Crustaceans I Have Loved; the Bivalves of My Heart

A friend has a house on an island off the coast of Maine near Bar Harbor. Kerensa and I were invited to spend the week there this month, which created an occasion for us to eat trayf at every opportunity between Boston’s Logan Airport and Bangor, Maine. We were guided by instinct and by the RoadFood website as well as the previous threads here and on CH about similar trips.



Upon arrival, we picked up our rental car and a friend and headed out the back way from Logan, up Route 1 – I had Ipswich on my mind. In past trips to Maine, we’ve stopped at Woodman’s in Essex, but Ipswich clams have always been my clammy bellwether – every fried clam I eat invariably gets compared to the crisp-crumbed glories that Kinkead’s in DC serves, heaped in a white bowl with lemon in cheesecloth and deep-fried citrus slices. So, this time, it was Ipswich and the Clam Box, a restaurant shaped like a take-out Chinese food container.



The three of us weren’t that hungry, so all we ordered was a large box of large bellied clams, some scallops, and a lobster roll (to set the baseline for the week). These clams were phenomenal – battered (not breaded) and fried to perfection, with giant oceany bellies and tender toothsome strips. The scallops were sweet and firm, but a little too greasy when eaten more than 60 seconds away from the oil. Lobster roll was dressed with mayo and featured a non-orthodox leaf of iceberg protecting the buttered toasted top-slit (!) hot dog roll. The founder’s son was taking orders behind the register and instructed me to order anything else right from him and not to wait in line (a line which stretched out the door by 12:15 after we’d already started to eat). So I complied, and for a second course (amazing how our appetites increased) tried a cup of chowder, thin on top, but with huge fresh clams stacked on the bottom beneath chunks of potato, and some clam cakes – amazing deepfried cornmeal latkes with clams providing a hint of chew and a salty savor. How did clams measure up? They were superb, but a notch below my memory of Woodman’s, and two notches below Kinkead’s briny perfection.



So, with a bellyful of clams and a song in our hearts, we got back on the road. I-95 was a blur out of Mass, and New Hampshire a brief memory, then we got into Maine, and returned to the two-lane slow road. Route 1 winds along the coast from Brunswick all the way to Canada, passing through quaint New England villages, outlet malls, fishing towns, and spectacular oceanfront real estate.

This stretch of road has two remarkable technologies for preventing would-be Nascar drivers from exceeding the posted speed limit. First, there is the universal practice of farmstands and wild blueberry sellers to sett up shop in the shoulder of the highway and to place signs no further than 50 feet in front of their businesses. So every couple of miles, I’d see a sign, pass a folded table with wild blueberries, and slam on my brakes, head off to the shoulder and reverse back to the farmstand to see how the berries were. Ironically, the best blueberry I had was at a gas station near Brunswick on the counter next to the cigarette lighters and the dip. I took one berry and tasted it – sweet tart juicy – it was perfect. But I let my mind block my intuition and thought to myself – I can’t buy blueberries at a gas station; if these are good, imagine how great the berries at the farmstands will be! I should’ve listened to my heart – no other berry I had during the week compared. The brake-light inducing wild berries I stopped for on Route 1 near Woolwich were a travesty – mushy and bland. We ended up throwing them at a duck in the river in Bangor while we killed time waiting for our ride. The berries I got on the way back from a farm were better, but still without that perfect tang.

The other effective speed inhibitor is Red’s Eats in Wiscasset, home of the best Lobster Roll in New England (ymmv). For ten miles before the bridge over Montsweag Bay, traffic comes to a Dan Ryan like standstill. Only when you get to downtown Wiscasset does the cause become clear. Before the bridge, tucked into a lowslung trailer with a small deck and an ice cream stand attached, lies Red’s Eats, a temple to boiled lobster. The line outside is twenty minutes long – everyone’s there for the same thing – a lobster roll. Red’s serves their rolls with nothing – just a butter-toasted bun and an alarming amount of fresh-plucked lobster meat in giant pieces; drawn butter and mayo are available on the side.



At Red’s I had a strange mental sensation – I’ve been there before, I know that much. As I waited in line I became more and more convinced that during my last visit, I had the pleasure of meeting Steve Z during my previous visit. Is it true? Was it a dream? Was it another fellow-internet-foodie onto whom my mind has grafted the face of Steve Z as a temporary measure to stave off insanity? Can anyone here help? Did I invent the whole episode? Have I even eaten at Red’s before? I’m stumped.

In line, I met a charming family from Cincinnati – the son was on his own mini lobster-roll-a-thon. He was poised to eat his fourth lobster roll in 14 hours, having just dispatched his third from the competing lobster stand on the Wiscasset Wharf, 40 feet from Red’s, which, by the way, he dismissed as a pathetic example of the genre. They were en route to Rockland for the Maine Lobster Festival, which was scheduled to start the next day. I was impressed by his focus and tenacity. We got to chatting a bit, shared our mutual admiration for Holly Eats (five grease stains for Red’s, four for the place on the wharf). I hope they had a good time at the Lobster Fest, although I have to imagine that all-you-can-eat lobster got tired after 4 days of nothing but.

The rest of the trip up was a blur – in Waldoboro, following a Roadfood lead, we stopped for mediocre blueberry muffins at Moody’s Diner, gummy and plain, then got into Bangor, where we tossed blueberries at unsuspecting ducks, and returned the rental car before catching a ride to Bar Harbor with one of my island friends.


On the island, where there’s only one restaurant, and daily activities include Scrabble (America’s GoodTime Game TM), looking at the ocean, drinking beer while the sun sets and building wooden boats (islesfordboatworks.com), there’s only one meal that bears recounting. My friend works on a lobster boat in the autumn and winter, which entitles him to free lobster over the summer. He asked his employer for twenty bugs to feed ten people. He smokes the split lobstertails over applewood in a decrepit weber kettle and boils the claws on the stove top till they’re orange and perfect. The bodies are composted. Butter’s available for dipping, but totally unnecessary.

The boys have such a lobster surplus that they will eat no lobster but the smoked tails, and not too many of those at that. That meant that for Kerensa and I, between the two of us, we had at our disposal a practically unlimited amount of lobster – we ate 4.5 lobster tails and 17 claws – I ate mostly knuckles, and practiced extracting the clawmeat in one gruesome piece for Kerensa to devour. These lobsters are shedders, or softshells, which means that no nutcrackers or mallets are required, the carapace comes off with a little urging and the meat comes out with a gentle probe. You want to eat this meal? Cultivate a relationship with a lobsterman, or write me a PM and we’ll see what we can arrange.



The island I visited is directly across from Bar Harbor, which is itself on Mt Desert Island, also home to Acadia National Park. From a foodie perspective the park offers one don’t-miss stop – the Jordan Pond House, a national park restaurant with tables spread on a lawn overlooking a gorgeous lake and lush green hills, and a menu that features popovers –bake-fried till brown and served with butter, raspberry jam and strawberry lemonade or a pot of black tea. After filling up on popovers, there’s no nicer way to spend the afternoon than stretched out on the Jordan Pond lawn beneath a shade tree while birds chirp and little children practice somersaults all around you.

After five days, it was time to go home – we drove a slightly different route, passing by a perfect farmstand with pies, giant muffins, and jars of something called Me. Ma’s Jamly – I have blueberry and blackberry and will report on it’s actual consistency when I open em up. Our last meal with in South Freeport Maine (so. free. me) on the wharf, where the Harraseeket Lobster & Lunch sits on the water and serves tons of shellfish to roadfood readers and local tourists. Fried seafood and sandwiched are available at the “Lunch” window, whereas boiled lobster, steamers and corn are ordered from the lobster pound around the side of the building.



I opted once more for fried clams, but shortly thereafter wished I’d ordered the Lobster Delight which for 17.95 provides a 1.25 lb lobster, a dozen steamers, and a ear of corn. The clams I ate were an anticlimax, certainly better than any fried clam I’ve eaten in the Midwest, but not as juicy and lush as the Clambox clams and with a more aggressively salted cracker crust. Kerensa’s fried haddock sandwich, on the other hand, was excellent and the onion rings were beyond reproach – massive hoops of sweet onion in a deep brown batter that reminded me of chili pakora. [see photo grid above]

Then we looked at the time, and zoomed to the airport, getting there 15 minutes before the scheduled departure and wheedling our way through the gate only after ten minutes of pleading and frantic typing by an unusually accommodating American Eagle desk agent. Perhaps we shouldn’t have tried so hard – I could’ve gone to a G Wiv-approved Italian street fair in Boston on Sunday night.

Seth Zurer wrote:At Red’s I had a strange mental sensation – I’ve been there before, I know that much. As I waited in line I became more and more convinced that during my last visit, I had the pleasure of meeting Steve Z during my previous visit. Is it true? Was it a dream? Was it another fellow-internet-foodie onto whom my mind has grafted the face of Steve Z as a temporary measure to stave off insanity? Can anyone here help? Did I invent the whole episode? Have I even eaten at Red’s before? I’m stumped.

In line, I met a charming family from Cincinnati – the son was on his own mini lobster-roll-a-thon. He was poised to eat his fourth lobster roll in 14 hours, having just dispatched his third from the competing lobster stand on the Wiscasset Wharf, 40 feet from Red’s, which, by the way, he dismissed as a pathetic example of the genre. They were en route to Rockland for the Maine Lobster Festival, which was scheduled to start the next day. I was impressed by his focus and tenacity. We got to chatting a bit, shared our mutual admiration for Holly Eats (five grease stains for Red’s, four for the place on the wharf). I hope they had a good time at the Lobster Fest, although I have to imagine that all-you-can-eat lobster got tired after 4 days of nothing but.

Seth, it looks like a great trip, but no it wasn't me you met at Red's. The fact that you see my face in your dreams has me a little disturbed as well. Too bad you missed the Maine Lobster Festival. We were there last year at this same time.

I remember those reports - great posts & pics. I, of course, didn't remember the specifics - that you'd hit Harraseeket Lobster as well as the fair, but perhaps, somewhere deep inside, those posts lurked in my subconscious and led me to the now infamous Steve Z dream-world face-grafting.

Seth Zurer wrote:He smokes the split lobstertails over applewood in a decrepit weber kettle and boils the claws on the stove top till they’re orange and perfect. The bodies are composted. Butter’s available for dipping, but totally unnecessary.

I started eating lobsters at 5 years old when we lived in Massachusetts. The local strip club had an early bird special of Maine lobster dinner for $1.50, while a chicken dinner was $2.50. My parents ordered lobster for everyone including my 3-year-old sister, then waited for us to abandon our food. Pretty much my sister and I ate the crumb filling and part of the tail, then got distracted playing with the antennas, eyeballs and other bits we found amusing.

As I got older, I was a tail and claw girl until I saw Julia Child demonstrate how to eat a lobster. I eat the whole darn thing, head, tail, swimmerettes, claws and all. If someone in the family orders lobster and I don't, I still get a pretty good helping of lobster eating their discards.

Now when I see lobster abandoned after eating the tail and claws only, I feel so much has been missed. Of course, I eat a few lobsters a year and you were in the land of abundant lobsters. I would be thrilled to eat lobster at a lobsterman's table. All those smoked tails (how long were they smoked?) and boiled claws! Oh my!

Red’s serves their rolls with nothing – just a butter-toasted bun and an alarming amount of fresh-plucked lobster meat in giant pieces; drawn butter and mayo are available on the side.

Butter and lobster, lobster and butter, why bother with the mayo?

As for the top split lobster bun. A friend has them shipped to him here whenever he desires a lobster roll. Considering the expense and trouble, I could ignore the fact the bun is "not properly sliced." To my friend this makes all the difference, though I consider it style rather than taste.

Thank you for allowing us to travel with you vicariously. I will have to go to Kincaid's to set my clam-meter standards to yours.

Regards,

Seth,

Thank you for your terrific write-up. petit pois and I are heading on a Maine-NH-Mass-RI road trip in about six weeks and we'll be using you and stevez as our guides.

Best,
Michael

Cathy2 wrote:I started eating lobsters at 5 years old when we lived in Massachusetts. The local strip club had an early bird special of Maine lobster dinner for $1.50, while a chicken dinner was $2.50.

The local what now? 5-year-olds at a strip club?

HI,

Yes, my parents took me to a strip club prior to operating hours.

The $1.50 lobster dinner deal seemed to be a peace offering to the local town's people. Once dinner was over, then the place took on a different character attracting non-local clientelle. My parents chuckle that once we lingered there a bit too long and some of the late night staff began arriving. I apparently commented, "Why are those ladies dancing in their nightgowns?"

My Irish Grandmother was taken to this place ostensibly to have the cheap lobster dinner. To this day my Dad practically has steam coming out of his ears complaining my Grandmother ordered the expensive chicken dinner!

Regards,