lobster + ice cream

one of the beauties of being in New England is the abundance of lobsters. Rip and I eat our lobsters differently. I go in for every morsel, sucking and squeezing meat from legs, bits that look like fins, around the green yucky stuff. I pile it in the butter until I’m done, and only when I know there’s not an ounce of edible goodness left, I sit there and enjoy and savor the sweet meat from the sea. Rip is usually onto his corn at this point.

I remember once when my older sister and I were in the park with our au pair, a leggy young woman from France who taught us about the Rolling Stones. One day, an average day, she bought us ice cream cones. Mine was gone in a flat second. My sister savored hers, in front of me, enjoying for my envious attention, every last lick. Lesson learned.

So I treat lobsters and ice cream the same way.