Lobster Tales

We took the table in the corner looking out. It’s not because I’m worried about East Coast Mafioso figures coming to rub me out, or DEA agents wondering why I smell like a hemp field on fire (those days are but a mere pipe dream now), it’s just that I like to observe the everyday goings-on when I’m on vacation.

Today I watched as a couple sat down at the picnic table in front of us – indoor picnic tables are big here as fine dining consists of sea creatures and beer. The man had a cold drink. His wife ordered two whole lobsters and an ear of corn which came with a bib and a bucket. The lobsters seemed to stare at us as the waitress set
them down.

It reminded me of a trip to Maine many years ago with Christy, Jon, and Patrick. Pat and I ordered lobsters. They had never seen them before.

“They still have eyes!”

“And antennas!”

Pat – their loving mother who makes pledges to save the whales – strapped on a bib, tore off a claw, opened it with a “double jaw lobster crack” tool, pulled out a hunk, and smiled gleefully as the butter ran down her chin. 

“Mom!” they said in unison, then immediately moved to a different table.

It was a Kodak moment.

Today we were in Perkins Cove, Maine, at an establishment called the Lobster Shack. Every neighboring restaurant had a lobster name and sign. Some of the lobsters were smiling. Others seemed more stoic as if they had many tales to tell but knew their tails were coming to an end.

The day before, we had taken a boat ride out of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, into lobster territory with Shane and Stacey. Commercial fishermen in New Hampshire harvest roughly 5.7 million pounds of lobster each year. Based on the average weight of 1.5 to 2.5 pounds that’s 3.8 to 4.5 million lobsters. The captain told us all about the industry and how hard it was. 

“Too small, they must throw them back. Too large, they must throw them back. If it’s female covered in eggs they must throw them back.”

If I were a lobster I would go on a diet, go to the gym, or find a bottom-dwelling Sponge Bob character who was dealing eggs on the side and I would score enough to make an egg jacket.

“Sorry, you have to throw me back,” I would say in my most feminine lobster voice.

“Lobster fishermen only make about two dollars a pound for keepers,” the captain continued.

“Then why does it cost a hundred bucks for a lobster dinner,” Stacey wanted to know.

The captain mumbled something about the cost of lobster traps and buoys, but we were a bit skeptical.

Turns out lobster wasn’t always the best meal in town according to a guide we had at the Strawberry Bank Museum in Portsmouth. We were in one of dozens of historic buildings and the guide was giving us the history of the Governor Goodwin Mansion which was built in 1811. 

“In the other room there was a celery vase, which unfortunately is not on display.”

I wondered who would steal a celery vase or any vegetable vase for that matter.

“Celery was a luxury. It was not grown here so only the well-to-do, like Governor Goodwin, could afford to have it shipped by rail from down south. Lobster at that time was considered poor man’s food. Matter of fact, prisoners complained that all they ever had to eat was lobster.”

Is it just me or is life weird?

Perusing the menu, we decided to get lobster rolls for lunch, which are much easier to eat. And, being here for the celebration of the 250th year of our country, we patriotically ordered two Sam Adams beers. The man in front of us was now facetiming his wife tearing into her crustaceans for the kids back home, as he related that the last time there were here, she ate four lobsters in one sitting. We couldn’t see her chin but I’m guessing it was glistening. 

Like us, she was doing her best to keep the lobster industry alive and well. Celery be damned.

“What’s next?” Pat asked.

“Moose-droppings ice cream,” I said. “It’s a tradition.”