Don’t Chunder Near My Chowda

So I spent last week in the great state of Maine. There are many reasons to love Maine, but I am only obsessed with one of them: Lobsters. Lots and lots of lobsters.

A face only a mother could love. 

There is no better time to be in Maine for lobster lovers than early August, thanks to the Maine Lobster Festival in Rockland. It’s a weeklong celebration of crustaceans, and though there are bands, arts and crafts, games, speed knitting (seriously) and cooking contests - the 20,000 pounds of lobster they serve up in the food tent is why I attend. Picnic tables lined the inside of the food tent, with an open isle down the center that included large trashcans. After eating my first two whole Giant Sea Cockroaches, I headed back to get another. The moment I stood up, I noticed a young teenager right next to me with his head buried in a trash can tossing his cookies. Maybe he had a bad clam, maybe he was just sick. But I ignored it, and went up front and grabbed Lobster #3. On my way back, I noticed that Chucky McPuke-a-lot was sitting down next to his garbage can, and the kid’s mother was now looking in the can, presumably looking at her sons expensive but hardly enjoyed lunch. Right when I was thinking that that was a bit odd (and by “odd”, I mean disgusting), the lady’s mouth exploded and added to the seemingly growing pile of awesomeness somewhere deep in that can.

Most people would probably lose their appetite at this point (in fact, some of you may want to skip lunch after reading this). However I didn’t drive 13 hours to miss out on my 10-legged friends. I sat down at my table, just a few feet from the Chunder family and gleefully cracked some claw to the sounds of somebody’s stomach being turned upside down just a few feet away.

Nothing comes between me and my Lobstah.

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