On a recent, soggy-hot Saturday, the Frenchie and I shuffled into Red Hook to eat some lobster rolls at the acclaimed Red Hook Lobster Pound.
It is a no-frills affair and we sat outside on a recently vacated and body warm bench in the blood warm air, and wolfed our soft buns and fresh lobsters in butter and mayonnaise, respectively. They were good, then they were gone.
We shuffled home, sweating.
Tonight we eat will eat lobster again, lucky us, at the Casino on Montague Street in Brooklyn Heights. We will be the guests of the inspiring Miss Betty Scholtz, whose club it is. It also means that she takes us to dinner, which rankles. There will be payback.
It is Lobster Month! she announced with satisfaction, once we had decided on an evening for our date. This morning she called to say that she had ordered the lobsters yesterday, and was double-checking that we would be suitably attired. Blazers and ties, I guessed glumly, thinking of clubs past and the humidity index. No, she said, Very casual: Lobsters are messy!
Then, Ek mis kreef...
Kreef are our Cape crayfish, properly, Cape Spiny Lobsters, pictured in this post about our camp cooking outside Paternoster last year. I think I prefer kreef to lobster but Vince disagrees. To me kreef is firmer and sweeter; Maine lobster softer and saltier. Kreef has no claws, but that does not stop kreef lovers from sucking each spindly leg until it is empty.
It is a good argument to have, because it means that we have eaten some good things in our lives.
Imagine the days when both kreef and lobster were used as fertilizer, an abundant trash food that only the poor would eat.
All of which makes me think of lobster bisque, which, when properly done is one of the most unctuous things on the planet. If you have lobster shells, please freeze and send to me.