The World is Your Lobster
In which two sweet young Down Easters bestow upon us an unfathomable largesse
Back in the days when the unsinkable, irrepressible spirit known as Bobby Lupone still strutted his formidable stuff upon the world’s stage, we took a trip on a non-sailing ship off the coast of Maine.
The ship was a lobster trawler, “manned” by two high school girls, Becca and Emily, cousins and offspring of a multi-MULTI generation lobster-fishing family. They were “borrowing” the trawler from their family to collect funds for their first year in college, and kindly offered to let Bobby and I sail along. Out of this trip came a dish so ridiculously rich, so unctuous yet still briny, so unabashedly luxurious, that it may or may not deserve to be illegal. Although today this dish is likely to cost as much as a Tesla, for a special occasion you too can replicate it semi-easily. Maybe. Why not try?
First, you have to catch the lobsters. The girls found a few crabs in the traps, too. Instead of throwing them back as usual, they saved 'em for us.
After 3 hours of hauling, they had about 100 lobsters to take to market. The “little” basket of goodies (above, bottom right) was our take-home souvenir. Heeey, you guys - want to go home with meeeeee?
As I survey the available ingredients, the dish begins to take shape. Surprise: like many of the best, it begins with some melted Irish butter. We retrieve the basket of goodies from our very own dock, where it's been suspended in sea water since we made landfall.
While everyone else screams and runs from the room, I dump the crabs and lobsters into a massive pot of simmering sea water, clap on the lid, and hum "And the sailors say 'Brandy, she's a fine girl -- what a good wife she would be...'" Soon enough the blushing kids are ready for their close-up, and the others—Bobby, his wife Virginia, and my husband C.—straggle back into the now-safe kitchen.
I want to take advantage of the amazing amount of flavor that's in the crab shells themselves, so I hack them up, whole. It takes muscle. In they go with the butter and a couple of chopped shallots; then comes a spectacular flambe (using about 2 cups of Brandy—btw she IS a fine girl!).
Next into the pan goes a quart of heavy cream. This is a classic French technique for Sauce Nantua, and once, back in England, I made a captivating crayfish soufflé using the same method (read the story of that dinner in my book, The Relaxed Kitchen: How to Entertain with Casual Elegance and Never Lose Your Mind, Incinerate the Souffle, or Murder the Guests, St Martins Press 10/07).
This crabby mixture simmers for an hour, for maximum flavor transference.
While the creamy concoction burbles away, C. and Virginia volunteer to remove all the delectable lobster meat from the shells, and dice it. (Why, you may now be asking, didn't we just eat them the classic way, with melted butter and bibs? Weeell, 'cause we did that last night.) Above, Virginia appears to be stealing a bite.
After the shells are strained out of the sauce, I warm it up in a big pot and add the lobster meat. The pasta water is boiling, and it's show-time.
Just like the stunning (but hard-working) harbor that lent the newly-minted dish its name, Cundy's Harbor Linguine will live on in our memories. Alongside is a pale green, butter lettuce salad sporting a jaunty, lemon-kissed vinaigrette.
The tide is in, bellies are full, and beds are a only a few steps away. Is there anything better?
—2006, Cundy’s Harbor, Maine; Dedicated to the memory of Robert Lupone, 1946-2022. You can hear him yell out his iconic line “AH FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT” in the Spotify clip below from the original cast recording of “A Chorus Line.”
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Tidbits For The Week of December 24, 2024
Brigit’s What I’m
CURRENTLY LOVING ➡️ Double rainbows. THINKING ABOUT ➡️ Last weekend's quick but delicious visit with family in Seattle. LISTENING TO ➡️ Bob Lupone singing "Step kick kick leap kick touch...Again!"