Love at first bite — lobsters
My love affair with the crustacean.
It all began when a group of friends gathered together at the old Kai Tak Airport to bid a friend farewell. Afterwards, her parents took us to a nearby seafood restaurant. I grew up with the sea, and was well-versed in seafood. Or so I thought. There was a particular dish there that night that I had never encountered before…
Shortly after my friend’s father ordered the dish, our server carried over this giant lobster. The father carefully inspected the monster, then proclaimed, as if in a gospel, “It is good.” After fifteen minutes or so, a large plate of thinly sliced white meat on ice emerged from the kitchen —
Lobster sashimi. It was that same monster whom the father inspected, sliced and served raw.
Knowing full well that lobsters are bottom-feeders, I couldn’t help but wonder: how could it possibly be safe to eat a lobster raw?
Not blessed with an iron stomach, I tried to play it cool, and hope nobody noticed that I was avoiding the lobster sashimi. My cover didn’t last long, as my friend’s father noticed that, unlike everyone else, I didn’t get in on any of “the action”. He insisted that I try some, to honor him and his beloved dish.
“Just one bite,” he said.
Immediately, I begin calculating my odds of survival. My inner voice of reason begins to chime in: I have a very long trip home that night, and if this lobster sashimi doesn’t agree with me…
Just. One. Bite.
After what felt like forever (but was probably just a few seconds), I shoved a piece into my mouth. I closed my eyes, not sure what to expect. “It’s not bad,” I thought to myself. But as I continued to chew, I began to find myself enjoying it more and more, until I realized it was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten up to then.
This once unwelcomed invitation had turned into my culinary “coming of age”.
And I owed it all to a lobster.
***
Years later, I found myself shuttling often between New York and London for my job. One night in London, I wandered the streets and found myself outside a Chinese restaurant. The storefront showcased several fish tanks hosting various aquatic creatures. The decor was indigenous to Hong Kong, the sight of which instantly transported me back to my roots. It was like the restaurant was welcoming me home, so I walked in and got a table.
When my server arrived, she asked if I could speak Cantonese. When I gave the affirmative, she was overjoyed as if she was reunited with a long lost friend. She let me in on a secret that their lobsters were excellent that night.
“I’ll have one then. Broiled, please,” I replied, thinking that even though sashimi would be exemplary, I didn’t want to take any chances that could jeopardize my return flight. Moments later, my server brought out a live lobster the size of my torso for my approval. It had to be the biggest thing I ever considered eating in my whole life!
Some twenty minutes later. The server pushed out the sizzling lobster like a nurse pushing out a newborn from a nursery, the extra care necessitated by the tremendous size of the dish itself. I took a deep breath and started to dig in. Despite its impressive size, I was able to finish the lobster all by myself (most of any lobster’s weight is, sadly, inedible).
After the meal, I felt completely fortified. It was probably the cholesterol from the lobster running through my veins, literally thickening my blood. Anyway, it was worth it.
***
In the United States, Lobster Sashimi is not a dish that is readily offered on a menu. If you want to try it, you need to call people and make arrangements. Since moving here, I’ve missed my first culinary love with every taste bud in my soul. Little did I know that lobster sashimi and I would soon be reunited.
One day, my loving husband announced not only that he had scouted a restaurant in New York City that would prepare lobster sashimi, but that he also paid for a lobster to be flown into the States fresh from the shores of Japan. I was overjoyed!
We arrived at the restaurant, and were greeted by the maitre-d carrying my lobster with his hands:
“This is your lobster!”
I smiled and gently nodded to the very eager Japanese gentleman in front of me. He didn’t move. His smile frozen on his face. Arms stretched, presenting the very active lobster to me, wriggling in his hands.
I was puzzled. I turned to my husband to see if he knew what was supposed to happen next.
Did he want me to give it a hug?
The awkward pause suspended a while… sort of like old lovers reuniting after so many years. I decided to blow the lobster a little kiss, which instantly seemed to breathe life back into the maitre-d as well, like someone finally pressing “play” on the remote.
Before we knew it, my own personal, air-delivered lobster was brought to our table: a large plate of thinly sliced white meat on ice. Another gratifying culinary experience, offered by an expatriate lobster.
