The brown paper covering the tables is just like you'd find at any ol' crab house, as are the garbage bag-lined buckets for well-picked crab parts and the wooden mallets and hard plastic knives. And, golly, the bar area where you wait after putting your name on the evening's list after the place opens at 4 p.m.--no weekend reservations, natch--could be any TV- and beer advertisement-lined bar. No, it's not the setting that makes Mr. Bill's Terrace Inn such a treasured crab house, it's the crabs themselves: large, meaty, and densely coated in a hearty, piquant spice of Mr. Bill's own creation, they come to the table piping hot and ready to be devoured. Other places have fancier digs or are located closer to the city, but until they can consistently deliver crabs that measure up to Mr. Bill's, all other players must bow down to this one.

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