What’s Crackin? It was New Years Eve and I was going to cook up some live Maine Lobster’s for the first time. The local grocer had a special going 2 for 1. You point to the ones you wanted and they fish em out of the tank. It was a few hours later before the festivities were set to begin and with this in mind I started to cook up a storm.
I opened the wine and poured a glass while preparing the salad. Once the salad was complete I placed it in the fridge and poured myself another glass of vino. By this time the large pot of boiling water was jumping around with onion skins and carrots. The grill was also fired up and ready to go. My timing was musical, my rhythm a dancer.
The key to this whole operation is for the risotto, lobster, and a medium rare steak to be done at the same time. You always hope for this outcome but sometimes it doesn’t work out this way and the bachelor in me really doesn’t care.
To my master assembly was to throw one of the lobsters into the bubbly water. Next is to put the steak on the grill, and set the timer for 2 minutes till I have to turn the rib eye. Lastly, open the packet of risotto mix, take another sip a wine, and wait for the process to runs its course.
As I went into the fridge to grab the lobster something didn’t look right. The wine slowed down my reaction time to the warning. One of the rubber bands on the lobsters claw the size of a baby’s shoe was missing. As I went to grab the lobster it snapped at my finger like 80 year old blind Poodle. I jumped back and slammed my funny bone on the edge of the counter. It sent electric shivers down arm and into my body. A minute later I wrapped the lobster into a dishtowel to extract my revenge. Curse words spilled onto the kitchen flooring.
I lifted the lid to my monster pot of boiling water and tried to slam dunked this pesky sea varmint like Kobe Bryant in some rookies face. The only catch that shot blocked me was this varmint’s claw. It got wrapped up in the towel and wouldn’t let go. As the lobster dangled above the heat its senses were on high alert. The tail to the red devil kicked with a vicious force to defend itself. Hot boiling water splashed into my face. My timing and rhythm made a fast exit. I through the Maine Lobster to my right and I slammed to the floor like WWF body slam. A minute or two later after a cold water revival it was game on between me and Mr. Lobster.
He didn’t move an inch from the counter where he landed. His eyes were looking straight at me with his knuckles pulsing from the claw. I wasn’t hearing any of it. I moved in slow for a solid position to make a fast grab of his back. Gotcha! His tail was going crazy but I had a snug hold and he knew it. This time I lifted the lid, took care of business, and slammed the lid down. Mission accomplished right? Wrong.
You would have thought I was making Orville Redenbacher’s popcorn by the sound of the claw banging on the inside of the boiling pot. A remorse feeling crept in me as the seconds ticked by with the noise. A thought came to me that I might have killed the greatest lobster known to humans. The banging noise of the claw against the monster boiling pot wouldn’t stop. I never took my hand off the lid. A minute later the noise started to settle. I opened the lid to give a look see and view my victory. Mr. Lobster was sandbagging me. He had one more splash of boiling water for my troubles. I was ready this time.
My arm took the worst of the heat this time and the banging noise started all over again. But clearly Mr. Lobster didn’t have much left in the tank. It was over. I sat back and shook my head. This Lobster was a warrior Lobster. The Indians 300 years ago would have made him a chief. I couldn’t bring myself to eat Mr. Lobster. I gave him a coffin of Reynolds Wrap and a proper funeral in a Glad trash bag. I felt like a lump of fresh cow dung.
The meal was a bust. The wine went before for the food. I was totally depressed and now I had to go to a New Year’s party. Yipee!! In the refrigerator I went for the salad because that’s all I had the stomach to eat. Looking down on the other Lobster in the crisper made me sad while it’s eyes stared up at me. So I took off the bands on its claws and made a bed out of moist paper towels. Then I gave it some lettuce, a little dish of water, and named him Bill. Finally after two weeks my roommates told me Bill the Lobster had to leave the refrigerator. Slumlords.
Luckily for me I lived near the Ocean in California. There was a bridge nearby the townhouse that had a canal running under it that would take Bill straight out into the ocean. Walking to the bridge with Bill that evening gave me a happy feeling. I wanted him to be free. I went to the middle of the bridge reached out as far as I could and let him do his swan dive into the middle of the canal. He sank to the bottom like a steel plate and didn’t move an inch. But I did see some movements so I left him. He was with his people now.
The next day I went over the bridge and the water had receded out into the ocean, something to do with tides. Bill didn’t move an inch. So I went down to the water’s edge with a stick stepped though the muck to give him another push to get deeper into the canal. I hoped he would swim away. I left him again with hope that he would find his way to freedom. That night I went back to the bridge to check on Bill with a flashlight. The water was completely gone by this time due to the tides. All I heard was the sounds from canal creatures having the feast of Mr. Lobster that I never forget. I clicked on the flashlight and turned it off pretty fast. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
To this day every time a Lobster is served I won’t touch it with a telephone pole. You couldn’t pay me to eat it. This New Year’s Eve battle is etched in my memory. Life goes on and people love Maine Lobster. They can’t get enough of it but I can. I learned my lesson. Two Warrior Maine Lobster’s served me up some serious humble pie on New Year’s Eve. In conclusion I have a lot to be grateful for because no one is turning me into soup. Toot-a-loo mi compadres. Have a great New Year.