Early into our relationship, Greg and I took a vacation to California. For months I had dreamt about the warm ocean air and swimming through crisp waves. I had never set foot in the pacific ocean, but in my mind it was paradise. In previous years I had vacationed in Nova Scotia and Brighton, England however in both instances the water was barely above freezing and the weather did not welcome swimming.
Almost immediately after stepping foot in the golden state, my urge to experience the ocean at it’s fullest had completely overtaken me. Like a child on a mission for a handful of forbidden birthday cake I rushed to the nearest airport bathroom to change into my swimsuit. In the meantime Greg had become worried that my experience would not live up to my expectations. Growing up in California, Greg learned at a young age that the pacific ocean was simply too cold to enjoy swimming. Most of his beach memories involved sun, sand and possibly the occasional polar bear dip to cool off.
As we proceeded to drive towards Santa Cruz he began to warn me that the water is typically quite cold and very few Californians actually swim at the beach. When we rolled up to the boardwalk my eyes became fixated on the aqua blue horizon. I was quickly introduced to several of Greg’s friends who had opted to meet us there. They all found it quite amusing that I was so keen to swim in the ocean they rarely step foot in.
With Greg and company trailing behind, I scurried to the beach completely ignoring their sunscreen inquiries. Sunscreen seemed completely unnecessary to me as I never burned back home. As I approached the the boardwalk the fresh ocean air filled me with anticipation. I whipped off my flip flops and stepped foot on the hottest surface my feet have ever touched. Determined to swim in the ocean I quickly ran across the molten sand. From afar, Greg and friends watched in disbelief as I continued to run from the hot sandy beach straight into the ocean.
After spending hours swimming in the sun my water logged body sought refuge on the beach. With complete horror in his face Greg approached his beached whale of a girlfriend. Hours under the California sun had turned me a bright shade of crimson similar to the shell of a lobster. For the remainder of the trip I waddled around in horrendous pain covered in aloe vera and zinc oxide. That day taught me two lessons, Californians take a perfectly warm ocean for granted and Canadians do not understand the importance of sunscreen, especially when south of the 49th .
2 Lobster tails
2 Lemons, halved
1 Garlic clove, minced
1 Tsp fresh dill, minced
2 Tbsp. clarified butter, divided
Turn oven on broil.
Spray a cast iron skillet with cooking spray, set aside.
With kitchen scissors, cut along the centre of the lobster tail’s back stopping at the base of the tail. Moving from left to right, carefully pull the meat out from the shell. Place the meat on top of the lobster tail, ensuring it is still attached to the tail.
Place lobster tails in the prepared cast iron skillet. Sprinkle the meat with minced garlic and dill. Drizzle tails with 1 Tbsp of clarified butter and set halved lemons around the tails.
Place the skillet on the middle rack under the broiler and cook for about 4 minutes. Remove the lobster and drizzle with remaining clarified butter. Return the skillet to the oven and broil for an additional 5 minutes. The lobster is finished cooking when it is white and no longer translucent.
Drizzle meat with the juice from the roasted lemons. Serve with roasted potatoes and greens.