Lobster Fare: Restaurant Diners Beware!
Lobster is my favorite food in the whole world. Eating one, however, is
more than a sumptuous meal; it is an art form requiring great finesse.
All of my adult life I have tried to eat lobster like a lady and been
thwarted with every turn of the seafood fork. It seems impossible,
almost like discovering the treasure of the Sierra Madre or maybe just
like Perry Como’s old song, to eat this wonderful delicacy without getting
part of it all over myself and other parts over innocent bystanders.
There should be a sign next to my table that reads to all those who
might sit there: Eat Here At Your Own Risk.
Whenever I order a lobster I always ask the wait-person for several
bibs; one for me, one for my boyfriend sitting across from me, one for
every one else seated at our table and one for all of those unfortunate
enough to be seated at the table to my immediate left. (I am right
handed and food flies proportional to seating. Trust me. I know.) After
all the bibs are in place, I spend a nostalgic moment or two naming and
apologizing to the poor red creature who has died such a piteous death
so that I might eat. The guilt soon passes and then I proceed.
I have my very own system. I have never noticed what other people do
as I am usually too busy eating to care. First, I eat the guts; you know,
that green stuff in the middle of all that sweet meat. Most people don’t
like it and that’s where I get lucky. Usually, others pass me their “green
stuff”. (Sometimes I trade it for a small claw or two, but not if I can help
it; the whole lobster is mine, sayeth the Lord.) After I devour the guts, I
proceed to the white meat that’s out of the shell and easy to get to.
Things are usually just fine until I arrive at the second lobster plateau
where the meat is going to give me a run for my money. Here’s where
those small forks that are an attempt to lend some decorum to a
barbarian populace cause some trouble. They are far too delicate for
the job. Some meat is very stubborn and it is difficult to pry it out of the
shell with such a little implement.
The crackers provided at the table to split the shells bring me to my next
course of action. I know my Emily Post, but I still say that they are not
sufficient. Miniature drills and shovels are much more effective and
should be at the table setting of every lobster-loving patron. The final
stage involves those small claws. Here’s where things can really gets
messy. The meat here is fabulous, but pocketed in almost microscopic
openings. I have found only one effective way to extract it and that’s to
suck it out. I mean gently, I mean quietly, but suck it out nonetheless.
Have fun with it. Who cares who sees you? You’re not running for office,
or are you? (If you are, then eat lobster at home. I will cover that a little
later.)
Allow me to linger on the subject of “crackers” for just a moment more.
On a summer night on the Jersey shore a number of years ago a few
friends and I went to dinner at a local restaurant. The disposable plastic
crackers provided at each table setting told me there would be trouble
right away for all of us die-hard lobster fans. My very first thought was
that they didn’t look strong enough to crack lobster shell, but I said
nothing. When our lobsters arrived we were all very hungry. I was the
first of five people to dig in.
I gobbled the guts as I usually do and had already eaten the sweet meat
in the middle. Undaunted, I used the cracker to break off the shell from
one of the large claws. A moment later the only thing in my hand was
the cracker. The runaway claw had flown through the air and landed
smack in the middle of the next table. (Fortunately, no one was seated
there). We all laughed and I was very embarrassed, but things did not
end there. One of my friends was cracking a claw and it slipped out of
her hands, whizzed past my head and landed on the floor on the other
side of the table. She couldn’t even FIND her cracker afterwards.(It
could have been worse. She could have lost the claw!)
Preparing lobster at home has its advantages, but unexpected
repercussions can still occur as this true story will illustrate. One of my
friends was married to a wealthy executive and about ten years ago he
had a 30 pound South African lobster shipped in ice to his home. He
instructed his wife to put it in a big pot and set the dining room table for
12 people. She did as he said and then went to her bedroom to call her
husband and tell him that things were going according to plan. She was
alarmed at the sudden barking of her French poodle, Antoine and the
hissing of her Siamese cat, Ming. She looked up from the phone and
saw two large feelers wiggling in the air and crossing the corridor in
front of her bedroom. The cat pounced on it as if it were a mouse and
the dog cowered in a corner, growling and barking at the shelled
intruder.
She began screaming into the phone as she jumped up and down on
the bed. What she hoped this would accomplish has never been clear.
“Come home!” she cried. “Its mad at me and it’s loose! Runaway
KingKong Lobster!” South African lobsters can be enormous. Like their
smaller brethren, they must be placed in boiling water head first in order
to die quickly and painlessly. The water in her pot was luke warm and
the creature didn’t like being there. He (or she) lifted the lid with its
weight and went for a stroll throughout the apartment. I’ve forgotten
other particulars. It did get eaten in the end, but not with out a lot of
hysterics and tears in the butter sauce.
I opt for a future with a mutant lobster, a new breed that will make things
easier for everyone who loves to eat them. First, they should be so fat
that they waddle into the nets the fishermen provide. The loved ones left
behind should be provided for until their “day of the net” arrives. They
should have bigger guts and, of course, that means more of that green
stuff. Softer shells would make it easier to get to all that great meat.(Will
I like it as much if I don’t have to fight for it? Tune in next week, same
time, same station to find the answer.) They should also have two tails
because so much sweet meat is in the tail. Sometimes I order lobster
tails. The meat is great, but it’s no challenge. There’s no fun in eating
meat that doesn’t fight you back. Still, lobster tails can tell no tales of
runaway crackers and dirty bibs. If they do, I try to listen and remain as
generous as I can be. I still can’t, however, promise that I’ll share my
lobster with you. I am, you see, very SHELLFISH!
