More Napkins Please "Crabulous makes for a deliciously messy experience" by Merrill Shindler THE MOTTO at the fabulously named Crabulous - an Asian-run Cajun restaurant in a white-washed bunker in Rosemead - is "Squeeze the Lemon." And that's what the big red crab with bedroom eyes and a happy toothless grin is doing on the logo - squeezing a lemon. But really, the motto could just as easily be (and probably should be) "Wear Something Washable" or "Bring Extra Wet Ones." For Crabulous isn't just a nutty eatery - and a tasty excursion as well - it's also a place where you can't help but get messy. It's simply part of the process. Crabulous may be the first of a curious culinary trend that's been rising for the past year or so. Down in the Vietnamese community of Westminster, Cajun-style crab joints are popping up all over the place. Places with names like The Cajun Corner, Rockin's Crawfish and The Boiling Crab. Some of these spots may have a bit of a Vietnamese twist to them, though I can't find any hint of Saigon flavor at Crabulous. This is the sort of Cajun crab joint found along the shores of Lake Pontchartrain (or at least, it was before Katrina struck) - unpretentious, cut-to-the-chase, downhome gumbo and crabs, washed down with lots of beer. At Crabulous, the food may be washed down with beer someday. Last I checked, they didn't yet have a liquor license, and were asking folks not to bring their own. A pity, for the flavors - or rather, the spices - demand a certain amount of beer to keep them under control. (That certain amount is a lot.) Iced tea does a marginal job. Pink lemonade is a bit better. Rasberry iced tea just seems wrong - suicide sauce and resberry iced tea doesn't quite do it. Ordering at Crabulous is an exercise in madcap excess. The mudbug of choice is the crawfish, which are best ordered in two pound increments. You get a cob corn and two sausgages for every two pounds, so you may as well maximize the intake in between ripping the funny little things to pieces. Now, I did not grow up in a land where crawfish were eaten, by anyone. And so, the joys of crawfish are a bit foreign to me. They're brought to the table, which is covered with butcher paper, still bubbling in large plastic bags. The bags are dropped on the table and you're pretty much on your own. Reach into the bag, pull out a bug, and start ... doing what? You pull the crawfish apart, and what you find inside is a small plug of meat, pleasant enough, but even two pounds of them aren't quite a enough for a fellow who likes to eat his shrimp and crab by the tankful. It didn't take long before the coves at my table were calling over one of the very pleasant, very pretty waitresses, and ordering just a bit more - a couple of pounds of shrimp, blue crab and Dungeness crab, some fried catfish with french fries, a thick-as-mud gumbo with rice, some fried calamari, a rasher of Cajun onion rings. We finally got enough to eat - and enough to make a mess of everything and everyone in sight. The bugs come in a choice of sauces - garlic butter, lemon pepper, "Cajun Sensation" - or a mix of all of the above called "All the Madness." Dip your fingers into the sauce enough and they begin to marinate. Your fingers turn a reddish-brown color that doesn't come off for about a week; and the aroma of the sauce stays with you, no matter how much soap you use. It's a terrific meal, wholly interactive, downright primal. It made me want to drive down to Westminster to do some serious eating, which I'd probably mix with some time at Disneyland. Crawfish and it's a Small World sound like a perfect combination. --Merill Shindler - Friday, June 1, 2007 . San Gabriel Valley Newspapers . www.sgvn.com