Taking Stock of One's Fears

I rarely buy lobster. Precooked seafood leaves me clammy. And boiling a live animal that can look me in the eye scares me. In terms of ending life for food, I've only just graduated to mussels and clams.

So buying a boiled lobster from the Hilltop Red Apple represented something of a coup. It was a snap decision, made during a once-a year lobster promotional they hold in their parking lot. At 8.99 per pound for lobster, still warm from the pot, the price seemed right. My friend Chris and I invested in a brawny three pounder.

The Larousse Gastronomique presents a gorgeous photo of a lobster, perfectly halved lengthwise, as if by some forensic pathology tool. When Chris tried halving our lobster using a wilderness survival knife, the results were less than ideal. Grey bilge-colored spoog shot across the counter and onto my dry-clean only wool shirt. Had Tom Douglas ever contended with this?

I retired to my kitchen table with my half-lobster and a small cup of lemon butter. The tail and claw meats were succulent; the remainder had me scratching and picking like a frustrated seagull. With more patience, I surely could have coaxed a few more choice morsels from the spindly legs. Instead, I banished the carcass to the fridge for the next day.

Lobster stock seemed a sensible choice for its resurrection. But using The Culinary Institute of America's textbook, The New Professional Chef, meant I would need to scale back the recipe. Their industrial-portioned stock called for 11 pounds of lobster shells. My half-lobster shell weighed about 10 oz, so I had to improvise.

I have an almost pathological flaw when it comes to making stock. I have yet to learn that adding more water doesn't make more stock, just more water. I started with a scant plateful of lobster shell, and added about a pound of chopped onion, celery, and carrot (known collectively as mirepoix) and an herb sachet, I then deluged them under 6 quarts of water. In hindsight, this was at least 2 quarts too many. The recipe called for browning ("redding", actually) the shells and mirepoix in oil. Since the lobster was already boiled, I deemed this step unnecessary.

As a result... how many guesses do you require? Several hours later, I've concocted a mild veggie broth with a faint whisper of the sea. Not exactly swarthy lobster broth for a briny paella. Instead, a subtle stock for preparing rice or beans with a little extra flavor. This is the price I pay for my timidity in the face of the living lobster. Oh well, clam broth will have to do.