Monday, August 27, 2012

Lobstah Roll Badger's Island

My younger sister called from her drive to Maine. She was heading north to spend some time on Watchic Lake. I had hoped to join her on the ride, but financial obligations required my staying in New York. We asked me about the Red Sox and I snapped, "I don't want to talk about them until next year." The 2011 collapse and the disastrous 2012 opening had soured my faithfulness to the hometown team. "A little grumpy these days?" My younger sister warned that I was starting to sound obstreperous and I had to agree with her assessment. She also asked me to kick her in the knee, if she was short with people. "This I can do." "I'll talk to you later. I'm at the Portsmouth rotary and I'm getting off to find a McDonalds." "I have a better idea." I was at my desk and hit Google maps for Portsmouth. My new connection is fast and a satellite image of the Piscataqua River. "There's a lobster shack on Baxter's Island. I've stopped there a few times coming back from Maine. It's the last place to get real Maine lobster." "I don't want to waste a lot of time." It was a beautiful afternoon in Fort Greene. I could only imagine how nice it was in Maine. "I know, but you don't want to eat at Mickey Ds either." The younger sister ate well, but still subscribed to fast food on the road. In most cases there wasn't much of a choice, but I said, "Cross the Route 1 Bridge and then drive over to the old bridge. Ignore the signs saying the bridge is closed, because you're only going to Badger Island. The lobster shack in on the right." It was a short distance and I guided her through the turns. "I see it now. It's called the Weathervane." "That's it." I'll let you know how it is." "Love from old Grumpy." 30 minutes later she sent a photo of her lobster roll. The bun wasn't grilled, but it looked better than good. I'm sure it was.

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