Dear Lyzako,A pair of firsts for me this holiday weekend have left me pondering the value of life, the preciousness of the moment and how strange it is that we are forced to depend to such a great degree on the fickle winds of Fortune and the arthritic Hand of Fate.
Sunday saw the sun climb high in a cloudless blue sky with temperatures topping out around seventy, a cool relaxed breeze whispering a reminder that spring wasn't over. No sir, not yet. Still in all, a near-perfect gem of a day, made even more precious by the fact that it had fallen smack dab in the middle of the long Memorial Day weekend.
Early Sunday afternoon, after mowing the lawn for just the second time this season, I began the onerous and much-delayed task of cleaning out the garage - tossing trash from a winter's worth of minor toil and mistakes, then sweeping the pocked and stained cement as free of dirt and debris as possible.
At some point I glanced across the fence and noticed that the back door of the neighboring house was standing open, a notable observation on my part since the house has been vacant for months and currently sits in a state of foreclosure limbo. I kept an eye on the place for a couple of hours to make sure there were no contractors moving about, then, fearing that the structure might be targeted for stripping (copper, aluminum, etc.) I made a quick phone call to the police.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi, I live next door to a vacant house that's been in foreclosure and I was just working out in my garage and noticed that the back door was open. It's probably nothing, but I was wondering if maybe somebody shouldn't come by to make sure that it's not being stripped or something.”
“Have you seen anybody around the house?”
“No. I walked around the place and I'm pretty sure that nobody's there.”
“What's your address?”
“__510 Montego.”
“And your name?”
“Last name Sherman, first name Martin.”
“And what's the address of the house?”
“I think it's __496, but whatever it is it's just one house to the south side of me.”
“Oh, that's easy enough. We'll send somebody by when we have a car free. In the meantime, if you do see anybody over there, call us back.”
“Thank you.”
The above conversation took place as I sat at my desk in front of the computer. I was on hold for a few minutes prior to the dispatcher picking up, so I'd been idly checking on a couple of items I was bidding for on Ebay, the most historically significant being a lot of six Players magazines, folded and stapled inside one of them a large poster of Pam Grier nude. I had topped the sixth bid with a high-end offer of forty bucks and was currently in the lead at thirty-three even. I checked the time remaining; the auction would be over in less than an hour.
Just outside my office window, the neighbor's stupid little pug began her incessant obnoxious barking. I donned my industrial strength ear muffs and continued to check on the remaining items I had been watching.
In less than five minutes from the point I hung up the phone, I could hear muffled voices shouting to me from the other room, from the direction of the house's side door, which I'd left standing open due to the warm weather. By the time I'd pulled the ear protectors off, I could hear the voices were getting louder, more abrupt.
“Hang on,” I shouted, “I'm coming!”
When I turned the corner into the kitchen, ear muffs in hand, I was shocked to see a stocky, very young-looking cop aiming his pistol at me in a firing stance as he leaned through the kitchen door from the stairwell, his round head topped with a crew cut and sweat running down his forehead.
“Jesus Christ, man!” I cried. “What the fuck?! Jesus Christ!”
“Is this your house?”
“Yes, the house next door is the problem! Jesus Christ, man! Thanks for not shooting me!”
It didn't seem to bother either Starsky or his partner (who was standing right behind him as back up) that those ear muffs I was carrying could have easily been mistaken for a weapon, in which case a nervous Starsky quite probably would have put a slug into my chest from point blank range. I tried to explain to them that the dog was barking, which is why I had the ear muffs on, which is why I didn't hear them, but they just walked next door and into the back yard.
As I stood there watching, they tried the screen door and found it latched. Starsky looked at me. “It's locked,” he said. Hutch shrugged his shoulders.
“But the inside door's open, right?” I asked.
Starsky nodded. “This one's latched, though.” Hutch shrugged again. And they left.
First Number One: I had a loaded gun aimed at me in my own house.
Just before noon on Friday I got a phone call from a friend that I hadn't seen in some time. He was thinking of heading my way and meeting me for lunch and he wondered if I was interested. I was still in my shorts, hadn't showered, but I was looking for a good reason to take the rest of the day off and get my holiday weekend started so I readily agreed.
Joe arrived carrying a red cooler bag which dangled by a strap from his hand. “I brought you something,” he said. “If you want it.” Joe tossed the bag onto the counter next to the stove and unzipped it to reveal a beautiful live lobster weighing in at about a pound-and-a-half. “I just got back from Maine,” he said. “I brought back fifteen of them at $7.99 a pound. What do you think?”
“Do you mean do I want it? Shit yeah,” I said. I'd never cooked a live lobster before. “I've never cooked a live lobster before,” I said. “I'll have to cook it tonight, right?”
“It should be good for another day or so, but I'd cook it tomorrow. Just keep it in the refrigerator.”
We put it in my soup kettle, slid the kettle into the fridge and I drove us downtown for a fresh and simple Mexican lunch at Senor Lopez. Dos cervezas each, the sun shining into the south-facing window, the traffic floating by on Michigan Avenue and that shapely waitress scurrying about issuing her “Ev'ry'ting hokay?s” at three-minute intervals while her skin-tight designer jeans spoke silent volumes in a language every heterosexual man in the world understands.
Saturday, I ate lobster.
First Number Two: I boiled a live lobster, then grilled it over hot coals as I drank beer and the sun sank, before devouring the savory mess as I sat at the kitchen table just five feet from where that thick-necked ape of a cop would nearly shoot me the very next day.
The contrast between the two 'Firsts' is astonishing, I think. Especially noteworthy is the fact that the two events fell less than twenty-four hours apart. It made me think long and hard about the nature of luck, which in turn made me feel completely impotent and helpless when forced to contend with the luck of nature.
Like the lobster, who one minute was more than likely napping in the cool dark confines of his new-found home in my refrigerator before being suddenly thrust to die in a pot of scalding water, I, too, was to be caught between a moment of relative comfort as I sat on a beautiful sunny Sunday in my own home and a sudden moment where death loomed, a trained marksman aiming a pistol at my chest and looking for a reason to squeeze the trigger.
Luckily for me, that overzealous cop didn't flinch. But I figure that even if he had, I still would have been a little lucky this past weekend.
Suppose he had shot me yesterday and I hadn't survived. Well, at least I would have died with lobster remnants in my digestive tract. The first live lobster I'd ever cooked!
Regards and Happy Holiday!
Marty Sherman
P.S. I won those magazines, by the way. I'm off on a work trip this week, but by the time I return on Saturday they should be folded in half and ham-handedly jammed into my mailbox by my friendly neighborhood postal carrier. I'm trembling with anticipation.
GRILLED LOBSTER A LA SHERMANBest as a dinner for two, you can always serve this up as one big lobster boil at a party. Rent or buy one of those propane-powered turkey fryers and fill it with water instead!
Two 1 1/2 - 2 lb. live lobsters
Two or more large potatoes
Vegetables for grilling (use any or all of the following: zucchini, squash, asparagus, onion)
Two or more lemons
One-half stick salted butter
Olive oil
Salt and freshly-ground black pepper to taste
-Bring large kettle of water to boil, add 1/3 cup sea salt per gallon (or use sea water)
-Keep live lobsters in refrigerator until just prior to boiling. Snip rubber bands from claws with kitchen shears then drop headfirst into boiling water, using tongs as necessary to move them once they're in the pot. Boil 15 minutes per pound.
-Remove from boiling water to cool. Start coals for grilling.
-While coals are getting ready, microwave potatoes five minutes or until cooked through but still firm, cut in quarters
-Prepare vegetables by cutting zucchini or squash into halves lengthwise. Leave asparagus whole trimming tough skin at base of stem. Marinate all (including potatoes) in olive oil, salt and pepper to taste.
-Using sharp chef's knife, cut lobsters in half lengthwise along the line down the back of the shell, crack claws, brush with butter, drizzle with lemon juice, add salt and pepper to taste.
-When coals are hot, move all to one side and grill the vegetables evenly. Move vegetables to cooler side of the grill when done, then place lobster halves over hot coals shell-side down, basting with melted butter. Grill ten minutes.
-Baste lobsters a final time with butter then turn flesh side down. Grill for five to ten minutes until shell is bright red.
-Serve immediately with lemon wedges and ice cold beer.
A messy repast, I recommend that you and your significant other forgo the bib option altogether. Simply put down a plastic tarp, strip down naked and let the glorious juice fall where it may!
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