Lobsters: Cook 'Em, Don't Free 'Em

Don't eat if chewy.
Don't eat if chewy.
Photo by Flickr user mocmoc

I didn't know about surgical gloves when I was cooking. Tune into any cooking show these

days and you'll eventually see a chef who looks like he's about to perform an unpleasant exam on someone. That surgical glove is likely being used to keep a Band-Aid on, and raw chicken out.  And I can tell you right now, there's at least one person out there who wishes I'd known about that trick back when I was 19 and cooking at The Lobster Roll, a restaurant in the Hamptons.

A simple, stand-alone roadside joint between Amagansett and Montauk, with a sign that simply said "Lunch," the center piece of the menu was, as you might guess, lobster rolls. Huge chunks of freshly cooked

lobster, mixed with mayo, a few mild spices, and, incredibly, a little

pink food coloring (there's a secret I've kept for decades), piled on a

soft, lightly toasted hot dog roll.

I was a fairly new prep cook

back then, which meant I had to peel onions, chop veggies, and mix huge

vats of the lobster concoction. Which also meant that I tended to have

a lot of cuts, and therefore Band-Aids, on my fingers. Fingers that I

needed to dig deeply into those vats of lobster meat while I mixed it.


retrospect, it's not surprising that I'd eventually come out of the

lobster mix short a Band-Aid or two, but somehow at the time, I didn't

expect it. So when it happened, when I looked down at my hands and saw

one uncovered cut in a field of wrinkly, white skin, I almost freaked.

I looked left and right like a guilty 12-year-old to see if anyone had

noticed, but everyone was busy. I grabbed a giant implement of some

sort and started to dig through the salad, but it was hopeless;

Band-aids are naturally camouflaged in 30 or 40 pounds of lobster meat

and pink mayo. So I checked once more to make sure no one was taking a

particular interest in my work, then put the lobster in the walk-in,

re-Band-Aided my hand, smoked some pot, and got back to work.

Lobsters: Cook 'Em, Don't Free 'Em
Photo by Flickr user Kelly Nigro


hour or two later, the screams from the dining room were pretty fucking

loud. The waitrons freaked. Management demanded to know who had made

the lobster salad that day. The kitchen crew acted disgusted until the

coast was clear, then laughed about Band-Aids being chewier than

lobster meat (and way easier to spot in food you've just spat out than

in a vat of fresh lobster salad, I thought). I was questioned and

released, and the chef made the lobster mix for a while.


was my most dramatic lobster-related experience, though not nearly my

last. I've boiled, broiled, chopped, diced, and eaten tons of them,

even set a few free from a restaurant I worked at. Why?  No idea;

probably to try and impress a girl. Waitresses at most restaurants I

cooked at back then were genuinely disturbed that we actually had to

kill the poor things before serving them. They exhibited no such

worries when I laid a freshly steamed tail and a bowl of clarified

butter on a plate for them.

Personally, I think it's really

worthwhile to be reminded that meat is more than just ground-up red

stuff, or slabs of something that resembles a fish. You'll never

convince me to agree with the Italian town of Reggio Emilia, which

banned boiling lobsters (but not slaughtering cows, I'd guess), nor

would I waste time and money to design something like the Crustastun,

effectively an electric chair for shellfish. But I do think it's

important that you don't kill little pinchy (or spiny, in the case of

local Florida lobsters) in vain. Overcooked lobster sucks, and if you

waste one by overcooking it, you suck too.

So this week, let me

help you not suck by passing along some lobster cooking tips. I'll stick to boiling, because properly broiling a lobster really requires

the kind of heat generated by a restaurant salamander. Cooking

instructions hold for both Maine lobsters (with claws) and local spiny

lobsters (which aren't technically lobsters at all).

Start with

fresh, live lobsters (select the liveliest damn lobsters in the tank).

Fill a large pot (a lobster pot, for example) with about two to three

quarts of water per average sized lobster.  Add a quarter cup of sea

salt per gallon. I'm a purist and stop there, but some folks like to

season the water with everything from lemon to a quartered fresh fennel

- that's up to you.

Bring the water to a full boil and add your

lobsters, head first, with the bottom of their tails facing away from

you (to avoid water being flicked at your hand).  Start timing right

away, and leave it uncovered. Stir half way through cooking. A one

pounder should cook for about seven minutes; for each additional

quarter pound, add about two minutes, give or take a minute. The

exceptions: a two pounder will be done in about 13 minutes, a three

pounder in 15 to 18.  Remove the lobsters promptly, drain, and let them

rest for five minutes. When they're done, the shells should be bright

red, and the meat will be opaque and creamy white.

There are

tons of ways to serve lobster, but I have yet to find a better method

than traditional:  in the shell, with a generous bowl of clarified

butter for dipping (made by slowly melting butter in a pan, then

skimming the solids off the top and drawing the clear butter out,

leaving behind the milk solids that have sunk to the bottom). If there

are any leftovers, which I never have, I'd suggest making your own

lobster rolls; they're great. Just keep an eye on your Band-Aids.

Bradford Schmidt is The Meatist. He's also author of the blog Bone in the Fan. He lives in northern Palm Beach County and hopes that one day the freed lobsters will return to him. So he can eat them.

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