Review: Dave and Jane's Crabhouse, Fairfield, PA
I went to lunch at Dave and Jane’s Crabhouse in Fairfield, PA yesterday. I had the Thursday steak special. In their benevolence, the house let me order hushpuppies as my side. Yes, I’m doing a steak review at a crab place. I’m allergic to crab. If I did a little crab whacking like us Marylander’s are apt to do, the review would be far less enthusiastic and more benadrylly. Sometimes, I eat them. This was not that day – I was in the most polite company.
Before we go any further, if you are reading this to children or Gam Gam, please use the word "avacados" in place of all curse words.
The hush puppies were warm, crispy on the outside and just moist enough on the inside. I watch a lot of the Food Network. They use the word “unctuous” a lot. I’m not going to use that word. Not now, not ever. In fact, I think if I used it in Fairfield, PA I would be sentenced to be in dunk tank at the Adams County Fair for two nights. At that point, faced with half sauced locals, I would be tempted to call them “unctuous motherfuckers.” In that case, I would confuse and infuriate them enough to askew their aim. It’s a victory for everyone (me).
You big beautiful unctuous motherfucker. I’ve immediately changed my mind on that word. Those hush puppies were unctuous motherfuckers. I don’ t know two words that work in a more perfect symbiotic harmony. This is turning less into a review and more into my cussing.
On the “Titan Games” just now, they said, “Tim goes hard at the gym.” If I did that, I’d probably be arrested. Just saying. I can’t work like this.
Going hard at the steak, it was huge. I didn’t weigh it, nor do I remember the cut. I am betting that’s important for a review. C’est la vie. It was big just the same and perfectly seasoned. It was $10.95. Like, I’ve been to chain restaurants and had their $10 steaks. Normally, they are the size, shape and flavor of meaty socks. I have been enticed in to those places by Australian accents and and appeteasers (you heard me). Like church, I leave ashamed and terribly disappointed in myself.
This was not that steak. It was, dare I say, just about perfect. I have no complaints, and believe me, I like to complain. I am crabhouse.
The waitress was attentive enough for me develop a tiny, yet fleeting bond. The decor was exactly what you would expect from a place called “Crabhouse.” It was wooody and seafairing and looks like a lot of other crabhouses. The tables were decorated with butcher block paper and mallet fillet buckets. There is a bar surrounded by chalkboards and neon signs promising good times through food specials and discounted pitchers. They speak to the Rock Islander in me.
Dave and Jane’s Crabhouse is nothing fancy. It doesn’t try to be. It doesn’t need to be.
My friends had things that were wrapped in wrappy things. I can’t speak to that. They ate it all and didn’t complain. The waitress said the crab covered chicken sandwich was her favorite, I trust her implicitly. If she told me I should wear a fedora - I would damned well fedora.
I ate the entire steak. I left one hushpuppy so the waitress would know how I truly feel. I would eat here again. I might try the dinner. I feel obligated to use the little mallets and whack me some crab and take my chances.
Thank you Fairfield. Thank you Dave and Jane’s.
Most especially, thank you to my friends Ronnie, Bobby, Mickey and Mike who, on a blue day, took me out to lunch, bought me a steak and let me know that I am mildly unctuous. Which I am. Like level 3. I was told today I had a Peter Brady hair. Stop typing...