I called my mom on Tuesday to find out what we were doing for Mother’s Day. Her neighbor has promised her lobsters from Maine. This was a new one for us but what the hell. She told me I had to kill them. I told her I had no idea how to kill lobsters but that she should Google it and I would do whatever she wanted me to. This is my pathetic way of trying to make her resourceful – I know, it’s Mother’s Day, time for a little gratitude not life lessons from the internet and a cranky son.
I arrive at my parents house, it’s pouring rain and I find my dad soaking wet, running in and out of the house. Apparently something is wrong with the sump pump, again. He’s been to Home Depot three times already.
My mom is nowhere in sight. She and my sister are out shopping with my niece it turns out.
There’s one thing you have to know about my sister — if she is anywhere nearby, you automatically add at least 25 minutes of time to your time. You could be traveling in a time machine through space and if she is near, you will get to the year 3034 25 minutes later than you were supposed to — at least. She makes everything late, it’d be good to have her around when the grim reaper’s eyeing you.
So, my poor, 80-year-old, soaking wet, shriveled up father — who won’t wear a hat or even conceive of covering himself up in the cold air and rain — is darting in and out of the house trying to figure out how to fix the sump pump. I grab an umbrella and head outside to help. The piece he got from Home Depot will not fit the makeshift contraption he attached to the sump pump. So, we head out to find a replacement at a nearby hardware store.
It’s about 5 pm on Sunday and the first store we go to is closed. “Home Depot is still open,” I say. “No, no me dan la pieza que necesito,” he says. There appears to be a conspiracy among Home Depot employees to not give my father the piece he needs. If he perhaps was to measure the piece he needs to fit things might be different but I decide not to bring that up. We go to another store and find the piece he needs. He also decides to buy some plastic tubing. There are several choices but my dad thinks he knows which one it is and measures — with his eye, as per usual.
We head for home.I assemble the pieces and tubing as my dad holds the umbrella. I’m crouching down and turning the screws. He tries to get a glimpse at my handy work and as he does the droplets of now torrential rain slide off the umbrella and soak my shoulder, arm and head. I asked him not to move because I was getting wetter. He shifted back the other direction so the rain was hitting me directly. I kept tightening screws. I quickly finished and we got the pump going again, the water sputtering out onto the sidewalk.
The Lobster Chronicles — Part Dos
My father and I stumble through the door after successfully completing “Operation Sump Pump.” In the tiny kitchen are my mom, sister, niece and three dogs (Tiny, Gorby and I can’t recall the other one’s name, she’s a recent addition. Two are poodles one is a pekinese — all are annoying). I expect to smell some kind of fish or crustacean smell but don’t. I greet everyone — including the dogs — and look on the stove. No lobster, but lots of stuffed peppers.
My mom’s neighbor delivered the lobsters the night before and gave my mom directions: pour water in the sink and put some newspaper over them, cook when ready. So that’s what she did. There they were all night long, hanging out in the sink trying to read the print on the newspaper which was in Spanish. Maybe they were bilingual, you never know.
When she walked into the kitchen the following morning all except one had died. She quickly threw them into the freezer. I opened it to see and sure enough, there they were in all their frozen glory. It was something akin to a mini lobster cryogenics lab, in between bags of corn and peas.
I closed the freezer door and headed to the computer. I Googled “can you cook dead lobster” and found out you can but it depends on how long they are dead before being frozen. So I headed back out to the kitchen and suggested we cook one to see how it goes. We find a pot big enough and she begins to boil water in it. It’s a lot of water so she starts to boil water in a tea pot and in saucepan on the other burners. As the water heats up she pours it into the big pot. The water never reaches a boil on any burner but that doesn’t seem to matter at this point. She then takes the lobster, fits him into the pot and puts the lid on.
About 15 minutes later I proclaim the lobster is ready. It’s only supposed to take five or six minutes according to whatever I googled and we had allowed for plenty of time to cook thoroughly, I thought. She turns the stove off, lifts off the cover and as the steam clears away ruby red lobster appears. I can already taste it in my mouth.
We lift it up and place it on the counter. I start to pull it apart tail first. It’s shell is hot but cools quickly. This is going to be delicioso! I look inside. It looks like white juicy cotton that’s ready to be soaked in butter. I put my finger on the meat. It’s frozen. My mom sighs and takes the lobster and starts pulling out meat. She grabs a frying pan and the butter from the fridge. I ask my dad for a hammer and on the counter I start banging away at the claws.
Minutes later we’re eating dinner, stuffed peppers accompanied by a few bits of lobster soaked in butter.