It was a feeding frenzy of epic proportions.
My wife and I recently visited Maine in search of the one thing that could draw us 900 miles from our eastern Kentucky home to the freezing waters of the Maine coast for a beach vacation…lobsters. Sure you can get lobsters in Florida and South Carolina and have warm ocean water to swim off the excess cholesterol from the lobster meat and drawn butter, but you have to pay a price that includes their airfare. And lobsters for some reason don’t accumulate frequent flyer miles.
We consumed eleven lobster dishes in four days…eleven. I was eating Lipitor poppers in an oatmeal dip for hors d’oeurves. This allowed me to squeeze enough blood to my brain to keep me cognizant of where I was and why I was there.
We ate whole lobsters, lobster rolls, lobster mac and cheese, and lobster stew. In between the lobsterpalooza, we devoured steamed clams, fried clams, and oysters. All of it was the best seafood I had ever eaten. The closest we get to good lobster in eastern Kentucky is Licking River crawdads, not exactly a delicacy or an object of desire, except when the blue gill aren’t biting and you have to take something home.
I was concerned that my beach alter-ego, Big Surf Daddy, wouldn’t show since we were going so far north. Turns out Big Surf has no restrictions of latitude. Mrs. Big Surf and I parked ourselves on the beach for the four days we were in Maine and only left the beach to go eat lobster.
Incidentally the lighthouse in the above photo was taken on our way to Portland to eat lobster.
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