Perfection on a Roll

by Bruce Schimmel

BAR HARBOR, Maine. Anytime you’re near a New England coast you need to get yourself a lobster roll. You owe it to yourself. You’re worth it.

There is no other single dish -- except caviar, if you consider that a dish -- that better exemplifies both ends of the gustatory spectrum at the same time.

What could be simpler and more luxurious than a toasted bun stuffed with lobster meat? Here in Bar Harbor, Maine, where billionaires arrive in the fanciest of bizjets to pass their summers in untouched forests, this oxymoronic repast could be the official dish.

So, should you find yourself in Bar Harbor and in want of refreshment, you need only look past the end of the runway where the Learjets and the Gulfstreams are parked. There, with airplanes on final approach overhead, are several shacks that look more like shambles than restaurants. These simple places with hefty (but fair) prices are where you should buy your lobster roll. Expect to pay about $12 for your little taste of luxury.

Lobster shacks are easy to spot, not only by their derelict looks, but by their smell. Not of lobster but of hardwoods that smolder under great kettles of bubbling sea water in which your lobster is cooked.

Each shack sports a half-dozen of these little smokestacks, their plumes wafting into the passing traffic. Cooking lobsters over a wood fire sounds romantic, and it is. The smoky scent lures travelers from the road to enjoy a meal, even though I was assured that using wood to boil water makes no difference to the final taste.

Still, the smell of the smoke is part of the sylvan experience, as is the scent of the pine forests around back of the shacks where you'll eat. Other foods are offered, but don't bother with anything except French fries made fresh with Maine potatoes.

The art of the lobster roll is its simplicity. The roll for your lobster is not even a bun, just a rectangular piece of split and grilled bread. Unlike hamburgers, hoagies or anything else served on a bun, there are no options or extras when it comes to a lobster roll. You are not to add onions or pickles or peppers or cheese. You can't; they're not even available.

The recipe couldn't be easier: cool lobster meat is shredded, mixed with mayo and laid gently into the split of the bun, with tendrils of pink meat peeking over the edge. That's it.

The taste of a lobster roll is so subtle that it's practically indistinguishable from its smell and texture. It is a whiff of seaspray, a toothsome mouthful of scented flesh, the feel of mayo, the soft crunch of a grilled roll.

When it comes to this most luxurious of delights, less is best and perfection is so simple.