I am a newcomer to American cuisine, having arrived in the United Staes from England barely a month ago. To be honest, I was expecting the American diet to be hamburgers and chips. However, I have been pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food since my arrival. Other food has proved more "experimental," for want of a better word. Anyway, I believe one of the best ways to connect with a culture is through its cuisine, and I intend to use this column to document my journey through American culture through the food I eat over the coming months.
One of my first culinary encounters was during a visit to Cape Cod, where I was staying with relatives and their friends. These kind people, who had met me only the week before, took me into the bosom of their family and gave me a wonderful first experience of American hospitality. On the day in question, I was being treated to a slap-up meal in honor of my birthday.
Because I had not yet sampled the local cuisine, I was implored to try the lobster. Feeling adventurous, I opted for the stuffed lobster with scallops on top — it was my birthday after all. Although I had tried lobster once long ago in England, this was a distant memory and I was excited to see what was in store.
The lobster arrived and was such a visual feast I could only respond with laughter and bewilderment. It was huge, bright red and bursting over with succulent stuffing and meaty white scallops proudly perched on top.
My first thought, "Wow!" was quickly followed by a second "And how the hell do I eat that thing?" Tucked next to the lobster was the essential lobster eater's fashion statement: a plastic.
Now, the bib got me thinking: either the waiting staff had seen me eat before, or I was in for a messy experience. Along with the bib, I had some interesting tools which were presumably for performing emergency surgery following lobster-related digestive incidents. I literally did not know where to start dissecting the thing.
Fortunately for me, I was sitting next to Bill. Bill is comfortably in his eighties (although you would never think it), has built his own house and is knowledgeable about a range of subjects from horticulture to local archaeology and Indian history. Bill divides his time between volunteering in the local museum and supporting four generations of his family together with his wife, Kay.
Kay is equally active and communally spirited. She volunteers at a local thrift store, paints watercolors and bakes. In short, Kay and Bill are more active than any teenage Britons I have met, and are the sort of people who make you wonder what on earth went wrong with our generation. They also probably have far better things to do than teach a clumsy amateur from across the pond how to eat lobster.
With their guidance I was able to crack the claws and extract the meat. By the time I reached the tail, I was a pro (well an intermediate, at least). I never quite managed to extract the fine bits of meat from the legs, but on inspecting my bowl of a shell, Bill was pleased to see I had successfully combed them for every last trace of lobster. I was thrilled with his seal of approval on my lobster eating abilities. And how did it taste? Utterly delectable!
I have a penchant for rich food, and dipping the hard-won lobster morsels in butter before eating them was mouth-wateringly indulgent.
My financial and waistline considerations mean lobster won't form a regular part of my U.S. diet but, for an occasional treat, it is hard to beat. Verdict: 5/5 the best food with the best company.
