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"A LOBSTER IS A LOBSTER IS A LOBSTER," you say. "What's the difference?"
Nawt from these pahts, ah yah?
Mainers have argued for generations over the subtlest details of a lobster dinner: Boiled or steamed? Cooked in salt water or fresh? Hard-shell or soft? (Hard-shells have more meat, while recently molted soft-shells are said to be sweeter.) Then there's the all-important lobster roll: Butter or mayo? Warm or chilled? Hot dog or hamburger bun? Potato chips or—well, everyone serves potato chips. But that's about the only point of agreement.
Finally, there's the place itself. The ideal lobster shack isn't always a shack, but it should be modest and well-weathered. Waiters are never a good sign. Other rules: No cutlery, besides a nutcracker (some hard-knuckled veterans don't even believe in those). Tables on or facing the water. Any lobster traps in view should be working ones, not hung from the ceiling. Cloth napkins are pretentious—Handi Wipes will do fine. No air-conditioning, nothing "au gratin," and, if possible, no signed photos of the Bush family. Oh, and definitely no steak. Steak is for wimps.
Last summer I combed the Maine coast from Camden to Kittery, consuming more lobster in one week than I'd considered humanly possible. From north to south, here are my 10 favorite spots.
