I see a lot of crustacean abuse in this country, and it saddens me. I grew up digging shreds of flesh out of the spindly legs of whole, steamed crabs, and dipping it in fierce black vinegar. To my mind, nothing brings out crabmeat’s sweet, musky flavor better: certainly not clarified butter, the preferred condiment of crab and lobster eaters across America.

I don’t much care for crab cakes, either. There’s nothing inherently wrong with them, except that they taste very little of crab, and might equally be made with cheaper, more flavorful fillets of smoked mackerel or haddock. And don’t get me started on the New England lobster roll, a mayo-happy sandwich that costs upwards of $20, and does little to persuade me that shrimp or even surimi mightn’t have been used instead.

Perhaps the gravest crime against crabs, and the one with which I’m concerned today, is perpetrated by American-style Chinese restaurants. The soup section of the Chinese takeout menu tends to be its weakest point, and of all the careless, cornstarch-bound gloops to be found under this heading (Hot and Sour neither hot nor sour; West Lake Beef Soup that no resident of Hangzhou would recognize), crab and corn soup might just be the most dire.

…

Fall has descended quite suddenly on New York, but it’s still too early in the season (by my landlord’s calculations, at any rate) to turn on the heating. So I’m relying on hot, nourishing soups to stay comfortable in my drafty apartment.

Last night, I went to watch the vice-presidential debate at the apartment of my friend, the private chef. I steeled myself through eighty-seven instances of the word “maverick” by gnawing on roasted lambchops dipped in fleur de sel. When I left, my friend plied me with haul from a recent shipboard job in French Canada: white truffle oil, a duck breast and a can of lump crabmeat.

With my enormous can of gratis crab, I had what most low-margin Chinese restaurant operations don’t: a free hand with a premium ingredient. To disguise the dearth of titular ingredients in their corn and crab soup, many such restaurants will swirl egg whites through the broth, creating thin white strands supposed to pass for seafood. I resolved to make a generous soup, practically groaning with the goods.

For those of you who are mindful of such things, this smooth, indulgent soup is virtually fat-free. There’s the natural fat in the corn kernels, of course, and the small amount of oil required to sweat an onion, but the recipe uses no dairy to achieve a creamy texture. Instead, pureed corn brings a milky thickness to the soup; passing it through a sieve leaves it silky. The crabmeat is added at the last minute, along with some whole corn kernels that reintroduce a bit of texture.

A pinch or two of mild curry powder adds no discernable heat, but the turmeric content sharpens up the color nicely.

New Corn and Crab Soup–Serves 4 as an appetizer, or 2 as a light lunch

INGREDIENTS

1 small onion, finely chopped
1 15-oz can corn kernels, drained
1 cup lump crabmeat
2 cups chicken stock
Large pinch mild curry powder
Thinly-sliced scallion tops, for garnish

METHOD

In a large pot, sweat the onion in a little oil. When onions are translucent, add 3/4 of the can of corn, reserving the rest. Cover with chicken broth and bring to the boil.

Remove from heat and puree. Push through a sieve, discarding solids, and return to stove on low heat. Add curry powder and stir to dissolve.

Stir in crabmeat and reserved corn, and continue to heat for an additional two minutes. Adjust seasoning. Serve sprinkled with chopped scallions.

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