WHEN I TELL THE STORY OF HOW I STOPPED EATING SHRIMP, I usually start with a question:
Have you ever had to choose whether to sit on the toilet or vomit into it?
Oh sure, it's funny, but I use comedy to obscure my disappointment. The story ends with me swearing off shrimp and scallops, and lobster too, because what is lobster but a ginormous, gargantuan shrimp? For all the sordid details, click here and go read about how I've been opting for sweet & sour chicken insted of sweet & sour shrimp since 2002.
Lately, though, I'm wondering if my lobster rule-out was excessive. I mean, I never really got sick from eating lobster. Sure, it's the shrimp's cousin, but really, isn't it overly cautious of me to deny myself the likes of this?
This mouth-watering photo borrowed from Seafood Harbor
What really got me thinking about this, though, was a new phenomenon in DC. There is a lunch truck that serves up what I hear are positively mouth-watering, attitude-altering Maine-style lobster rolls. Hungry people in the know check Twitter to see where the truck will be parked on any given weekday, then they patiently wait in really, really long lines just to score one of these life-changing delicacies from the Red Hook Lobster Pound. Like this –
…which I borrowed from their Facebook page. Of course, I wouldn't get a half 'n' half, I'd go all lobster. And I might go with the butter-drizzled version, instead of the mayonnaise-y one.
So, here's what I'm thinking. I'm going to find a Friday night where we have nothing going on. I'm going to tuck into a juicy, sweet lobster tail. I'll dip the tender meat in drawn butter and allow the butter to drip down my chin and onto my… bib. I will eat nothing but lobster; after all, it has to be a controlled experiment. And I will savor every last morsel as if it's my final meal on God's green Earth.
Once I'm sated, I'll wait. If I wake up in the middle of the night and have to "make a difficult decision" (and isn't that just the best euphemism for that sorry state of affairs?), then I'll know that my hunch eight years ago was correct and resign myself to this cruel fate. But if I drift into a blissful night's sleep and awake eight hours later, completely unaffected, then I will have reinstated a lifetime of culinary enjoyment. I think it's a small price to pay for that particular prize. What do YOU think?