Killing My Lobster

Dinner started off normal enough. “Lobster or steak, ma’am?” the waitress asked. Hmm. I don’t really like red meat, I love seafood and I'm in Boston. The answer seemed obvious enough (all the while I’m trying to process the fact that I’m at the age now where people refer to me as a term they would also call my mom – I rack it up to how mature I sound when I speak. You know, phrases like, “Lobster, please.”)

Table conversation is good, we’ve got our plastic bibs on. We’re ready to roll. My plate comes with the liquid butter stuff, potatoes and corn on the cob. Check. Then I look down at the plate and have a Pretty Woman moment. Um. The lobster is whole. Like in only one big piece. I come to the realization that I’ve never actually eaten a lobster whole before. Hmm. I have visions of my saying to my coworkers, “Yeah, I only like to smell it. I don’t actually eat it.”

I take a quick inventory at the table. K, there’s that cracking thing they use with crab. K, they’re using their hands. Then Joyce starts doing some crazy twisty thing and all of a sudden the guts come spilling out and the whole thrust of lobster meat is pulled out of the carcass. Hmm. That looks like the advanced class.

“So…I don’t really know how to eat this.” A silent pause of confusion. “You’ve never eaten lobster before?”

“No. I mean, yes. But I’m Chinese.”

(Asian clarification #24: If you’ve never eaten lobster at an Asian restaurant before, they always chop up the little crustacean for you. I never really knew what it looked like whole let alone how to tackle the little sucker.)

So after a lil walk through tutorial, I killed the thing. To the last bite. And it was kind of fun and gratifying. And I’ll do it again, ya hear me? There’s something to be said for working for your food, versus having it just handed to you, even if the end result is the same. Kinda like love or fortune. Now - where is that moist towelette?