- Aimee Levitt
- A plate of french fries and lobster roll
Last week I noticed a few desperate posts from the east coast portion of my Facebook feed that consisted of a few pithy sentences mourning the end of lobster season and photos of valedictory lobster rolls. The end of lobster season coincides with Labor Day, and it’s apparently a very sad time. But I was distracted by the pictures of the lobster rolls.
As far as lobster rolls go, this one was petite, dwarfed by a plateful of fries. The size and the price kept it from being perfect; $24.50 seemed a bit excessive to me. (You can, however, get one that’s similar, if not identical, for $17.50 at Mercadito’s Municipal Bar.) But it was tasty, with the right proportions of creamy mayo and tender lobster and chewy, buttery bread, with pleasing hints of lemon and tarragon and onion. In other words, it tasted just like it was supposed to, not like childhood and salty air and nostalgia (which was good, because I’d already seen Boyhood that day and was already feeling melancholy about the passage of time), but like a rare treat and a luxury.
