The package from Maine had arrived. My twin sister Rose and I darted to the front door to retrieve the large, heavy box. Together we pushed and lugged the case into the kitchen. Being only seven year old, my mom helped us slice through the firm packaging material. We emptied the Styrofoam packing peanuts until we felt a large, lidded pot. Because our kitchen island was tall and the pot was heavy my mom lifted the marble-stone pot onto the counter, and we climbed up. With white sneakers on my feet, I stood on the counter and held my nose as I lifted the lid from the pot. It was not long after this that my sister peered inside, and cold smoke and a salty fishy smell wafted through our family kitchen.

Inside the bulky pot were seven lobsters squished together and surrounded by dry ice. They had traveled on a plane and truck to arrive in California and were immobilized by the ice from the cross-country trip. Avoiding the dry ice, Rose and I reached our fingers around the lobsters and pulled them out one by one. We placed their greenish-black, cold bodies on the clean polished wood floor. Suddenly, with room to move and the warm air they began to wake up, squirm and flap their tails as if rising from hibernation. It was time for some lobster racing!

The most excitement and fun of this long distance gourmet supper was watching the lobsters’ race across the floor. My sister and I created this event and constructed a racecourse. Rose moved the dinner table benches and chairs away, while I rounded up our cat and dog to see if they would join in the race, but not eat the lobsters before we had. The final steps before starting the race was getting our dad and brother to abandon their football game, and get my mom to pay attention to the race. 

I crouched down next to the lobster and gave each on a pep talk.  I let them know that this was their chance for glory. Rose yelled, “Ready, Set, Go!” The lobsters did not budge. The race was dull so we decided to add the cat and the dog in. Unfortunately they began to inch themselves closer to the lobsters and after a quick sniff, they ran away. My dad became impatient waiting for the lobsters to move and preferred to be rooting for his favorite team the NY Giants rather than the lobsters on the kitchen floor. It seemed no matter what we did to coerce the lobsters to get moving they would either move in the wrong direction or not at all.

Despite the stubborn lobsters, Rose and I were still invested in the event. We decided to get involved with the outcome of the race and help the lobsters to the finish line, by pushing them forward. My parents saw through our charade of a race and were eager to get dinner on the table. After ridding the floor of lobster juices and taking a couple of Advil, my mom asked us to hand over the lobsters that were about to become dinner, we stalled. With out hands smelling of fish, and the lobster race not finished we wanted to continue to play and were not keen on saying goodbye to our new lobster friends. My mom patiently waited for us to cooperate. I thought, hey this lobster would make a good pet, anything from facing the inevitable. I attempted to make the lobster a stowaway and keep him cozy in our bathtub with warm water and kosher salt. In the end, we had to declare the winner of the race (which only won by a few centimeters) and as per tradition the champion would be the first dropped in the pot. Before it was submerged into the boiling water I gave it a farewell kiss and said goodbye.

It was scary to watch the lobsters transform from blackish-green to bright red in the boiling water. I always shut my eyes, because even though the end result was a delicious dinner, the process felt barbaric. Finally, my sister and I put on our lobster aprons and used our lobster crackers to scavenge for sumptuous meat. My hands and lips were constantly filled with melted butter and chewy lobster. By the end of the meal, I was already looking forward to next years lobster race dinner. It was a fun, exciting, and delicious special tradition that is one of my most treasured childhood memories.