Woohoo: Atlantic Lobster
Sinking my teeth into this baby feels like I’ve captured heaven right on my plate. From the shores of the Atlantic, my little Nova Scotian friend is a companion to not only my stomach, but to my mind and soul.
The decadent, sweet meat, fresh from the boiling pot, now drips with butter, garlic and an assortment of other spices that have me yearning to gorge on this tasty dish on a regular basis. Aside from the fact that my poor buddy was thrown into the bubbling pot while still alive — its drowning screams silenced by the deathly darkness — the resulting delicacy plucked from the stove has left billions of stomachs pleasantly satisfied for thousands of years.
Thank you, my sharp-pincered, brilliantly scarlet friend.
Boohoo: The McLobster
The box emblazoned with “limited time only” has me curious, excited, and slightly apprehensive. While still coming to terms with the fact that the fast-food symbol of American obesity regularly serves lobster in the Atlantic parts of Canada, I cautiously open the box and witness a confusing hodge-podge of lettuce, cucumber, and something red in a mysterious goopy sauce — a lobster salad in a hot dog bun? Here goes.
My fingers explore the warm, crispy bread-casing and I take a bite.
Ice fucking cold. Really?
A strong lemon-mayo flavour impedes my taste-buds from accessing the good stuff — that sweet, soul-comforting ocean bliss. I expected butter, I expected garlic, I expected it to be hot. Instead what I got was an icy, confusing mess like something my mother experimented with, didn’t like, then forgot in the fridge for four days.
Thanks, McDonald’s, for ruining lobster.
