Dinner c/o Rembrandt's

Last Monday E., her boyfriend B. and childhood friend A. came to Philly for dinner. E. and B. were on the east coast for the fourth and, it seems, at least two surprise birthday parties. After sitting on the deck for a bit we walked over to Rembrandt's for dinner. We sat outside. I had a beer.
I asked the waitress whether, if she were me, she would have the crab cake or the pork sandwich. She said crab cake. I asked if that decision would change if she, as me, were from Maryland, which, in a way, I am. She stuck to her guns and said yes, she would still have the crab cake if she were me and from Maryland.
She was wrong. Seemed more filler than crab. Not so succulent or fresh. It wasn't bad, most other people would probably be happy with it. I am, if anything, a crab snob. Except that I never went to the Chesapeake Bay regularly, so it's not like I was right by the water. I would guess that people who live near the water probably are bigger crab snobs, or at least know more about what the difference between good and bad crabs and crab cakes. Inland, that's where I was.
It was nice to see E. so soon after and in a different context than the reunion.