The Tale 

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The year is 2018. Second year of a computer animation course, my boyfriend Rory and I both have a fortnight to animate lobster walk cycles- we could have done a woodlouse, but where’s the fun in that? Lobsters are exotic, you don’t find them in the garden shed. Perhaps if you did, they would be much easier to research, but then- we wanted a challenge.

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Enter Pinchy.

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A sweet little crustacean with a horrific set of teeth. I don’t know if you’ve ever gotten up close and personal with a lobster, but there is a toothy underbelly you don’t see on nature docs-  jutting angular protrusions that cover the whole of his front carapace in a huge grinning maw that only a mother could love.

Except, his mother didn’t love him, which is how he came to live in Cardiff Street market, on sale for £20.

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Now, we captured some reference footage of Pinchy as he scrambled his way along the bottom of the tank, amongst a writhing tide of his brothers and sisters, but obscured by water and other entrees, this wasn’t the best film to animate off. It became clear we had to take him back to a more neutral space.

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Luckily, he was a scrawny boy and didn’t set the scales alight, so we could both afford tenner each. Better to fritter your maintenance loan on crustaceans than crack cocaine, I always say.

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He was carried home in a little box scratting and scuffling. The housemates at first thought we had broken the “no pets allowed “rule, but we explained this wasn’t a pet, more of a dinner option we wanted to film first.

“A snuff film.” They said.

“A nature documentary.” We argued.

Both Rozza and I agreed that to eat him was best-after all, we couldn’t release him back into the sea after all this. Poor bugger was institutionalised now- first taste of actual waves, and he’d be washed up in pieces on the rocks. He’d also been captured once, so likely the other lobsters would take the piss as soon as they saw him, and that’s no life for our decapod. He would be eaten and enjoyed.

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He had started to grow on us by now,so the idea of boiling him alive- to lock in flavour- was also mooted. He’d taste good regardless and there was no need to be cruel. You can’t torture a poor creature you’ve already named.  He certainly lived up to the tag, wiggling his taped claws and flexing his mandibles as he prattled on the countertop. We found him a cauldron to sit in between takes so he could keep cool and refresh on water.

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Over the next half hour, we became more, not less, attached.

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By tea time, we had added a small sprinkling to salt water to his cauldron and decided to keep him alive until after dinner, when we would release him in the Bay and pray, he could take it from there. Let him take his chances in the wild.

 Fate had brought us together, because fate we were the only two foodies in Cardiff soft enough to do it and Pinchy had too much personality to be kept in captivity- be it a tank, a pot, or my cursed stomach lining. . It was meant to be.

A happy little family, we left the lad in his pot and popped out to buy replacement meal from the spar shop, perhaps some fish food for Pinchy. He’d need his strength for tonight.

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We returned, to find disaster.

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Table salt, is not sea salt, an irrefutable fact. Table salt is deadly.

What was meant to keep our boy alive an extra hour, had the opposite effect- he was poisoned with seasoning.  It meant the flesh was flavoursome and tender, but our spirits were crushed. My conscience has never quite recovered from his corpse sat there. It was possibly worse than boiling. We gave the boy false hope, and in turn, he gave us a beautiful meal.

The Recipe 

If you want to recreate this, under much lighter circumstances- pour me a glass of wine, and I'll give you the low down 

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Ingredients: 1 lobster, ¼ bottle of 150ml dry white wine, 1 shallot, fennel, parsley leaves, 1 tsp Dijon mustard, lemon, 1 table spoon mustard, 140g softened butter

Calories: 250

( We had boiled new potato with buttered shallots as a side which added the other 250)

Prep time: 20 mins 

Method:

The lobster must be dead, so either ask for this to be done by the fishmonger or do it yourself.

DIY:  The most humane way is to freeze it for 30- 60 minutes before hand so it is unconscious and then add it to a boiling pot 1” deep in water (around 4 minutes should do the trick.) Use tongs to retrieve it and run the carcass under cold water to prevent scolding. ( ie, the lobster’s revenge.)

Either that, or put it out of its misery with a knife to the head- just behind the eye. If you freeze the animal for 15 minutes beforehand, it is unconscious, and the meat is still tender.

Lobster: 

Preheat the grill to a medium heat.

Wipe the tears from your eyes and get a sharp knife.

Flip your lobster onto its back and hold the tail. Press the knife into the soft belly where the body meets the tail and cut towards you. Turn it 180 degrees and cut from the same starting point up to the head.

You can use a smaller knife ( and your fingers) to separate the meat from its body and claws.

Chop it into finer pieces on the chopping board and then place the meat back in the shell/ lobster ramekin.

Sauce:

Melt butter in your pan over medium heat, add shallots and one or two cloves of garlic (preference).

In a minute, these will start to soften and you can add double cream and white wine before bringing to the boil.

Once boiling, reduce by half before the cream has chance to curdle.

Add lemon, horseradish or fennel at your discretion.

Remove sauce from heat. 

Layer a sheet of grease proof paper on your baking tray and place the lobster halves onto it.

Spoon the sauce onto the flesh and grate Parmesan or mozzarella finely onto it.

Now grill on medium high for 4-5 minutes until golden brown.

Voila! Your lobster has been reborn into a creamy and succulent dish, perfect with a hearty side dish.

 

Two years later, I still wake up to the sound of scuttling. Is it Pinchy? Do his little armoured feet still thunder across counter tops in the otherworldly still of night? Does he forgive me for the salt bath, the butter I smeared along his corpse?

Do we have a rat issue? I am too sleepy to go downstairs and check on the footsteps.

I roll over, and vow never to make the same mistake again.

Do not name your food, people. Meals are not a game.