I know I'm not blogging as much lately, but it's not for lack of blog fodder. I have tons of fodder. Hello mudder, hello fodder.... Oh. Hi. I have fodder coming out of my ears, people; it's time I lack. I have a minute right now. I will commence to blogging retroactively.
Back up, back up, to when Brian was home, and I posted a photo of lobster races. Believe it or not, there was more to that evening than watching lobsters scootch backward on the dining room floor, at a rate of 8 cm./hour.
It was our first lobster boil! I'd been reading up on cooking live lobsters: they're cheaper and fresher. Coincidentally, when he was home, Brian piped up, "I'd like to try lobster sometime." I asked him if he'd be willing to hold my hand while I tried my hand at the live cooking thing, and he was all for it. His friends and Clint joined us for the party.
Clint and I did the shopping. When we asked the clerk for 6 lobsters, she freaked and ran for help, claiming there was "one mean one" in there. She wanted nothing to do with them.
They didn't scare me, though...as long as their claws were still banded. Surprisingly, none of Brian's friends would pick one up. Chad gave it a shot, but suddenly screamed like a little girl, and put the thing down, claiming "it touched me with it's antler!"
That I could overcome that they have to be cooked live is surprising to even myself. I'm generally queasy at blood and guts and stuff. I witnessed the stab-them-in-the-head procedure in a cooking class once. I was proud that I didn't faint dead away, but pretty sure I'd never try that on my own. So, in the pot it went:
And back out, 15 minutes later:
What in the heck to do with the thing was my next dilemma. I had every intention of firing up the laptop, finding some instructions, and having Brian walk me through step-by-step instructions, when the doorbell rang.
Yay! Surprise company, my friends Mary and Manot were visiting from Florida, and they and two other friends, Kaye and Kristy, dropped in to say hey!
Much squealing and hugging and jumping around, and wine was poured, and I confessed to them my current dilemma: How to properly break into my lobsters. Lo, and behold, Manot announced "I know how to do it!"
Yes! There I was hoping that I wouldn't serve up the poisonous bits and kill everyone at the table, when God sent me my very own lobster fairy!
Manot proceeded to step up and teach me lobster ropes. You have to break off the legs, and bend them in the middle, and snap off the tail, and cut them there, and push that. She showed me how to scoop out that green liver-y stuff (that's quite good) of the males, and save the roe from the females (also tasty!).
Most importantly, she told me "throw that part away, it will make you very, very sick!" Those were the bits I was worried about. So we threw those bits away, served up these good bits:
The bad news was that Brian hated it; he didn't like the texture. The good news was that that left more for me, me, me, because I thought it was delicious.
It was a very memorable evening. Great friends dropped in on me. Brian was 1 year old when I met Mary, can you believe it? He got to see them, they got to see him while he was home, the wine was good, the food even better, and I can now serve you lobster without making you very, very sick.
Come on over! Oh, and BYO-Lobster.