Because when I do, Mark talks back. And our conversations go like this.
Me: I'll be back, I'm running to Ralph's for some salmon.
Mark: What's for dinner?
Me: Um...salmon.
Mark, snapping his fingers: Ooooh, get some lobster!
Me, confused: Why?
Mark: For dinner!
Me: Silence.
Mark: So you're going to Costco?
Me: No, I'm going to Ralph's, at the end of the block.
Mark, confused: But Costco has way better lobster.
Me, slowly: I'm not buying lobster. I'm buying salmon. For dinner.
Mark: Stares into space, licking his lips and thinking of lobster rolls.
Me: So, yeah...I'll be back in 15 minutes.
Mark: Don't forget the rolls!
Boy, is that kid gonna be disappointed when I put dinner on the table tonight...
We woke up this morning with a task at hand—homemade lobster rolls. Sadly, it was the end of the line for our little friend in the refrigerator.
Edra took Amber to work this morning, and returned with a bag of lobster rolls (the bread itself, not the lobster filling). She prepped the water, boiling it, and tossed in some spices. Mark was obsessed and repelled all at the same time—he didn’t want to look or be involved with the lobster boiling, but he didn’t want to miss anything, either. So he shadowed Edra carefully, from a distance, camera in hand, repeatedly asking, “Bob, how’s the water? Bob? BOB!!”
(He’s got a sick sense of humor, like me—we both thought this magnet, which Amber gave us, was HILARIOUS.)
I kinda felt like Mark—curious, but I also kept my distance. Edra shouldered all the hard work, and I washed the dishes afterwards. She kept cracking jokes, which she later admitted was a way to tune out the fact she was about to cook a live lobster. I totally understood the joking.
We had a little mechanical difficulty (Amber was right, the stock pot was too small), but 12 minutes later, we had a bright red lobster and some toasted rolls, all thanks to Edra. We thanked the lobster for its sacrifice and for providing us with sustenance, then rinsed it off and broke into it, slathering the pieces with melted butter. It was delicious!!!
I also got to see another Maine native in action today--the little groundhog who lives under Amber's garage! He's elusive, and although Edra and Mark had seen him, I still hadn't gotten a good view. Today was my lucky day! I just wanted to go out and hug him, he was so cute!
We were meeting Amber for lunch, but we had some time to kill first, so we headed back to Freemont. We still hadn’t tried a whoopie pie yet, and figured we’d pick some up at Wicked Whoopies.
The entire store was filled with whoopie pies! I wasn’t quite sure what they even were—cookies? Filled with frosting? The lady behind the counter explained they were like inside-out cupcakes—two cake discs with a marshmallow-fluff frosting on the inside. They had a bazillions different flavors—maple, banana, red velvet, pumpkin, chocolate chip, lemon, mocha, orange creamsicle, oatmeal, strawberry, just to name a few! They all looked fantastic, and I couldn’t decide on just one flavor.
So, I didn’t. Instead, since there were four of us, we picked four flavors: mint, red velvet, peanut butter and a basic chocolate pie, which the woman recommended if we’d never had a whoopee pie before. It was gonna be an awesome whoopee pie sampling!
We still had some time left, so we moseyed across the street to the chocolate factory. That’s right—homemade chocolates! We were gonna have a sugar high all day long.
While drooling over the goods, the cashier announced they were having a hands-on lesson in the back—they were making chocolate owl cake lollipops. You could decorate two owls for $6, so I signed Mark up before he even asked.
The store was actually empty except for us, so Mark got a private lesson from the chocolate chef. She taught him how to dip, decorate and dry the owls, and when he accidentally lost on in the tub of melted chocolate, she just handed him another one. He had a blast, painstakingly stinking eyes and a mouth, and then a colorful little Mohawk to his owls.
Amber finished working the same time Mark finished his owls, which was perfect. We bagged up the owls, and rushed over to get Amber.
We drove back to the super cute lobster shack we’d seen the day before for a late lunch. On the way, we stopped at a roadside farm stand. The young girl working there was super chatty—I think she was just glad to have someone to talk to. She had everything-- homemade blueberry pies, fresh vegetables, even challah! (It was Friday.) It was the cutest little stand.
The lobster shack was amazing. I’d already had my lobster for the day, ad honestly, by Day 4 in Maine, I was getting a little burned out on lobster. (I know, I know—blasphemy!) Instead, Amber and I got shrimp and chips (phenomenal!), Mark got more clam chowder, and Edra tried the lobster roll and onion rings. We were all super happy!
By about 3:30, we were ready to go on to our next adventure, to Camden, Maine, where Amber had promised Mark a boat ride on a pirate ship. What I didn’t know was that Camden was about two hours away—don’t know how I missed hearing that, but I did. After 14 days in the car (and three days out of it), my mental state immediately crumbled at the thought of a long drive. But Amber was really excited to show us Maine, including the cutest town in the state, and her favorite harbor in Camden.
Maine was beautiful, and Amber was right, the little town was super cute. However, I am not proud to admit that my mental state continued to degrade the longer I was in the car, an Mark was not far behind me. (So much for being a good example!) Suddenly, half an hour from Camden, we came upon a little wine tasting store and I shouted, “STOOOOOOP!!!” My wonderfully patient beyond words and dear friend Amber complied.
Not only could you sample wines, but you could pair it with cheese, too! It was all so good…I purchased a hunk of Maine white cheddar and a bottle of light, summery wine, and a corkscrew. (The cashier gave us some cups.) With a happy buzz and a renewed spirit, we finished the drive to Camden.
No one was starving, even though it was now evening. But we parked right next to a little deli, so we went inside and purchased some salami, crackers and water to go with our cheese and wine.
Unfortunately, the last pirate ship was leaving the dock as we got to the bay. Instead, we found a couple empty benches, and enjoyed a happy hour by the bay. We divvied up the whoopee pies, which were AWESOME. The classic chocolate was good, the red velvet, not so much. The real winners were the mint and peanut butter filled pies, which made us happy, happy, happy!
They were rich, though, and even between the four of us, we couldn’t finish them. Instead, we spread the happiness, and gave the leftovers to the grateful man sitting next to us.
We wandered through the streets of Camden, weaving in and out of the little shops. It was Friday night, and kinda late, so most of the shops were closed. I liked this sign with the shop hours:
But we did find a couple cute stores that still had the lights on. In the last one, an employee walking by noticed the camera around my neck and asked if I’d seen the moon outside. I said no, so she pointed me out to the back deck, where I saw the most incredible full moon ever. The mosquitoes swarmed me as soon as I walked out there, but it was so pretty, I let them bite me while I took about a hundred pictures.
We finally packed up around 9:30. We had a long drive back, but we had friends and that gorgeous full moon to keep us company along the way. We also had bellies full of good wine, cheese and whoopie pies, and really, how much better can life get than all that?
I’ll tell you: not much.
Sadly, Amber had to work the whole day, which meant we were on our own. Which turned out to be not so good for Amber’s fridge. ;-)
Edra, Mark and I returned to the port. Edra wanted to shop, and she’d seen a cool tour she wanted to go on—lobster fishing! Mark and I were game for that.
While Edra headed to the shops, Mark and I headed to lunch. I lived up to my “lobster every day!” decree and ordered a lobster roll from the Portland Lobster Company. (Lobster roll rating: 10 claws, out of 10. Was going to subtract points for not using the traditional mayo recipe, but it was made with drawn butter instead, which was incredible. So, no subtraction.)
(Oh, and other scary fact—you can buy lobster rolls almost anywhere—including Arby’s! And you can buy fresh, live lobster at the gas station! So gross!)
Mark didn’t want lobster, and opted for the roadside hot dog stand instead. He returned holding some weird neon red dog that I swear would glow in the dark. It definitely freaked me out.
“Why is your hot dog HOT CHEETOS RED?” I gasped, but apparently, only I was alarmed.
“It’s a Maine dog,” Mark shrugged, as if that explained anything, and lit into it. I actually stopped eating my lobster roll to watch him, horrified. (Amber later explained that it was, indeed, a Maine hot dog, and that Mainers swear by their bright red dogs—they refuse to eat a normal, brown hot dog. Well, OK, then…)
Edra joined us, with her lunch. The sun was shining, and after eating, we headed toward the lobster boat, excited to get out on the water.
Once aboard, we donned bright orange rubber aprons and gloves—it was time to work!
Our two awesome guides explained the ins and outs of lobster fishing. They showed us how to find the right buoy among all the other buoys, and how to pull in the traps. There were some other kids on the boat, and while Mark wasn’t as crazy about touching everything as they were, he held his ground when they tried to shove him aside. He had a prime spot for reeling up the lobster pots, and he didn’t give it up.
It was a lucky day—we hauled in at least one lobster per pot. We tossed a couple back for being just shy of legal size, and another one because she was a breeding female. But we ended up with five or six keepers.
After hauling in the pots, we learned to re-bait the traps, and sink them again. Mark was the master of pushing the traps back into the water.
Mark overheard the guides telling a kid he could buy a fresh-caught lobster for $6, and take it to the Portland Lobster Company next door, where they’d cook it for $9. Mark was intrigued. Even though he doesn’t eat lobster and refused to hold a live one upon boarding the boat, he couldn’t be swayed form wanting one. Edra said she’d buy him a lobster if he swore he’d taste it, and before I could protest, Mark agreed and was holding a bagged lobster.
Which was a little problematic, since we were going out for the night, and weren’t sure what to do with our crustacean. (That’s right, we had a little crustacean frustration!) I didn’t know what to do with the lobster, because we were on our way to a baseball game, and probably wouldn’t be ready to cook it until the next day. The captain assured us we could keep the lobster in the fridge overnight, and so, a little apprehensively, that’s what we did.
I planned to gently break the news of the crustacean house guest to Amber, but Mark beat me to the punch.
“Uh, so, you’re fridge is gonna smell bad,” he told Amber bluntly. I thought she was gonna crash the car when she screamed, “WHY???” She was right to be alarmed!
I explained about our trip, and about Mark’s souvenir, but Amber wasn’t sold. She was gracious as only Amber can be, but even she could take only so much. She wanted to know exactly what we were gonna do with it, and then immediately changed her mind and DIDN’T want to know. We told her we were making our very own lobster rolls the next day.
“I don’t have a lobster pot!” she protested, but we insisted (incorrectly, it turned out) that her stock pot would be big enough.
Amber tried to put the news out of her mind. Instead, she drove us to our next adventure, to see another really cute lobster shack nearby. But when we drove by a super cool cemetery on the way, I yelled at her to stop.
The cemeteries back East are so different than those in California. Every once in a while, you see a historic California cemetery with the giant granite headstones. But here in the East, they are the norm. I wanted to get out and look around closely.
The headstones were old, old, old—some from the early 1800s! Mark was very excited to find one guy who died in the 1800s and was a veterinarian.
“He was in a war!” Mark yelled, and I realized he meant “veteran,” not “veterinarian.”
“There are lots of veterinarians,” he called out. “This guy was in the War of 1812.” He paused, looked at me and asked, “Which war was that?”
And although I am no history buff, for once, I was smarter than a fifth grader.
“It was called…the War of 1812!” I told him. Luckily, sarcasm is usually lost on him.
Then it was on to the lobster shack, which was really cute. We didn’t have time for dinner—we had to get to the baseball game. The local favorites, the Sea Dogs, were playing, and the stadium was PACKED. (It’s the minor league team for the Boston Red Sox, so the fans were rabid!)
Amber had a volunteer commitment, so she didn’t join us, but before she left, she told us we had to do three things: 1) Take a picture with Slugger the Sea Dog, 2) Eat a Sea Dog Biscuit and 3) Fill up the Trash Monster.
We succeeded in two out of the three. We took a pic with the Slugger statue, but then I grabbed the real Slugger and got my photo with him.
Mark wolfed down a Sea Dog Biscuit (an ice cream sandwich), then proclaimed it “just okay.” The Trash Monster passed us by, but we were so busy cracking up at it, we forgot to put our trash in there.
The game was a blast. For seven bucks each, we got general admission tickets, and sat just behind home plate. It’s the closest I’ve ever sat to the players at a baseball game! I was a bit scared by all the fly balls dropping around us, but my fear proved unfounded—we never got hit.
What I loved was the whole small-town feel—everyone loved those Sea Dogs, and all the fans seemed to know each other. (The game was almost sold out, with 7,100 fans in attendance.) I also loved the whole local vibe—there was a giant L.L. Bean duck boot out in right field, and whenever the home team hit a home run, a giant lighthouse arose from underground in the scoreboard. It rotated its light a couple times, then disappeared. I thought it was hysterical.
The game, like any other baseball game, had a loud, obnoxious guy seated behind us. The difference here was that everybody knew him, including the security guards, so he never got too out of control. I loved when he started yelling at the players (who could totally hear him, we were that close!) to hit the dang ball.
“Hit it outta the ballPAHK!” he screamed in a thick Maine accent, and I silently applauded him in my head for his awesome accent.
“Yeah, Mahk,” I whispered to my son., “Hit it outta the pahk!” We both giggled uncontrollably.
Amber picked us up just before the game ended. Mark was bummed, because it was bobble-head night, but only for the first 1,000 people (which we were not). He was scouring the seats for any forgotten bobble-heads and was mad I dragged him away before he found one.
I was finally able to lure him away by gently reminding him that there was a lobster in the fridge at home, just waiting to scare the bejesus out of Amber. He didn’t care much about the lobster, but the thought of Amber’s face when she saw it—that actually made him giddy. He left willingly with that promise.
Amber lived up to her part, too. When Edra took the lobster from the fridge and held it up to Amber, I thought Am might scream. Instead, she squirmed and gagged and quickly moved away. Which Mark thought was hilarious, so Edra did it again. Amber was finally brave enough to actually touch the lobster, but I saw her shiver when she did.
And so we ended another busy day in Portland. I was really beginning to dig Maine…
