Our splurge was always eastern lobster.  Nothing tastes better.  Nothing.  Before we moved west, Phyllis’ “supplier” was a thirty-something fisherman “up the (Winthrop) centuh”.  She’d phone him, then saunter onto the pier in his backyard looking like Miss Universe.  She’d smiled that killer smile and flirted with him.  Then he’d drool and give her whatever 2 or 3 pounders she’d pick, for like a dollar.

Our all-time favorite restaurant was J.T.’s., out in Wayland, but way worth the ride.  All you can eat chicken (one pound) lobsters.  Nirvana.

Usually when we returned flying west, we’d pack “some guys” in ice and bring back dinner.  Sometimes friends or family would visit and bring “some guys”.  My lobster-cooking high school, college roommate, and bff Mike’s stated goal, when we visited Quincy, was “to try and get you to say ‘:That’s enough; no more lobster.’” (never happened.)   Mike was THE big cheese at Mass Medical and NE Journal of Medicine, so sometimes he came west for meetings and conventions.  We kept a big lobster pot in our garage, and Mike’d bring 8 or 10 pounders.

Phyl always ate straight out of the shell, never with butter or a side dish.   After we married, if we were in Massachusetts, we’d go out and order twin lobsters in Winthrop.  If we were home, I’d cook ‘em myself.  She would not watch me put ‘em in the pot, but she wasn’t above yelling from the next room, “You better not overcook ‘em!”   The subsequent procedure was always the same….She made me take off the antennae and eyes, because “I can’t eat, if the poor thing’s looking at me.”  After the first bite, she’d always say, “Sweet as sugah”.  And after she’d eaten the claws, she’d always lie and say something like. “I’m full.  You have the tail.”  Then we’d share the tail.  That was myphyllis.