Well, Pharrell got a new hat.
Shia LaBeouf got a new poem.
And you...
You’re getting The Boiling Crab, that finally here mecca of Vietnamese-driven, Cajun-spiced crawfish, crab and lobster, and slightly-eternal-but-worth-it waits, soft-opening today at 3pm in Westwood. (See the slideshow.)
This is hardly your go-to for client dinners. And it may or may not be an ideal first-date spot, depending on whether you’re trying to convey just how good you look in a bib.
It’s the biggest location they have here. Two crab-shack-y floors of red brick accented with vintage beer cans, corrugated steel, portraits of jazz legends and flat-screens at every table. And it will get messy.
So you’ll want to come here with a certain type of Westsider for dinner. Someone who’ll be good company on the back courtyard, where you’ll wait for your table with some beers for a while... and someone who also appreciates the rapt silence that can only be born from a table covered with plastic bags containing tremendous quantities of just-boiled-and-steamed, heavily spiced Cajun crawfish. And crab. And lobster. And a few rounds of beers.
But no utensils.
No room, with all the crawfish.
Shia LaBeouf got a new poem.
And you...
You’re getting The Boiling Crab, that finally here mecca of Vietnamese-driven, Cajun-spiced crawfish, crab and lobster, and slightly-eternal-but-worth-it waits, soft-opening today at 3pm in Westwood. (See the slideshow.)
This is hardly your go-to for client dinners. And it may or may not be an ideal first-date spot, depending on whether you’re trying to convey just how good you look in a bib.
It’s the biggest location they have here. Two crab-shack-y floors of red brick accented with vintage beer cans, corrugated steel, portraits of jazz legends and flat-screens at every table. And it will get messy.
So you’ll want to come here with a certain type of Westsider for dinner. Someone who’ll be good company on the back courtyard, where you’ll wait for your table with some beers for a while... and someone who also appreciates the rapt silence that can only be born from a table covered with plastic bags containing tremendous quantities of just-boiled-and-steamed, heavily spiced Cajun crawfish. And crab. And lobster. And a few rounds of beers.
But no utensils.
No room, with all the crawfish.
