Over the years, my parents have taught me a great deal about food. One lesson I have come to truly respect is the importance of local food, not only because of its greener quality, but also due to the increased strength and depth in flavor. It’s the explanation for why my father won’t touch a bialy or a deli sandwich outside of New York, the reason I couldn’t taste hummus for a good three months after returning from Israel, and the rationale behind our refusal to eat lobster anywhere but in Maine.
The Ogunquit Lobster Pound, our dining destination yesterday evening, is no fancy locale. Atmosphere is nonexistant and unimportant; we don’t even bother to read the menu. There is only one reason to attend: the freshest lobster in town.
Just outside the front door, diners select the lobster they’d like. It is then fished out and weighed, and well, carried to its doom. Apologies to the vegetarians who are reading.
Servers bring supplies to the table:
Some diners need a bib:
Some just enjoy playing with theirs:
Two sides are selected and presented:
Finally, the main course arrives, boiled to perfection, needing no seasoning, no sauce, no added flavor. The sweetest fish, worth the year-long wait:
Two nights ago we were relishing a refined meal at Arrows. This night, our hands were dirty and we played with our food:
Do you have a favorite locally-sourced food?