A lobster dinner that can't be beet

            Ok, the pun is bad, I know, but tonight’s dinner was divine. Lobster, a huge salad that hardly anyone touched because we had eyes only for the lobster in front of us (four, whopping 2 1/4 pounders!), slow, oven roasted asparagus and beets with just a drizzle of olive oil and finished with salt and pepper, homemade rhubarb bread, and a bright pinot grigio. I was particularly pleased with our selection of proteins and sides because everything was prepared tonight separately, but so that all the ingredients would emit their own distinct flavors and nuances to make one whole, gorgeous, feast.

The lobster, aside from the bowl of melted butter that we dunked most of the meat into, was simply itself, and it’s briny taste was a welcomed part of this summer evening. These lobsters were some of the meatiest shellfish that I have ever consumed. I adore lobster also because the different sections of meat offer such distinct textures. I like to start with the tail that is texturally bold and strong, and to work forward, finshing with the claws that give in to a still firm, but lighter, smoother, meat. Lobster is not an entrée that I ever eat in a restaurant because I don’t believe I can actually consume it with any sort of composure or dignity; I just bib up and dig in, I don’t use utensils to do most of my damage, I just disassemble the crustacean with my hands (I may look meek, but scrubbing showers and lifting mattresses seven days a week has massively developed my lower arm muscles to a startling extent). I believe that lobster is a rather intimate meal, and one that you really work at. I eat lobster with my hands because that’s what feels right to me. I remember a friend telling me that when she brought her boyfriend home to meet her parents for the first time, and they all went out for lobster, he tired out before he could scrape every bit of meat from the shell. And as he surrendered, her mother looked over, said only “Are you done with that?” and then pulled the carcass from his plate and continued to suck it clean. My friend knew right then that she could marry this guy because her mother had already established an essential familiarity; one that can only be known by two people who have worked over the same lobster until every morsel of meat has safely been scraped from the shell and devoured. I say thank you to the lobster as it goes into the pot of water, and I slowly, and laboriously, work my way through the meal, all the while murmuring yummy noises, and making sure I leave nothing behind so that when I finally untie my bib hours later (yes, I really do wear the bib, it’s a white vintage lobster bib that used to belong to my grandmother and that has been hand-printed with a picture of a red lobster that has faded over the years), I can push back my chair satisfied that I truly got everything out of it that I could.

The meal tonight was also scrumptious because the flavors played off one another so expertly. The pure ocean taste of the lobster was balanced by the sharp, and seemingly sweet notes, in comparison, of the wine, and the asparagus and beets offered an earthy flavor that, quite literally, grounded the whole meal. I love beets for that reason; they taste exactly like the earth, not like dirt, but what I imagine it would taste like to swallow the natural world. Their flavor is ancient, inherited, and wise. Beets taste comfortable; they settle onto the tongue with a welcome, warm, familiarity that is entirely organic and wonderfully whole.

Dessert was a selection of bar cookies from the local Hopkins House Bakery. This bakery is one of my favorite. Not only are their homemade baked goods scrumptious, but their bakery is humble in the most appealing way. There is no seating inside although you can perch yourself with a coffee and a muffin out in their lively flower garden, and the store itself feels not unlike you have just sauntered up to your neighbor’s back porch because you smelled the pie baking in the oven and thought you would pop over for a peek, and maybe a taste. The staff is so friendly, the baked goods are beautiful and in an understated way -- no fancy piping or glazes, just muffins, scones, cookies, and crumbles that are always fresh and exude exactly the attitude that I strive to achieve myself: friendly and confident, yet in an understated way. And because the bakery is only open for the summer months, it made the desserts seem like the perfectly special finish to an already exceptional July night.

Tonight was a good night. The dinner was rich, but not only because of the half-a-stick of melted butter that I inarguably consumed by myself in the course of working over the lobster, but because every ingredient used was slowly prepared to coax out it’s best, most unadulterated flavor. This was a meal that I loved sharing with my dinner guests, and was so carefully prepared that I thought, in the end, it made the day seem clearer.