky enough to get bigger ones the usual rule is a minute for every extra 100g.

Once the crab has boiled, remove from the water and allow it to cool while assembling your tools. I use a pair of angled tweezers and a heavy Deba-style knife that I’m not too particular about keeping in perfect condition. Cracking shells is murder on a good blade.

Pull off the claws and legs and then, with the crab’s body on its back and facing away from you, bring your thumbs up under the rear edge and push firmly to lift out the core.

Dig your thumb in behind the eyes and mouthparts and lift out a mixed mass of bony and gloopy bits – these are mainly inedible parts of the digestive tract. Scoop everything else out of the shell into a bowl. It looks pretty grim at the moment but add a grind of black pepper, a squeeze of lemon (and you might want to try a pinch of smoked paprika) and mash it to a homogenous paste with the back of a fork. For classic British seaside presentation, spoon the mixture back into the washed shell forming a ridge down the middle.

Remove and discard the dead man’s fingers from around the core. These are the greyish-looking gills of the beast and, though they won’t cause you any harm, they have an unpleasant texture and taste. The core is a ridiculously complex labyrinth of bony cells but it’s packed with delicious white meat so chop it down the central line, discard the tail then take a comfortable seat and start pulling it out in threads, being careful to separate out any rigid stuff. You can also attack the problem through the leg sockets. It will take ages but eventually you’ll have an encouraging little pile of shredded white meat.

Crack the claws with the heel of your knife. You can also use a hammer, garden secateurs or an 18″ Stilson pipe wrench: pretty much anything in the tool box you’re comfortable with, short of a chainsaw. Extract the meat, shred it – I don’t think it needs seasoning but you’re welcome to if you think it will help – and spoon it into the shell, either side of the brown meat.

For ultimate authenticity, top with lemon slices and serve with triangles of buttered brown bread, a stick of rock and some sandy tea. There. Mike will be proud of you.