It is possible to have lobster three times a day.
At every meal.
Plus, a snack in between in case you can’t wait for the next meal.
On a very recent trip to Maine — ostensibly to see some friends, to enjoy the colors of autumn, and to give Ellen another opportunity to take photos — I tested my theory about how much lobster one could eat over a four day period.
Let’s just say our kids’ inheritance has been somewhat diminished as a result.
We had lobster for breakfast (eggs benedictine with lobster), for numerable lunches (not only lobster rolls but also in soups and in salads), and for dinners (most notably a four course lobster tasting menu in Camden at Natalie’s Restaurant that may, by itself, be worth a trip to Maine).
Of course, we had lobster simply boiled, with and without melted butter, and also sauteed, fried, in soups, on toasted rolls, in salads, and with risotto and with pasta. And we had both hard and soft shell lobsters.
It’s been a good year for all who believe lobster is one of the good things in life. The lobstermen have done well for the third year in a row (see The Price of Lobster in Maine), and the price has been reasonable, unless you indulge for three meals a day for four days.*
(*There is a story I’ve heard at least twice but haven’t sought to verify — why mess up a good story? — that there was once a time when lobster was so cheap and plentiful that it was served to prisoners every day at every meal, until a law was passed preventing prisons from serving lobster more than three times a week. Oh, to be a prisoner in those days.)
PS – If you missed my earlier post Consider the Lobster, please check it out. Not only will you find a link to one of the best articles I’ve read on lobsters in a long time, I also recount a lobster tradition the Millers share with long time friends.
PPS – For photos from our recent trip to Maine, look for a post, probably tomorrow, Maine Thru Ellen’s Lens.
Charlie Atherton said:
I remember, when I was living in Nova Scotia back in the late 60’s, we could get lobster from the local fishermen for less per pound than we paid for hamburger. Also, the fishermen would park a pickup truck beside the road of a Friday afternoon, the bed filled with ice, and there they would sell their catch – if one were willing to spend some time, chat a bit, they might slip a hand down the edge of the ice pack and bring out a bottle of rum to share a sip or three.
First of all, this is not an experiment Brandt would be able to partake in. Second, you sound so much like Sam in this post. That’s a good thing. Third, why wasn’t I invited?