The Maine Event
The Daily - Arts and Life - Saturday, September 3, 2011
Tasting an oyster a few weeks ago, my friend Greg went into a state of rapture. He lifted, slurped, chewed and swallowed before slapping his hand on the table, declaring, not without a bit of theater, “That, my friends, was as if King Neptune him-self rose from the deep and gave me a big, fat kiss on the lips!â€
I thought of him later when, sitting at a wooden picnic table in New Hampshire, friends brought lobster plucked from Maine’s Casco Bay that morning. We steamed it in a lobster pot and served it in a great pile in the middle of the table. Then, accompanied by nothing but bowls of melted butter, we began our attack.
I popped the tail off, pushed the flesh out, noted the slight hint of translucence, and sank my teeth in, and one bite was all I needed. The flesh was just firm, the butter ran down my chin and Neptune re-emerged for his kiss. Despite a lifetime appreciation for Homard americanus, this was without question the best lobster I’d ever eaten. So good, in fact, I had two and vowed to head up to Maine to speak with a chef and a lobsterman to get their takes on achieving this level of perfection.
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