Then I heard a WHACK, followed by a splat. I looked sideways at my neighbor. She was just putting down a square rock of black granite. Her lobster was splayed open and she was drowning it in melted butter. She squeezed a lemon and droplets of sparkling wetness glistened on the pink fl esh.

I hefted the rock.

was no crawfi sh, and I was a long way from Louisiana.

So this is how you do things in Maine, I thought as I whammed the rock down on the waiting claws.

Thus began a week of eating lobster, punctuated by exploring the coast of Maine. We saw lighthouses and went hiking on the Atlantic’s cliffs and took in the Maine scenery — but we planned our itinerary by the number of lobster shacks in the area.

We were on a mission. A lobster eating mission.

Preparations for our mission began while we were still in Lake Charles. We spent hours on the internet looking for blogs about the best Maine lobster shacks. Yes, we also looked up hiking trails and shopping sites (the L.L. Bean “campus” takes up most of the town of Freeport), but mainly we were reading about lobster.

And the lobster did not disappoint. Of the whole enjoyable week, three experiences stand out: eating our first whole lobster at the Five Island Lobster Company, eating our first lobster roll at Erica’s Seafood; and our entire stay in the remote village of Stonington, which turned out to be the epicenter of the Maine lobster industry.

The big lobster 

To get to the Five Islands Lobster Company we had to drive to Georgetown, population 1,042, located on an island off the mid coast of Maine. It looked just like I was hoping it would look. The dock was loaded with yellow and green traps, ready to be submerged in the sea. Lobstermen in high rubber boots with sea-legged dogs at their sides unloaded the catch of the day. We looked out into the harbor and counted fi ve sprucecovered islands. Suddenly the name of the place made sense. Five Islands Lobster Company.

The wooden lobster shack itself was painted a no-nonsense red brick color, and inside there were living lobsters in tanks of fresh seawater. Another shack, painted silver, served soft drinks, lobster rolls, onion rings and such. Almost all the staff at Five Islands was college students home for the summer and working their way through school via lobster.

One of the students plucked the lobsters we choose from the tank, and set them to steam in saltwater as we took a seat outdoors at a picnic table. (Lobster shacks, by definition, are outdoor affairs; they do not have indoor seating.)

The lobsters arrived, big and beautiful, and were served with bibs, nutcrackers, and the aforementioned black granite rock. The rock was necessary to crack the claws of the really big lobsters (like ours) because it was still spring and the lobsters hadn’t molted. Later in the summer, after molting, you wouldn’t need a rock, our student waitress said. The shells would be soft and the meat even sweeter.

That was hard to believe, because when we finally cracked the claws and tails, it was delicious. We thought we had reached the nirvana of lobster eating with our very first lobster.

The lobster roll 

The next day we drove toward Harpswell Point. We were not prepared for the road. The peninsula is narrow and at times you could see ocean inlets on both sides of the road. We crossed the 1928 Cribstone Bridge, famous (in civil engineering circles, at least) because it was built with unique “cribs” of granite. It looked to me like one giant lobster trap.

Finding the center of the town of Harpswell was a challenge — the town seemed to be more water than land. Later we found out that the town is only 22 square miles but those miles are located over three islands. It has 200 miles of coastline, the longest coastline of any town in Maine. It also has a long American history

— it was settled 1689 and the “minute men” fought there during the Revolutionary War.

Our quest that day was a “real” restaurant, the Dolphin Marina and Restaurant. It was built in 1966 and had recently been remodeled into a gorgeous, full-service restaurant with wraparound floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a bit cold; we thought it sounded cozy.

The road ended at the restaurant and we were about to enter the parking lot. But then we saw a small sign — “Erica’s Seafood. Lobster $5.25 lb.”

$5.25!

The shack was cute. It was painted white and decorated with a huge wooden lobster painted red. We changed plans.

The owners of Erica’s Seafood are Tom Butler and Andrea Hunter, both natives of Harpswell. Tom’s grandparents were the original owners of the Dolphin Marina and he grew up in the seafood industry. Andrea started working in restaurants when she was 15 and she met Tom while working at the Dolphin Marina. He taught her about the seafood industry.

In 2003, Tom built his own wharf next to the restaurant. Commercial fishermen, explained Andrea, all work out of wharfs. They bring their catch to a particular wharf; the wharf ’s owner buys what they’ve caught and sells it to a wholesaler. The wharfs may look picturesque, but they are all business.

Tom leased his wharf for a few years and fished for scallops out of state (he still fishes for scallops during the coldest months of winter). After a couple years he expanded the number of boats that fished out of his wharf, then started selling lobster to customers, not just to wholesalers.

By 2011, Andrea and Tom were ready to take the big plunge and build their own lobster shack. They named it “Erica’s Seafood” in honor of their daughter, Erica. Andrea ran the lobster shack and Tom cooked whole lobsters for anyone coming to the wharf who wanted to eat.

At $5.25 a pound, Tom’s lobsters are not only fresh; they are cheap.

“There’s no middleman,” Andrea says. “For a restaurant, the lobster goes from the boat to the wharf to the wholesaler and finally to the restaurant. Our lobster goes from the boat to the cooking pot.”

Andrea is a master of the lobster roll. She has a reputation for being among the best. “Sally Lerman, author of “Lobster Rolls of New England,” thought she was a chef. “I assumed [Erica’s Seafood] was run by a chef — it’s just that good,” she writes.

A lobster roll is simply pure lobster meat in a bun that has been buttered and toasted on both sides. There’s no work to eating one; there are no claws, no shell, no need for nutcrackers (much less a rock), and no need for a bib.

Of course I ordered one.

The hallmark of a great lobster roll, according to Andrea, is fresh, hand picked meat. In her case, it comes right off her husband’s dock. “It can’t get any fresher than that,” she said.

She also very sparing with mayonnaise, the usual binder. “It should taste like Maine,” Andrea said. And, looking out over the pretty harbor and the boats bobbing in the blue sea, I knew she was right. It did.

Stonington

For a person on a lobster quest, the little town of Stonington might be the Holy Grail.

We crossed three islands before getting to this rustic, rural, absolutely gorgeous Maine town located at the very end of the road on Deer Isle.

With a population of only 1,200 people, it is a close-knit community. Graduation from high school is celebrated by the whole town. One tradition may be unique: everyone — parents, grandparents, siblings, friends — dresses up and attends the junior prom.

So it was quite the surprise to find that little Stonington is also Maine’s number one port for lobster. Almost $50 million worth of lobster came through its wharfs in 2013, according to Maine’s Department of Marine Resources.

We were lucky to find Stonington, and just as lucky with our choice of lodging. We stayed at Boyce’s Motel, where the innkeeper, Barrett Gray, provides sea-to-table lobster meals. He sent us across the street to the Stonington Lobster Co-op to meet a lobster boat and pick out our lobsters. Then he delivered those lobster to us at dinner, perfectly steamed, with melted Maine butter, lemon, and corn-on-thecob on the side.

Barrett’s great-grandmother and grandparents opened the hotel in 1961, and he started working with them while he was in elementary school. At first he just mowed the grass and ran errands, but soon his grandfather had him running a gift shop. In junior high he was responsible for housekeeping chores, which he despised.

Somewhere along the line he became proficient in steaming lobster in the family’s enamel kettle. He says he doesn’t remember learning how — “If you grow up on the coast, it’s just something you know how to do.”

In 2000, two weeks after graduating college with a degree in hospitality management, he bought the motel from his grandparents. “Now I’m glad I had all those housekeeping duties,” he said. “It gave me an understanding and appreciation for what needs to be done.”

The stock market crash of 2008 hurt the lobstermen in Stonington. People looked at lobster as a luxury and stopping buying.

Barrett responded by cooking. “Offering to steam lobster for our guests was my way of helping the fishermen,” he said. “I thought, if I can cook lobster for them, maybe it will move a few lobster and it will help.” He’s never stopped.

“I’m very comfortable on the island,” he said. “This is a great place to live. It’s very rural and that’s a part of its beauty. Even in the height of the tourist season, it’s not too crowded. You can always find a parking place.”

And, even in winter when snow is covering the ground, you can always find lobster in Stonington. “I’ll be glad to cook it for you,” he said. “We’ll be open.”

Pieces of bright red shells were strewn about the plate. The claws lay open, revealing the smooth flesh. I parted a small perfect piece and submerged it in warm melted butter. It tasted even sweeter as it responded to the yellow liquid. I continued to explore. I held the tail firmly in my left hand, and my right hand arched the lobster’s back until it came unhinged. The crack was loud and satisfying. The tail, separated from the body, now lay limply in my hand. I knew I could open it and it would be very good.

Louisiana’s crawfish were a distant, albeit spicy, memory. I knew I would return to the little creatures, and gladly sprinkle them with Tony Chacheres and suck the heads. But not yet. We were in Maine, and our mission was not finished. There more lobsters to eat. And lobster rolls. And lobster stew. And I had just seen a sign for lobster ice cream.

But first, a nap.  

This story first appeared in the American Press on September 14, 2014