That not everyone can know the deliciousness of a lobster roll is a sad, sad thing.

Blind people always fill me with incredible sadness. The thought of living in a world of permanent darkness, of not having any idea what clouds look like or the ocean or a full moon— I just can’t wrap my mind around it. I feel the same way about my boyfriend’s shellfish allergy, especially when it comes to lobster rolls.

God, I love lobster rolls. And that’s something I’ll never be able to share with my darling Flaneur. When my fingers and lips are slick with butter and my cheeks are chipmunk-full of  juicy chunks of sweet lobster meat, he’ll have no idea what joy I’m experiencing. And that makes me sad.

A pretty perfect little lunch at Luke's.

Yesterday, during what was a dreary, rainy afternoon, I cut across town to have a lobster roll in the East Village at Luke’s Lobster, figuring it was best to get my lobster roll eating done before he comes back (two weeks from today… yay!). While the lobster roll was slightly on the small side (or maybe I’m just slightly on the fatass side… a more likely possibility), it was absolutely delicious. The lightly toasted, buttered bun was soft and doughy and the hunks of beautifully colored orangey, pink lobster meat were smooth and sweet, with just the perfect amount of mayo, butter and spices. With a frosty Maine Root root beer and a bag of my favorite sea salt and cracked pepper Miss Vickie’s potato chips, I was happy as a clam.

Ironically enough, the bf called me while, I was eating. When I explained what a fantastic lunch I was having he said, “Hmm. I’ve never even had lobster. I can’t even imagine.”

Ugh, it breaks my lobster-roll-loving heart every time.