The first time I met Miss Sallie Ann Robinson — she threw open wide the front door to her home – giving my husband Sam, our taxi driver Al, and me, all big hugs that pulled us in. Leading us through her living room, she pointed proudly at the graduation photos of her kids + studio portraits of grand-babies that hung on the walls above a comfortable couch, a lazy boy, and a TV that filled the corner.
‘Com’on into the kitchen’ she said with a broad smile. ‘Al called from the road saying he was bringing some folks over for devil crab. I’m heating up a couple for you to taste — to make sure you know that what you’re taking home is good.’ Up until that moment, I didn’t know what devil crab was or that I was going to be taking any home. I also didn’t know that our taxi driver, Al was ex-husband number one. When we’d hopped into his cab in downtown Savannah, Georgia – declaring hunger for something local + authentic – all he said was ‘I’ll take you to Sallie Ann’s.’
I knew that I’d eat anything this woman cooked up and put in front of me just by the wide-open way Sallie Ann greeted us into her home, her kitchen. We were like some long lost friends whom she’d been waiting for – though we’d only just met. And all this because Al vouched for us – having picked us up some 20 minutes earlier…
Sallie Ann sat us down with cans of cold Coke while the devil crabs, each one wrapped tight in aluminum foil, heated up in the toaster oven. And the talking + laughter came easy — about kids, cooking, husbands, and the trouble of getting a stove repaired these days. She shot her ex a chiding look ‘Al, when exactly did you say you were coming by to fix this cabinet?’ she asked, twanging on the bungee cord that kept its door closed.
The bell on the toaster oven dinged and we ate out of the hot, red crab backs. Al picked out every last little bit, ‘Oh my Sallie Ann’ he groaned. Poor Al – you could see the regret in his face – how he wished he hadn’t messed up that marriage. And I did my best at that age-old, good-natured banter that goes on between cooks – trying to guess the ingredients. Though Sallie Ann was tough. When it comes to her recipe for devil crab – she is impenetrable.
’Lawry’s seasoning salt?’ I asked. ‘I can’t tell you that’ she said.
‘Crumbs then… Ritz, saltines, Wonder Bread?’ She held back a laugh, tried to contain a smile, shook her head. I felt kind of silly. She was disarming in that way southerners can be with northerners…
I persisted (God only knows why) ‘Worchester Sauce or cooking sherry?’ ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe both!’ Sallie Ann answered. This was fun. Her accent killed me. I kept going…
‘Hot Sauce?’ And got nothing, only because she was way too polite and didn’t want to embarrass me. Because my generalization of ‘hot sauce’ was frankly, lame.
I finally realized I should’ve quit with the main ingredient. ‘Crab. Is
that right Sallie Ann?’ And that’s when I got the biggest smile of all.
