Remains of the Day...

We told everyone we were going backpacking but decided to stay home and brave the wilds tomorrow (the weather forecast is better), dining tonight on barbecued lobster tails a la Bob (his choice)in honor of my 56th birthday.

Keep in mind we have never cooked lobster in the 17 years of our marriage,nor during the 5-plus years of our courtship. Not that we haven't had extravagant and memorable meals, but we have never cooked lobster at home. Until tonight. What got into him, I don't know, but he went out in the rain and came home with wild-caught lobster tails, which he then pre-cut (very important, after hearing Rose's story about how Bruce made them for Joyce long ago, but they didn't have the proper implements, didn't pre-cut them, and ended up resorting to hammers, pliers, and frustration...)

Meanwhile, in true Leo style, I lounged my Big Day away, mostly in bed, reading, writing, and taking calls from well-wishers. No, I don't feel guilty at all. Many a year I worked on my birthday, and no lobster for me, so don't even go there.

There was the usual amount of cursing in the kitchen as Bob struggled with the kitchen shears to pre-split the carapaces (can lobster shells be called carapaces?), but I stayed snug up in my lair, content to be waited on. Oh, I did husk the corn-on-the-cob, which he bought to go along with the barbecued lobster tails with chive butter. It was a buttery meal. Lobster and corn were the vehicles for butter...

In between rain showers, Bob lit the grill, broiled the bugs, and at 9 o'clock, we toasted another year, poured a glass of chilled Chateau St. Jean, and ripped into the delicacy. Pictured, are the remains of the day.

Tomorrow night, with any luck, we'll be cooking on a campfire. It won't be lobster, but it'll be damned fine.