Hours after walking in the woods, when our berry-picking snack had worn off, we were all hungry for dinner. Tyler and I wanted to visit one of Maine's quintessential eating establishments for our final excursion, a seaside lobster shack. We'd already gone out once for classic Northeastern treats like lobster rolls, fried clams and whoopie pies…
…but we'd yet to have the real deal: a newly caught, freshly cooked lobster. Or lobstah, as they say here. They are pretty expensive, so we ordered one to share. It was plucked, red and steaming, from a boiling vat, then plopped unceremoniously on a flimsy paper tray, right next to a basket of french fries.
I have to say, I was pretty nervous about those pinchy, orange, crustaceous claws, as beefy and intimidating as boxing gloves. Those googly alien eyes freaked me out, too, along with the creepily long antennae/feeler things reminiscent of a sea-monster's whiskers or a rat's tail. What the hell even is this thing?
Eliza, a native Mainer, helped me navigate the process, guiding me through the brutal dissection of this once-living being. First, I tore off its limbs, like a medieval drawing-and-quartering. Then, I twisted it's body in half. Salty lobster juice squirted here and there as I ripped the creature's tail apart.
The morsels of tender white meat I removed from the carcass were gone all too quickly, leaving me with a scary body-cavity, filled with a pasty green goober that tasted better than it looked. And with that, fingers wet and sticky, speckled with butter, my gruesome lobster experience was over. Though it was a local specialty not to be missed, I don't think I'll be partaking in that experience again any time soon.
Stuffed to the brim with seafood, we drove into Portland for a round of local craft beer at Novare Res Bier Cafe. I had a Bavik Petrus Oud Bruin ("Flemish, red/brown, sour & sweet, partially oak aged") which had a fruity taste, almost like cider. We all toasted to new friends and fun times, and passed our drinks around so everybody could try each beer.
We ended the night back at Mike and Eliza's place, sipping Scottish whiskey acquired during their vacation. Meanwhile, I whipped up a marscapone filling for a tart shell I made earlier in the day, and piled our fresh summer berries on top. A dusting of powdered sugar finished off the light, summery dessert.
A delicious ending to a fantastic day!