In a few days, a bunch of old white dudes are going to do everything in their power to discredit a woman who claims that, as a teenager, a man who’s a few footsteps away from a lifetime appointment to the highest court in the land sexually assaulted her at a high school party. I can’t say for sure what will come out in the hearings, but I’m reasonably certain it’s going to be ugly. Until then, though, we look toward the great state of Maine (I’ve never been there, but I’ve seen pictures, and it looks really nice), not because it’s home to Republican Senator Susan Collins, one of the few in the GOP who may bar Judge Brett Kavanaugh’s path to the Supreme Court, but because Maine state health inspectors are investigating a restaurant that used marijuana to help their lobsters chill out.
Lobsters kind of get the short end of the stick. Unfortunately for them, they taste amazing when doused in melted butter (but then again, what doesn’t?). They’re one of the only things we eat that we actually purchase while it’s still alive. Then we bring them into our homes and toss them, still wriggling, into a pot of boiling water. Even more unfortunate for lobsters is that they’re ugly as fuck. There used to be stories of people breaking into scientific laboratories and rescuing all the test rats and bunnies. I mean, of course, those things are fuzzy and cute; however, I’ve never heard of anyone strolling into a Safeway and “liberating” a gang of lobsters. That would be way easier to do, but I’d have to imagine that no one does this because there’s nothing appealing about snuggling with a lobster. They’re so messed up looking that I’d like to find the first human who happened upon a lobster and thought, “Wow, I want to try to eat that,” and ask them what the hell they were thinking.
I don’t mean to talk shit about lobsters here. I do feel empathy toward them, as freaky looking as they are. And I haven’t eaten lobster since I was a teenager … not because I feel bad for them, though, but because I’m allergic to shellfish. But I do feel bad for them. Do a Google image search for “lobster.” The first results aren’t photos of lobsters doing lobster-shit in the wild; instead, you see them boiled red, claws hugging small cups of butter, laid out on platters. Poor ugly fucks.
I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s Team Lobster, though. Take Charlotte Gill, for example. She’s the owner of Charlotte’s Legendary Lobster Pound in Seawall, Maine. Sure, as the name of her eatery may suggest, lobster is on the menu at Charlotte’s, but Gill has a heart. She gives her lobsters the courtesy of a hot-box before they take the plunge.
Gill tried this out for the first time on a lobster she named Roscoe, and was pleased with the result.
“Roscoe seemed to enjoy his first time getting high—he was much calmer when he was put back in the tank with other lobsters,” noted a story on CBSNews.com. “As a reward for his participation in the experiment, the lobster was returned back into the ocean.”
The article quoted Gill as saying, “If we’re going to take a life we have a responsibility to do it as humanely as possible.”
In case you were wondering, marijuana is legal in Maine. Gill, in addition to being a restaurateur, “holds a marijuana caregiver license and grows her own … plants,” according to CBS. Patrons to the Legendary Lobster Pound have the option to request their lobster gets stoned before cooking.
However, health inspectors have put Gill’s sedation practices on hold for the time being.
“After being contacted by the state, and upon reviewing its present laws and codes applicable to this arena, and then making a few minor adjustments to our procedure, we are completely confident that we will be able to proceed as planned,” Gill told the Portland Herald. “Keep in mind this meat is presently not available, and we don’t expect it to be for a little while longer under the circumstances. … Soon though.”
I hope everything works out for them. I think a society should be judged on how well it treats its food. I mean, just let the poor lobsters get high, man. Who knows if they actually do get stoned, but I know if I was doomed to a life in a cramped fish tank until some douchebag picked me to be his dinner, I’d deal with it a lot better if I had a bit of a buzz going on. We owe the lobsters the same courtesy.
**This column originally appeared in print on page 26 of issue #275 (Sept. 26 – Oct. 10, 2018)**