Order the tamarind crab (cua rang me) at Kim Son Vietnamese Bistro, and the kitchen does some of the dirty work for you. Though the plump Dungeness crab appears to be whole when it arrives at your table, the shell has been separated from the body, and the body split to reveal the hunk of snow-white meat attached to each leg. A shame: Taking apart a whole crab is a great, savage pleasure. But you still have to get those hunks of meat out of their shells not to mention crack open the legs and claws. Even with help from a claw cracker, your bare hands will snap and break and pull and scoop and pluck. There's no way to avoid a mess (did we mention the pool of dusky red tamarind sauce surrounding your crab?), so ignore the stares from the stuck-up saps who insist on using proper utensils. If you crack your shells at just right the angle, you can probably send some crabby shrapnel their way.