There is a certain time of year when hopping a flight out of Florida, leaving our ocean-cruising life and heading to New England seems like the thing to do.Last weekend was that time. The golden yellow of poplar trees and the cinnamon reds of the maples glowed out the window of our rental car as we headed out of Boston. The smile on my face grew deeper as the car rose and fell over the undulating hills a vast difference in topography from our home in flat, tropical Florida.
The late-in-the-year heat of the day made for a perfect afternoon to go boating. It had been a long time since we had been on a river, and the autumn colors of the Merrimac spotted with the muted drip of gray-green willow trees seemed like the perfect reintroduction to freshwater cruising.
It's strange not to taste salt when getting splashed with water, Patrick said, licking his lips as he pushed the wooden handcrafted boat off the dock. I reached over the side of the varnished rail to trail my hand through the cool water.
Or not to have crew, he added. We were cruising in a 22-foot run- about instead of the 140-foot yacht Patrick usually captained. It was just Patrick and me in the boat alone for a rare occasion in our yachting career. His smile curled with mischief. I like it.A warm breeze blew over my skin and through my hair as we passed grey wooden homes with white porthole windows. Each home we passed gave me a glimpse into Northern life. I loved the closeness of the riverbank compared to the vastness of the ocean.
I stretched out on the white leather seating to soak up as much sun as possible. With no guests to attend to and no need to wear a uniform, I intended to enjoy every minute of this boat ride. I relaxed further and waved to an elderly couple sitting in rocker chairs on their front porch, viewing the passing river as if they were watching TV.
It didn't take us long to switch our thoughts of boating to thoughts of lunch. Our whole weekend centered around the water, beginning with snacks of stuffed Quahog clams and steaming bowls of creamy chowder. We finished with dinners of Corvette- red, claw-heavy lobsters.Lobster roll? was all I had to say to convince Patrick to tie up the boat and head to the wooden shack in the harbor.Two, he ordered with confidence it wasn't our first lobster roll lunch of the trip.
We sat at a wooden picnic bench, watching the pebbled ripples of the water while devouring the griddled, overstuffed buns. The lobster consisted of claw and knuckle meat only, creating a sweet flavor and a soft, silky texture even tastier than its Caribbean relative. The hot, toasted buttery bun complemented the cool, creamy lobster salad perfectly. Crisp shredded lettuce in the bottom of the bun crunched with each bite.This might be the best one yet, I said through a mouthful of the roll.Patrick laughed. You said that about the last one.I smiled. We better try again tomorrow to make sure.Two more lobster rolls later, we rolled over the hills back to the airport, both agreeing that there is no better place to be than New England for a long weekend in fall.
Make the mayonnaise (see recipe below). Reserve any extra mayonnaise it yields for later use. Gently combine the lobster, mayonnaise, sea salt and pepper, coating the lobster meat well. Taste for seasoning. Brush the insides and outsides of the hotdog buns with the melted butter and place them split-side down in a frying pan on medium heat for three minutes to toast the insides. Turn the buns over to toast the bottoms for three minutes. Open up the hotdog buns and divide the lettuce between the buns, then top with lobster meat. Serve immediately. Enjoy!
Place the yolk, sea salt, black pepper, Dijon mustard, lemon juice and white wine vinegar in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the metal chopping blade. With the motor running, slowly drizzle in the canola oil, no faster than a fine stream, until all the oil is incorporated.