Rule No. 2: Don't panic! When in crab country, there's usually another steamer pot within sniffing distance, and thanks to a tip from Sambo's, we found one in the nearby boondocks. Literally. The Boondocks restaurant is aptly named, because this sprawling cinder-block hall is near Smyrna off a side road in the middle of a cornfield. Little surprise that it used to be a lodge for goose hunts.
It was my crustacean chase, though, that found its answer here, in the laid-back confines of these vast rooms, where huge groups at picnic tables slurped lime-green Swamp Water cocktails from tall Mason jars, and the happy sound of family shell-cracking filled the air. ("Just hold the mallet a little lower on the handle and whack it!" said the tattooed biker beside me, tenderly instructing his young daughter on crab-country life skills.)