Lobster Migration

“It’s imported.” The phrase has a certain cachet, doesn’t it? Imported caviar from Russia, imported Italian sports cars. Especially in New York City, it seems there’s nothing you can’t have if you’ve got the cash and you know the best source. And boy do we have an addictive source for you.

We can’t really justify the caviar, and we certainly have no use for fine automobiles on the farm (although Charlie Scott might argue otherwise), but not all imports have to break the bank. We like ours in the under 20 dollar category, and so we give you: lobster rolls from Luke’s Lobster. It’s a food from the gods, really—all the drool-inducing taste, and none of the work cracking open the claws. And once upon a time it was only available seaside in the summertime. Enter the importers.

It starts in Maine, where owner Luke Holden’s father runs a seafood processing company. The best of the day’s lobster claws are trucked straight to Manhattan, where the lobster meat is lightly seasoned, piled atop a perfectly toasted roll, and served with chips and a pickle the size of your hand. When I took a (generally polite) friend there last month, I asked her what she would do if I ate her last remaining bite. She whipped around like an angry lioness protecting her cubs, and stated bluntly, “I’ll kill you.” There was an expletive used that I can’t print, but you get the picture. Stick with your own roll.

If states had embassies we would recommend this little shop as Maine’s. And if I had my way, Luke would be importing further north; all the way up to Canada.

Amy Smithers is a vegaquarian who will never visit New York without a stop at Luke’s. If your mouth is full, but you’d like help planning a trip, email us.