Each one looked so peaceful. They were all swimming around and climbing over one another in a playful sibling sort of way, vying for what little space was left in their waterfront home. They had no idea what was going on. They had no idea that they would soon be whisked away into a shopping basket and weighed for sale. These innocent lobsters had no idea that they were going to become my very lavish dinner.
I don’t like to see my food alive. I am no vegetarian, but I can certainly understand the sentiment when an animal, or crustacean in this case, appears to be pleading for its life and you just don’t think you should be eating it. If it lands on my plate fully prepared and beautiful, it spares me the thoughts of what that animal sacrificed for my feeding pleasure. Selfish, I know.
But having lobster is just what you do when in Nova Scotia, it would almost be sinful not to. In fact, lobster is so abundant here that I had a completely ‘only in Nova Scotia’ moment when I spotted the McDonald’s billboards promoting their McLobster sandwich (yes, really). Besides, when your wonderful hosts take you to the lobster market and exhibit pure excitement at the opportunity to let you hand pick just which lobster you would like, it’s probably not a good time to tell them you don’t really like lobster.
We chose our dinner in the morning and then took a rain sprinkled drive up to Peggy’s Cove. If Nova Scotia conjures up any image in your mind, besides lobster that is, this place is it. Peggy’s Cove is a fishing community just outside of Halifax whose legend is a point of speculation. Some believe Peggy was the wife of an early settler, while others suspect that Peggy was in fact a young woman who was the sole survivor of a shipwreck many, many years ago. Either way, I was sure this was where my dinner swam free before being relocated against their will.
We wandered across the somewhat slippery rocks opting against the paved path because that was just too easy. The air was biting considering I was far from appropriately dressed, and the sprinkle of rain was still falling. I squinted through the small hole that was left after tying my hood almost completely over my face in an attempt to stay warm. We explored a bit, and then peeked into the gift shop which was filled with artist’s renderings of the lighthouse over and over and over again: lighthouse in the day, lighthouse in the night, lighthouse with water behind it, lighthouse with rocks behind it, lighthouse with a dog running on the rocks. I guessed the lighthouse was either really important here, or there was just nothing else to paint. Anyhow, it was time to head back for dinner.
We reached home, washed up, and met the table set with plates full and beautiful. I had almost forgotten the day’s earlier swimming dinner. I no longer thought of the creature on my plate as Larry the Lobster; it was just dinner, and it was time to eat.
I suppose I had also forgotten that I didn’t like lobster, because it was delicious! Sure, I needed help to dismantle it and free the meat, but I am just inept like that when it comes to eating anything with an exoskeleton. Once freed, the meat was heavenly laced with a combination of melted butter, and some other lemony-peppery concoction. Everything was scrumptious, and I ate until I almost couldn’t breathe (which is apparently something I do quite often). It was a new experience, but isn’t that what travel is all about? If I found myself in Halifax/Nova Scotia again, I would never risk missing out on another lobster dinner.
Sorry Larry.
