Somewhere far off the Washington Coast, 80 fathoms (or one Smith Tower) beneath the waves, a fat Dungeness crab, one creature in a mat of millions, is snuggled beneath a blanket of cold, dark mud.

If you are very lucky, someday that crab will perish in a steam pot and, in no more than 20 minutes, show up in front of you, hot and gorgeous. Do not feel too badly about its fate. This crab, a hunter of fish and clams and sometimes a cannibal, is also a scavenger who may have gnawed on a bit of person lost beneath the brine. Its Latin name is Cancer magister, the "master crab." It can measure as much as 10 inches across the carapace and has one of the highest meat-to-shell ratios in the world. Its mating ritual lasts several days, the male crab protectively embracing the female, face to face at the bottom of the ocean.

Though it lives in the mud, its flesh is delicate and slightly sweet. If overcooked or starved, it turns fibrous and bland. Once removed from the cold and pressure of the ocean depths, Dungeness crabs stop eating; they absorb calcium from their shells for nutrition, turning their shells soft and their meat chewy. A crab caught and immediately steamed on the boat can taste better than one kept alive and fasting.

The very best place to get Dungeness crab is the Quileute Reservation near La Push, where you can rent a beachside cabin ($50–$200), then walk to the docks and buy a few crabs straight from the boats. They go for around $5 a piece (or whatever the fishermen feel like charging that day). Drop them in your bucket, lug them through the tiny, tattered town back to your shack, then set a pot of water to boiling, confident you're about to eat one of the best meals available to anyone, anywhere.

But where's the best place to eat crab in town? Seattle lacks the crab shacks of the East Coast, where you can get a pile of crabs and a few bottles of beer for not much money. The Alki Crab and Fish Co. (1660 Harbor Ave SW, 938-0975), a little linoleum-and-picnic-table joint on the West Seattle ferry dock, makes for a nice trip, but rarely has the goods. "We're small, and they send the crabs out to the casinos before they get to us," says manager Yvonne Renick. "I try to have some on Fridays and Saturdays, but I don't always get 'em." When she does have them, a steamed half-crab (about one pound) and Caesar salad goes for $14.95.

Crawfish King—a Vietnamese-run, Cajun-style family chain that has spread from Texas (725 S Lane St, 623-3622)—seemed promising. A theme-park version of a Louisiana icehouse, Crawfish King has plastic tablecloths, swamp kitsch hanging from the ceiling, generic zydeco tumbling out of the overhead speakers, and exotic hot-sauce bottles glued to the wooden windowsills. Inside, Asian kids were greased to the elbows in goo, gnawing and sucking piles of crawfish. The crab came out in a scorching-hot plastic bag, smothered in a chili sauce that annihilated the Dungeness's delicate flavor. At $12 a pound—most restaurants automatically call their crabs at two pounds each—it felt like a crab death in vain. (And while we're on the subject: The fried crawfish po'boy [$9] was a disappointment, with the bread soft and doughy, not crusty French style.)

The closest thing Seattle has to a crab shack is Jack's Fish Spot in the Market (1514 Pike Pl, 467-0514), a countertop adjoining a fish stand. It serves chowder, raw oysters, fish and chips, and steamed crab. The crab I had there for $18 wasn't the tops—the shell was soft, the flesh fibrous and bland, perhaps because the crab wasn't very fresh, perhaps because the guy behind the counter said he'd spaced out and left it in the steamer too long. Jack's will do for a quick, restorative oyster, though the brushed-aluminum counter was filthy—like, New York subway filthy, with a veneer of schmutz of varying color and thickness. (Being part of a fishmonger's, it gets a pass.)

Three strikes into the crab search, the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife was consulted. "Where's the best place to eat steamed crab?" I asked state crab expert Heather Reed. "My home," she said.

Duh.

Back in February, chefs Rachel Yang and Seif Chirchi of Joule (1913 N 45th St, 632-1913) served one night of fantastic deep-fried crab, Cantonese style, with a peppery breading on the outside. The meat was succulent and tender, and the hot oil turned the gills and guts, normally discarded, into deep-fried crab cracklings. Chirchi said he did his research at a few Chinese restaurants, including Sea Garden in the International District (509 Seventh Ave S, 623-2100).

Sea Garden wins. First, because it serves five different whole, fried preparations. Second, because the waitress brought out the creature live, in a white plastic bucket, for approval. Third, because it serves its crab—cracked and steaming and (in this case) smeared in a thick ginger-onion sauce—with bowls of warm, lemony water to clean your fingers. (Why doesn't everybody do that?) Fourth, because it was delicious: The frying kept the meat succulent and the sauce complemented, but didn't overwhelm, the sweetness. It was pricey at around $35, but it was also the first crab bill of the season that didn't feel like a rip-off. The fortune cookie said: "A new friend will bring you happiness." A new friend just had.

This article has been updated since its original publication due to the fact that leagues are a lot longer than fathoms.