If we were having coffee, I’d tell you I was worried last night – I seriously thought I’d jinxed the Superbowl for my beloved by waiting to buy a lobster tail. Lesson learned: if you want lobstah rolls for dinner (to compliment a Patriots victory), you need to secure one prior to the day it’s wanted. Unless you want a whole lobster.
If you’re disappointed in the results I am sorry, but Paul is an unapologetic fan of his Patriots and I am an unapologetic fan of Paul’s, and since I understand next to nothing about football beyond the intent being for each team to run the ball to the opposite set of goalposts, my support comes in culinary form. Every year I devise a menu to support Paul and whatever he is supporting.
Paul is South Boston born and bred so his teams are naturally the Celtics, Bruins, Red Sox, Notre Dame for college football, and the New England Patriots for professional. Considering what we’d eaten in Boston and Rhode Island, mostly seafood, with me ordering clam chowder everywhere I went and only once in a restaurant since then which was every bit as disappointing as I suspected it would be. So I thought, how ’bout some lobstah rolls and clam chowdah to cheer our Patriots to victory?
We went with crab cakes for starters, since we couldn’t get a lobster tail. I made a spicy horseradish remoulade to top them and they were not at all a disappointing substitution but, after the abysmal first half of the game I worried I’d ventured too far south with my cooking, gotten too close to the culinary Georgia border.
We had our chowdah topped with some spicy Cajun oyster crackers I made, and watched Lady Gaga turn in a beautiful, high energy performance, her only politics being a gorgeous medley of American anthems before literally diving into Born This Way. We had a plump slice each of the Boston Cream Pie I had planned as a celebratory dessert, now used to stun our sorrow into submission with sugar and transfats.
We switched over to PBS’s Victoria and felt a bit sorry for the poor young queen as she learned most of the men she’s loved in her life were all too human, just like Tom Brady, apparently.
But then, a last switching over to see how bad it is and what is this miracle? A victory snatched from the jaws of defeat! Paul’s nephew in New England screaming at the haters in all caps on Facebook! An excuse to eat another slice of Boston Cream Pie! (Which we didn’t, because we are Adults, and therefore Sensible, most of the time.)
If we were having coffee I’d pour you another cup if you were feeling a bit poorly after your Superbowl Sunday, whether that was caused by over indulgence or disappointment, and send you on your way with a slice of Boston Cream Pie for later.