butterscotch palace

My very first lobster, prepared by a holy man no less, was in my 37th year.  

I had travelled planes (Edmonton-Toronto), trains (Toronto-Moncton) and automobiles (Moncton-Fredericton) to my conference and wound up at a lobster boil on the lawn of the Anglican bishop of Fredericton.  That's him, above, holding my dinner.

The rectory was a beautiful two-story Maritime home sitting kitty-corner to both the Fredericton diocese's synod office and the lovely old cathedral.  We toured about the cathedral, listened to the history and admired the architecture then headed back over for juicy lobsters and local beer.

Funny, I am a Maritimer, but that darn lobster was so much work!  Seriously!  I could have starved by the time I got to all the parts of the thing.  And much of it was cold, too, when I got around to cracking the shell and digging out the meaty bits.  Of course, I just dipped it all in a healthy melted butter bath and it was all good.

So, I can honestly say, "thank you" for the experience but if I'm going to have to fight for my food perhaps I could chase down a buffalo or wrestle a chicken.