Maine Lobster

When we turned fifty my husband Bill, and I wrote out a list of things we wanted to do in the latter half of our lives. It seemed to be an attempt to cope with the loss of youth and a way to create goals for the next fifty years.

We also had a second list compiled by our family and friends with highly recommended items based on their own experiences.

One entry was to visit New England. My friend Diane insisted I also taste lobster while we were there. “It would be a shame for you to be in a place where the best lobster is served and you don't taste it.”

She knew I didn't go into restaurants when I saw the large tanks holding the live critters. I left the table if anyone ordered it served in the shell. The closest I came to tasting it was on a trip to Rosarito Beach, in Baja, California.

After a couple of tequilas it actually smelled good, it was chopped and served in a taco garnished with garlic and jalapeños, but when I learned it was lobster I gagged and opted for a bean burrito instead.

So here I was at fifty five taking a trip to the New England states with a request from a trusted friend to taste lobster and in her words, "To experience one of life’s true culinary delights."

We stopped at Cape Elizabeth, right along the coast. We drove past one of many light houses we had seen throughout our trip and pulled into the parking lot of a quaint outdoor restaurant. A large sign with bright red lettering promised the best Lobster on the east coast. We ordered our food then found a table to wait for our meal.

The server carried our dinners out on red plastic trays the same color of my lobster. My meal was accompanied by a large plastic bib, a nut cracker, some kind of slender stainless steel pick, and a small cup filled with butter.

I felt the breeze from the ocean blow through my hair. I tasted sea salt on my lips and heard the sound of the seagulls scavenging for food along the shore. Then looked at my plate and carefully examined the exoskeleton, antennas, legs, abdomen, tail and claws in the fading light.

I looked around and watched as families tore at their armored meals “oohing” and “aahing” at the delectable taste. I could see the butter dripping from their lips and down their fingers and on to their bibs.

“Are you going to eat it?” my husband asked. He had tried lobster when he was in the Navy and knew he didn’t like it so he had ordered fish and chips instead.

“As soon as I figure out how to get to the meat” I said poking at my lobster with my steel pick. I called the server and asked him, “How do I eat this thing?”

“Most people start by pulling the legs off with a twisting motion. There are plenty of delicious pieces inside so save these for later,” he said in an upbeat tone.

His spiel sounded practiced from years of introducing novices to this regional delicacy. He continued, “Next, take off the claws. Tear them off at the first joint, again with a gentle twisting motion.” He went on describing in detail the methods of getting to each tasty piece of meat utilizing the nutcracker and the pick.

“What's that the green stuff I see on those plates?” I asked pointing to some of the diners nearby.

“It's the lobster's digestive system. Many people like to eat the ‘tomalley’ but it probably isn't a good idea because this is where pollution concentrates in the lobster's body,” he said.

“What about this red stuff?”

“It's the roe, the unfertilized eggs of the female once considered a delicacy, like caviar.” He waited a few seconds waiting for more questions. When none were forthcoming he said, “Enjoy your meal.”

After he left I looked at the lobster and then at the families mining for hidden morsels in their crustacean capsules. All I could hear in my head was the Walrus’ song from Alice in Wonderland, "Will you won't you? Will you won't you? Will you join the dance?"

Then I asked the man sitting nearby, “Would you like my lobster?”

“You haven’t touched it. These things are expensive are you sure you want to give it away?” He said wiping his hands and mouth with his napkin and reaching for it.

“I won’t be eating it and I hate to throw it away,” I said.

“Normally I wouldn’t take food from strangers but when it comes to lobster, I can’t get enough of it. Thanks.”

In no time I could hear the cracking sounds as he dismembered the body offering claws, tails and legs to his wife and children.

Bill finished his meal and we headed for the highway looking for more adventures leaving the taste of lobster for others to enjoy.