Lobster

Spiny lobster is abundant in the state of Baja and also happens to be one of my dad’s favorite foods. He would often come home with plenty for my mom and me to prepare, and on hot days this refreshing salad was a must. The mango brings out the lobster’s natural sweetness, and the bright lime juice makes this a perfect summer dish.

This dish has become very popular on restaurant menus, because it seems extra-special—and tricky to make at home. Special it is, but in fact it’s quite easy to pull off, as it uses frozen lobster tails—no live lobsters to boil. The key is to brown the butter well for a deep, nutty flavor.

Boiling or steaming lobster is the simplest cooking method, and it may seem like the best when you consider that plopping a lobster into a pot of boiling water is also the easiest way to kill it. Fortunately, there is a way to “parboil” lobster to kill it that will then allow you to grill or broil it without overcooking. The technique outlined here is easy, foolproof, and perhaps even humane. Make sure you boil plenty of water for the first step. You want to cook the lobsters barely but quickly. And have an ice-water bath ready to stop the cooking.

Three or four ingredients are traditional in a clambake: clams (which should be littlenecks, not steamers, to minimize sandiness and make eating easier); lobster, of which you don’t need much, about half per person; corn, an ear (or two, if it’s good) per person; sausage, which you can certainly do without if you prefer; and melted butter, which is entirely optional (and I find entirely unnecessary). If you have those things, all you need to do to mimic a real outdoor clambake, basically, is dump them in a pot, cover it, and turn on the heat. No kidding.

I learned how to make “summer rolls” in a tiny village in the Mekong Delta. I was not only the only non-Vietnamese at the table; I was also the only male. My pathetic technique was laughable to my co-workers, but I quickly got the hang of it. So will you. Rice paper wrappers, sold in Asian markets, keep forever. Their flexibility is truly amazing, and the simple variation will give you an idea of the different directions in which you can go. This is just a basic outline; these rolls can be filled with infinite variations of vegetables, meat, and even fruit, so don’t worry if you don’t have one or two of the ingredients here. You can cover these with a moist towel or plastic wrap and keep them for about an hour, no longer, before serving.

Although this dish has all the makings of an Italian dish, everything I have read points to its being an Italian American invention, mostly likely conceived in New York. In Italy they do make a sauce with lobsters with which they dress pasta and risotto, but it is in the form of brodetto, seafood stew—lighter than the Italian American Fra Diavolo, made with onions instead of garlic, and without oregano. Here I give you a delicious version that is a combination of both.

This beautiful brodetto is brimful of colors, tastes, and textures, and extends the flavor of lobster to bowls of polenta or pasta. Lobster and corn cooked together in a brodetto is not traditionally found in Italy. I discovered this combination of flavors when I was traveling through Maine and other parts of the Northeastern coast of the United States, and I liked it so much that I took the liberty to Italianize the duo. The preparation follows the basic steps of all red brodetti: First the floured lobster pieces are fried to seal the flesh and caramelize it. Then they’re put back in the skillet with aromatics, tomato, and seasonings to create the brodetto, and the addition of corn adds sweetness and texture. Most people eat only the tails and the claws of lobsters, but don’t you disregard the heads and tiny legs—they are the sweetest parts. After having enjoyed the polenta and the sought-after parts of the lobster, set yourself up with a wet towel and a clean plate, and begin to nibble and suck on those little legs, biting into them now and then to squeeze out the meat. Then pull the head piece up close and pull the inside part from the shell, lick the shell, and set it down. Slowly begin to pry open the chest chambers, and with an oyster fork pry out morsels of some of the sweetest lobster meat. At our house it is the heads of the lobsters that are rationed, not the tails.

GINA Can’t have a Mini-Moon without my favorite seafood. Lobster, lobster, lobster . . . Some people find it too expensive, but isn’t your relationship worth it? If you are going to splurge, then splurge on your biggest investment. Dip it in the drawn butter, feed it to your honey, and let your imagination run wild.

Making homemade lobster stock is relatively easy. If you don’t steam a lot of lobsters at home or have access to lobster shells in your area—or making seafood or fish stocks simply isn’t your thing—you can buy good-quality prepared fish/seafood stocks from your local fishmonger or online (see Sources).

I don’t know why people seem surprised by this one; it makes perfect sense to me! Lobster and potatoes have each been the starring ingredient in their own salads for ages—in this recipe, they share double billing, resulting in a dish that is infinitely better than either of the individual salads that inspired it. Besides the lobster, thin-skinned and buttery fingerling potatoes give the potato salad a major upgrade. The mayonnaise-based dressing features a blend of pungent horseradish, Dijon mustard, and bright lemon juice. I love anise-flavored tarragon with lobster; its delicate leaves are folded in along with lemony parsley right before serving.

This dish is Louisiana all the way. Crawfish are eaten in other states, to be sure, but no one is as passionate about these crustaceans as are Louisianans. And rightfully so; the state is responsible for producing more than 80 percent of the world’s crawfish! Crawfish look like tiny, clawless lobsters, and though they are not directly related, their taste is similar. The lobster stock in the rich, creamy sauce enhances that similarity. Sweet trout fillets get an old-fashioned cornmeal crust and are panfried to a light golden brown before being set down on a pool of the pink sauce.

Sharp pickled horseradish, savory Worcestershire sauce, anise-flavored tarragon, and peppery watercress bring a kick to creamy cubes of avocado and rich lobster. We serve this and our other seafood cocktails in glasses so that they can be appreciated from every angle; it’s a great way to stretch an expensive ingredient without sacrificing any of its luxurious appeal.

Oyster shooters are a fun, tasty cocktail-hors d’oeuvre hybrid. Take a freshly shucked plump oyster, drop it into a shot glass, top off with booze, and tip it back. I started serving them at Bobby Flay Steak, where the mood is festive and the diners are often open to excess. This shooter adds a meaty coin of sweet lobster to the oyster to do the trick! The “shot” part of the dish is a smoky, vodka-spiked cocktail sauce, which is almost like a concentrated Bloody Mary. I thought these would be a perfect addition to the menu at Bar Americain too. I was right.

The standard club sandwich layers turkey or chicken with bacon. Dressed up with lobster salad and thin slices of country ham, this sandwich is anything but standard. The fresh green onion dressing, both a component of the lobster salad and spread on the bread, has real impact in flavor and in presentation. The sandwich is amazing served on buttery, slightly spicy Chipotle Brioche, but a good-quality white Pullman loaf will certainly do in a pinch. Serve with a side of Barbecued Potato Chips (page 163) to complete the Bar Americain experience.

I may be from a small town in south Georgia, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy some fancy food, too. And just as I don’t expect people to turn their noses up at cheap pork shoulders that are delicious smoked, I don’t turn mine up at lobster tails. They’re expensive, but, man, are they good—especially if you cook the tails in the smoker. Try it.

I decided to make lobster the last recipe in this book so I could give myself the gift of a lobster dinner to celebrate. My father’s family in Montpelier, Vermont, were all passionate lobster-lovers. Being in an inland state, cut off from the sea, only made them more avid for a good lobster dinner, and they frequented The Lobster Pot on Main Street for every kind of celebration. My aunt Marian, after she became a widow, would often stroll down to The Lobster Pot to have dinner by herself, and it was there that she taught me the ritual of eating a lobster—sucking the juices and little morsels of flesh from each leg, and always saving the big claws for the last, because to her they contained the most delicious meat. So, for my treat, I stopped at Citarella’s in Manhattan and asked for a 1 1/4-pounder. The fishmonger held one up to demonstrate for me how lively the little lobster was as it wriggled and pawed the air with its tentacles. I was even asked whether I wanted a male or a female, and of course I said female, so I could enjoy the roe. But when I got it home, there was only the tomalley—the green-gray loose substance that is the liver; there was no roe. I looked in Julia Child’s The Way to Cook and realized that I should have checked first for the little swimmerets under the tail: the male’s are “clean and pointed,” whereas the female’s are “fringed with hair”—a test that is not easy to execute when the creature is wriggling desperately. I have always preferred steaming to boiling, because that way the lobster doesn’t get too immersed in water, and the small amount of steaming water becomes more intense. So I hauled down my largest pot, and arranged a collapsible steamer inside it.

This is a rich, comforting soup to make if you have treated yourself to a whole steamed lobster (see page 254). You should have about 2 cups of lobster broth left in your pot after steaming, so be sure to save it. Also, check and scrape out any bits of lobster flesh still lodged in the shells, and use them as a garnish.