Lobsta'

Back in January, when my friends and I were picking months for Supper Club, we decided we'd take June and July off. With birthdays and vacations, the months were already packed. We did, however, decide that we'd all spend the Fourth together.

Which means that in April, we realized that we could do an impromptu Supper Club style menu on the Fourth. We scoured the website we've been using this year and came up with a twist on the "Maine Inspired Beach Picnic".

Mostly because with two East Coast gals in our group, lobster is always the winner.

We planned and schemed and tweaked until I realized the entire weekend was going to be one long food orgy.

Cripes. I said orgy. The search engines are going to have a field day.

Our lunch on the Fourth consisted of corn relish, Cape Cod chips, lobster rolls, chicken salad sandwiches, potato salad, watermelon and feta salad, and, because one isn't enough, two types of cookies.

See what I mean about it being a food orgy?

Cripes. I said it again.

On Wednesday night, I packed the kids up to head to Anne's family's beach house where Sarah and Miss Harper soon joined us.

With a box of lobsters.

Live lobsters.

Shipped from Maine.

Sarah pulled them out of the box to the delight and horror of the children. They ooh'd and aah'd over the shiny shell, the beady eyes, the massive claws.

Sarah introduced them to lobster races. First to finish is the first in the pot. The lobsters made a half hearted attempt to move. They were either jet lagged, resigned to their fate, or in no mood to participate in a Hunger Games style race.

"Can you feed them so they're more comfortable when they die?" Joseph asked, slightly disturbed by the killing sprees that seem to accompany Supper Club.

"No," Sarah said shaking her head.

"I'm going to name them Bob, Bob, Bob, and Bob," Joseph said somberly. "Can we at least keep two alive?"

"Sorry, but we need them all." I'm sure Sarah was calculating that at the price per pound these guys cost, they would be more expensive than a pet horse.

I put my kids to bed while the Sarah and Anne got the pot of water boiling.

I made the sign of the cross over Bob before he took his final dip. "Goodbye, Bob. Rest in peace." I spun away while Sarah dropped him into boiling water, quickly covering it with a lid. "I can't watch!"

"I can see where Joseph gets it," Anne commented dryly while I waited to hear the screams coming from the lobster pot. I waited to hear the frantic scrapping and clawing to escape a boiling death. There was nothing but the sound of silence and boiling water. It was almost anti climatic.

Bob came out a brilliant red.

His fellows followed him into the boiling water, one after another. And then, the work began.

I watched as Anne and Sarah expertly cracked and poked and cleaned. They slid the meat from the shells and deposited it into a clear glass bowl, while juices and bits of shell flew.

I wasn't sure I liked lobster, having only had it one time at Red Lobster, which, I was was assured, was like comparing grass fed beef to McDonald's $.99 burger. I reached into the dish and tried a bit.

It was slightly salty and ever so delicately sweet. It melted in my mouth, the flavor lingering like a wave on the beach before disappearing. I was hooked.

Also worried.

With my shrimp allergy, I have to be careful with shellfish. So I waited a bit to see if I'd have a reaction.

I didn't.

For which I was grateful on many levels. Not the least because it meant I'd be able to partake in the loveliness that was Sarah's lobster salad.

And for the record, even Joseph agreed, "Bob was delicious."