Last summer, my husband Paul and I were at a harborside restaurant in a tourist town. There was, predictably, a large group of travelers seated near us. They were probably from a landlocked state, because they were very excited to “meet” their lobsters.
Yes, I do mean the very crustaceans that they would soon eat.
The visitors oohed and aahed over their lobsters and took numerous selfies with them. It was fascinating to see how blissfully oblivious they were to the fact that their new friends were about to be dropped into a cauldron of boiling water.
When the now bright-red “bugs” were delivered to the table, most of the group just dug right in. But a couple of the women visibly blanched. Wait—what just happened?
As the Renys’ commercial points out, one of the things tourists must do when they come to Maine is eat lobster. Visitors should note, however, that going eye-to-eye with one is not mandatory.
I do not eat lobster in the shell. It’s too much work. Plus, I don’t like having something on my plate that resembles a living creature. Once, I will confess, I did eat a whole small trout while visiting the fortress of Louisbourg on Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. It was a mildly disturbing experience, but historically accurate.
Still, I do agree that eating lobster should be a summer ritual. I just prefer mine in chunks, tossed with a bit of mayonnaise, and heaped in a lightly buttered hot dog roll. A glass of lemonade completes the meal, which I like to purchase at a lobster pound on a sunny day. Then I can take it outside and eat it.
Yum.
I also like lobster stew and lobster pie. But they seem more like winter fare to me.
Paul and I spend a week on Penobscot Bay every summer, and we watch lobstermen at work from our back deck. They set their traps quite close to shore. I enjoy bringing my coffee outside to watch the boats emerge from the inevitable morning mist. The captains run their motors at low speed, so they sound like this: “putt-putt-putt.” The boats glide to the buoys, the sternman yanks the rope…it’s such a quintessential Maine scene it’s almost a stereotype. But I never see it as old or hackneyed. After all, it’s real life!
Maine is noted for its lobsters, even though Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut and New York all have lobster fisheries. They simply don’t have the cachet that Maine’s does. My late father-in-law spent his entire life in Massachusetts, but whenever he came to visit us in Maine, he had to have lobster.
Actually, I don’t think I ever ate lobster growing up in southern New England. My parents were big on clams, and in those days, people could just go and dig them up wherever they were growing. One of my mother’s sisters was quite passionate about this activity.
This is true: Some out-of-staters think you can find lobsters on the beach, or that you dig them up, like clams.
The quahog is another southern New England favorite, especially in Rhode Island. The big shells lend themselves to the popular dish known as the “stuffie.” The quahog meat is removed and mixed with breadcrumbs and Portuguese sausage (chourico or linguica), then put back in the shell and baked.
Maine’s fame for lobster may be a marketing coup, but it’s a well-deserved one. The lobster pound, with boats pulling up with their daily catch, is an exciting place. It’s hard to go more than a few miles down a coastal road without coming upon some hole-in-the-wall where you can get fresh lobster. Oftentimes, they’re quaint (and not fake-quaint) or even rustic. I’m not saying you can’t find similar spots elsewhere in the northeast; they’re just not as common.
Lobster is everywhere in Maine. Even podunk general stores have lobster tanks.
I hate lobster tanks. I know the crustaceans would eat each other if they weren’t banded, but I have claustrophobia, and the thought of being stuck in a tank like that is terrifying.
It’s not a good idea to relate to lobsters, except those that avoid the trap year after year and grow to a humongous size. The 23-pound, 95-year-old recently taken captive in the Bay of Fundy was discovered by a New York lobsterman and ended up in a restaurant on Long Island. (Its final destination was an aquarium.)
A memorable “Seinfeld” episode takes place in that locale. The character of Kramer illegally pulls lobsters out of a trap and brings them back to the summer home where the gang is staying. The police catch up with him, but not before the lobsters are cooked up. The next morning, the character of George prepares lobster scrambled eggs to get back at Jerry’s girlfriend, who keeps kosher. He only tells her what his secret ingredient is after she’s taken a mouthful and broken her religious dietary rule.
Ah, the many uses of lobster.
I don’t make lobster at home. There is no way I can drop anything live into a pot. However, I do have a set of glasses that have a red lobster imprinted on them, along with the inscription “Maine.” They’re vintage, and I like them very much.
But guess where I bought them? At a flea market in Rhode Island!
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