Lobster Winter Stew

Ingredients

Directions

Cookbook author Nancy Harmon Jenkins writes, “Maine Lobster stew, in all its simplicity, is a total celebration, a glamorous dish reserved for Christmas Eve or for special guests arriving from away who want their first taste of Maine lobster to be as elegant as possible. It really doesn’t deserve a recipe, just a list of instructions. But for those who insist, here’s what you’ll need, and note that these are “more-or-less” quantities and should give you four abundant servings—and of course more if you insist on making this a first course”.

Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan over low heat and when it’s completely melted but not sizzling, add the minced allium, whatever you choose. Cook, stirring, until the vegetable bits are very soft and melting into the butter, then add salt and pepper and the lobster. Stir the lobster meat into the buttery sauce and when it starts to bubble up a bit, raise the heat to medium and add the booze. Let the liquor cook down, stirring all the while, until the alcohol has cooked off and left behind just its own rich fragrance. Now stir in the crushed crackers and continue cooking, lowering the heat once again. The cracker bits will absorb all the buttery juices and gradually disintegrate into the stew, at which point add the prepared hot stock. Bring to a simmer and then stir in the milk and cream, adding a little at a time (about ½ cup) and letting it amalgamate with the rest of the ingredients before adding more. Once all the liquids have been added, taste the broth and adjust the seasoning, adding more salt and pepper if it seems necessary, as well as a dash of hot red pepper in some form—Tabasco or other hot sauce or a pinch of crushed red chili pepper.

The stew is done but it is not ready to serve because the trick to all these milky New England stews is in the setting. That means, you put the stew over very, very, very low heat for several hours. That’s what the cooks say: “Put the stew to set.” The liquid should never come to anything approaching a boil, not anything more than the very gentlest simmer, just a murmur on the top of the creamy liquid. In the old days, the soup pot would be put on the back of the woodstove, where it would steep and grow richer hour by hour until suppertime. This is really important—I can’t emphasize it enough.
Finally, when you’re ready to serve, taste it one last time to make sure it’s perfect, then dish it up, dropping a walnut of butter on the top of each dish as it goes to the table.