BY PATRICK LYNOTT and ELIZA JEVON
DIY Lobster Bake!!!
Alright, we all know that this year’s Lobster Bake is cancelled due to COVID :(, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have your own socially distant Lobster Bake Celebration!! Just a follow a few easy steps to enjoy your own gourmet and ~safe~ DIY Lobster Extravaganza!
Step 1: Early Bird Gets the Worm!!!
It’s 3 A.M. Your alarm clock is clanging frantically in the corner of your room. You placed it there the night before, drunk, knowing you might never clamber out of bed if the clock was in arm’s reach. You stand and it’s scored by a cacophony of cracking joints. On the way to the bathroom, you don’t pull back a shade and look outside; it’s dark. Always is at 3 A.M.
The shower is cold and perfunctory. You make grinded coffee and fill your thermos with it. The coffee tastes metallic until you cut it with vodka, and when you do, you perk up for the first time all morning. The bitter sting of vodka feels like something, at least. Your pickup truck clambers over potholes on the way to the wharf.
Step 2: Cute Outfits 🙂
You pull on rubberized fishing gear. It’s dank and odorous, only ever washed by salty ocean spray. As you load the empty crates into your boat, trying not to let the ice cold water trickle down your sleeve, you greet your crew with a curt nod and grunt. You’re feeling livelier today because, after all it is Lobster Bake, so you allow a soft smile to your lips. Then you gear up the old rusty motor, cast off the mooring, and chug towards the mouth of the harbor.
Step 3: Work it!!!
Hauling up the first traps is always the hardest. You never expect your back to ache this much, but it does, and you forgot to pack Aleve in the morning commotion. You’ll have to fight the day. You remember tonight’s Lobster Bake and decide to let that fleeting moment of promise hold you back from the bottom of the Atlantic.
Lobster after lobster you dump them into the tank, admiring their smooth shell and fight for life. Not for long though.
The morning drags on. Sunrise comes and goes — a timestamp on the slow march to the great equalizer. Golden hour is but a wistful memory of what was and what remains. After pulling up around 100 pounds of lobster, you head back to the shore.
Step 4: Dig In :p
Later that evening, you sit down to dinner alone with your thoughts, as usual, in your dimly lit cabin. Crushed beer cans are scattered about the hardwood. You tie a stained white napkin around your neck and set a bowl for your old dog Scout so that he can lick the fatty carcass remains. A new beer to you right, a shining silver bowl in front of you, and two meaty hands ready to snap the lobster rest on the old wooden table. In a few swift cracks, the green excrement drips into the bowl, the juice spills out, and the meat slides on your plate.
Step 5: The Afterglow
You eat and think about your future. You take dozens of selfies for Instagram. You look cute, but a snacc? You’ve never been a snacc. You brainstorm captions. You settle on the lobster emoji, and you think that’s fine. You post and throw your phone across the room; you’re not going to check the likes until tomorrow. You dream of the day you’ll be allowed back on campus as Scout laps up the last of the last of the crustacean dripping off your fingers.
This is quarantine. This is your life now. You set your alarm for next morning.