I was both thrilled and worried about Josie being born in Montana for a few reasons. 1) She might only like venison steaks and 2) she will never want to leave this vast state – much like her dad. Another reason, a little further down the list, is that she will not identify with New England, my home stomping ground and half her genetic make-up. I have already made her taste REAL Vermont maple syrup; I read her bedtime stories about Maine and Vermont; I dress her in Magic Hat Brewing Company and Shelburne Farms t-shirts; I even put up a Vermont license plate light switch cover in her bedroom…all in the hopes that my half of the genes will sink in.
Yesterday evening I took additional steps to strengthen Josie’s New England roots by taking her to Lobsterfest. Once a year, the Montana Club Restaurant hosts this event. They fly in fresh Maine lobsters for 2 days and poor land-locked Montanans can get a taste of the sea. I grew up vacationing in Maine every summer, and had my first lobster at age 2. I can clean a lobsta (as we say in Maine) with one hand tied behind my back and blind-folded and I am a purist – no butter and no shell cracker. These skills are completely irrelevant and useless living in Montana. Still, I hope that Josie will learn all these important tricks in solidarity.
Last year, Matt and I went to Lobsterfest while I was horribly pregnant, miserable and practically immobile. I had not left the house in weeks, but somehow dug deep to get my fat butt out the door for the taste of lobster.
This year lived up to the anticipation I had been feeling for a year. We squeezed Josie into a Maine Diner lobster t-shirt we retired 6 months ago and headed to the Montana Club at 3:30 to beat the rush.
Josie thought lobster was okay, but she LOVED the rolls – go figure. All and all, it was a-MAINE-zing (that was Matt’s bad joke).