Rock Lobster

The other night my family indulged in a summer tradition: we had lobster for dinner.

True, lobster is a food that can be enjoyed any time of the year. But there’s something about these warm summer days that makes the idea of a lobster dinner seem that much more appetizing. Perhaps it’s the beach sand that’s infiltrated every corner of my house, despite my best efforts with the vacuum. Or maybe it’s the perfect pairing of boiled lobster with freshly picked corn that appeals. Whatever the reason, when the circular from my grocery store advertised lobsters for the bargain price of $4.99 a pound, I couldn’t resist.

I haven’t always been a lobster fan. For that matter, I haven’t always been a seafood fan. Growing up in New Jersey, my exposure to seafood was limited to breaded fish sticks. On the rare occasion my mother would serve these, I’d turn up my nose at those deep fried tubes that looked like chicken but smelled like the aquarium. After moving to New England to attend college, my roommate’s father treated us to dinner at Legal Seafoods. Predictably, I was the only person at the table to order steak.

I’ve been living in New England now for 30 years, and over time I’ve learned to enjoy a variety of seafood. Shrimp cocktail led to broiled scallops which gave way to swordfish, salmon and catfish. Clam chowder is another favorite, though I suspect it has more to do with the copious amounts of butter, heavy cream and potatoes involved and less about the clams. Though I pride myself on appreciating a variety of items from the sea, I still can’t get on board with oysters (too much like snot), calamari (french-fried rubber bands) or any really fishy tasting fish.

My husband was the one to introduce me to lobster. Something about these crustaceans always gave me the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it’s because they look like giant bugs and I hate anything that crawls (or creeps or flies…) Shortly after we began dating, my husband brought me home to meet his parents, who live in Central New York. His long-standing tradition was to bring lobsters home with him. Throughout the drive, I kept glancing at the back seat, wondering if these lobstrocities were working their way out of the travel pack, preparing to hijack the car. When we arrived at his parents’ house we were greeted with open arms and a pot of boiling water on the stove. My apprehension at meeting his parents quickly faded within minutes of meeting them, but my apprehension about eating lobster for the first time remained. What if I hated it? Could I ask for a hamburger instead?

Thankfully, the dinner was a success. Aided by a tutorial in claw cracking (as well as a veritable ocean of melted butter), I found the lobster to be mild and pleasant. Subsequently, my appreciation for this delicacy has grown over the years and there have been many lobster dinners since. I do, however, have my own set of rules when it comes to lobster. I never order it in a restaurant (too expensive). I never eat it as a lobster roll (lobster and mayonnaise? Blech!) Lobster can be enjoyed on the day it is cooked, but not as a leftover (see previous reference to lobster roll). It is acceptable as a filling for ravioli (but only with cream sauce, never tomato). It’s great in bisque, but when my husband ordered a lobster omelet at a favorite restaurant, I had to move to another table. And though some people enjoy it, I will never, ever eat that nasty green tomalley (I don’t do liver in any shape or form).

Unfortunately, my husband and I have done ourselves a disservice when it comes to enjoying lobster. We’ve introduced our kids to it. At first, they turned up their noses and refused to even try it. Oh well, more for the rest of us. But little by little they’ve come around, asking for a piece here and there. At dinner the other night they each ate their own, whole lobster. We have only ourselves to blame for exposing our children to champagne tastes (on our beer budget).

So if you have not yet enjoyed boiled lobster this summer, remember; there’s only a few weeks left.

You better get crackin’.