Travels with Charley . . . May 12 2006 Nunan's Lobster Hut

Travels with Charley . . . May 12, 2006
Walking Across America by Treadmill . . .

I decided to head along the road and not long, I know where I’m going. It may take all day but my mouth is watering just thinking about it. Yea, I’m on a diet, but not this day . . .

I’m going to a little rustic shack, known to all as Nunan’s . . . Its full name is I think, Nunan’s Lobster Hut, but nobody ever uses the Lobster Hut part. It’s always been, just Nunan’s. Just a wood clapboard shack with buoy’s and lobster traps stacked outside. Nunan’s was the end result of a Lobsterman’s daily toil, from the trap into the boil.

It’s a no frills place, built on stilts for whatever reason. The room is lined with rustic painted picnic tables with bright red and white checked plastic drop cloths. And on the walls are thousands of business cards from patrons over the years. Each night a long line sits outside as if it never moves, but truthfully they come and go all night long. When it’s my turn, I’m shown to a table.

I order the special, a pair of one and a quarter pound lobsters. The youthful waitress is dressed in jeans and T-shirt, brings me a piece of buttered bread, three pickles and a bag of potato chips. And before too long out comes my steaming red crustaceans served on a bar tray, belly up boys.

Well I always start with the legs. I don’t want to leave any of the succulent morsels for old Mr. Coon. I then break a claw and let the meat soak in the warm butter until the dish is full. And as if in prayer, I wait but a moment before diving in. When claws are gone, I pull the tail from the head and bend the tails shell flapper breaking it off and push the meat from its armor. My mouth is watering, for the best is yet to come.

I remove the dark thread of a mud vane and dunk the wide tattered end in the butter and take a bite. What heavenly joy! Gals there’s no need to worry, no body’s watching and if they are, they’re smiling with butter dripping down, also. Several bites and the tail is all but gone. I wipe my mouth and take a drink . . . But there’s still another.

Well that’s enough for one day.

Remember to keep the sun at your back and the breeze in your face. Oh and don’t forget to come back each day so we can take this journey together.

days walking: 3
miles traveled: 3
yet to go: Still too many to count


Dan Hanosh
. . . Brave Men Never Die
They Live in the Hearts
and minds of others.

tags: Dan Hanosh
Warriors and Wars Political The Brave Few