Catseye
Senior Cook
Nature can be so cruel. I love lobster, think it is one of the top two or three deliciousest foods in the world. (I also feel this way about watermelon. Watermelon is what I imagine the gods on Olympus eat. My idea of a heavenly meal is lobster in clarified butter with iced watermelon and melons.)
Anyway, though I adore lobster, I've always had a problem with the cooking method -- you know, live animal into the boiling water <wince>. But I always got over it, sorta. But then I saw the most marvelous nature show a few years ago, all about lobsters, their lives in the briny deep and so on. Their lives are amazing. A certain kind of lobster does a migration, something like 2,000-mile-long conga line from southern waters to the north. Each lobster is the exact same distance away from the lobster ahead of him, and they trot along the floor of the ocean, like Thoroughbred pacers, very fast. The filmmakers set up a camera on the ocean floor. Picture this incredibly long line of lobsters, trotting for hundreds of miles, each one perfectly spaced with the guy ahead of him and behind him ...
Yesterday I was in the grocery store and as always, I stopped at the lobster tank to watch the lobsters for awhile. I never realized it, but at the end of their legs -- their little legs, the non-big claw ones -- they have a little two-digit pincer, that opens and closes like a little fist. This one lobster was at the side of the tank, leaning up, and he was pincing at the glass as though trying to find something to grasp, to climb out. Tap-tap-tap, pause ... tap, tap. He was beautiful, dark brown, velvety coat with golden blotches. For two cents, I'd have bought him and taken him home and set him up in his own acquarium, with craggy things to climb around on -- or no, I'd have driven him to where he would normally have been in his migration, and set him free. Run, little lobster, run like the wind!
How can I ever eat lobster again? How can I not ever eat lobster again???
SOB.
Cats
Anyway, though I adore lobster, I've always had a problem with the cooking method -- you know, live animal into the boiling water <wince>. But I always got over it, sorta. But then I saw the most marvelous nature show a few years ago, all about lobsters, their lives in the briny deep and so on. Their lives are amazing. A certain kind of lobster does a migration, something like 2,000-mile-long conga line from southern waters to the north. Each lobster is the exact same distance away from the lobster ahead of him, and they trot along the floor of the ocean, like Thoroughbred pacers, very fast. The filmmakers set up a camera on the ocean floor. Picture this incredibly long line of lobsters, trotting for hundreds of miles, each one perfectly spaced with the guy ahead of him and behind him ...
Yesterday I was in the grocery store and as always, I stopped at the lobster tank to watch the lobsters for awhile. I never realized it, but at the end of their legs -- their little legs, the non-big claw ones -- they have a little two-digit pincer, that opens and closes like a little fist. This one lobster was at the side of the tank, leaning up, and he was pincing at the glass as though trying to find something to grasp, to climb out. Tap-tap-tap, pause ... tap, tap. He was beautiful, dark brown, velvety coat with golden blotches. For two cents, I'd have bought him and taken him home and set him up in his own acquarium, with craggy things to climb around on -- or no, I'd have driven him to where he would normally have been in his migration, and set him free. Run, little lobster, run like the wind!
How can I ever eat lobster again? How can I not ever eat lobster again???
SOB.
Cats