By Brenna Lilly
Ayuh bub, it’s me, Ricky McKenney, best fucking lobstah roll taster north of Southie. Now you might be thinkin’, what the fuck is some bum kid from the 603 (that’s New Hamsphire, the Shire, the Granite State, for you prissy New York twats) doing rating lobstah rolls like some sorta fruitcake? Who am I, Mario shittin Batali? Well, lemme tell ya, kid. I was born for this job. The day my sweet ma brought me to my first lobstah shack, I was hooked. That shit is crack. Every summer on Hampton Beach, I would save up the pennies my pa gave me for the shooter games at the arcade and spend them on the biggest, butteriest, bitchin’est lobstah roll I could find. Back then, it was game for me. But now, shit’s gotten serious.
The other day, my neighbor Reggie, that fahkin prick, he had the balls to tell me that he didn’t think lobstah rolls were any good. Are you high, Reggie? Have you ever tasted a lobstah roll? I asked him. He said he had one, once. In New York. Fahkin New York! And you know what else? HE’S A YANKEES FAN! I can’t trust a damn thing that fahkin city-slickah says. Anyway, I’m out here to prove him wrong. Reggie, this one’s for you, you little shit. Lobstah rolls ain’t no fahkin game. So here they are, New England’s top five specimens, fresh off the griddle. Suck my nuts, Reggie.
5) Big Bert’s Sea Shanty, Portland, ME
I would lick Big Bert’s buttery fingehs any day. This old fart – older than God himself – has been making these greasy boys since the day he popped outta his ma’s snatch. His lobstah’s pretty good, not too salty, and comes on a Kaiser roll. I’m a purist here, so he’s only on this list because of the lobstah. Fuck Kaiser rolls; it’s New England hot dog buns to the grave. I bet Reggie likes Kaiser rolls, with that shit-eatin’ grin’a his, big ole white teeth and flappy-ass tongue. Eatin’ shit on a Kaiser roll.
4) Scallop Shack, Rye, NH
The Scallop Shack has been dolin’ out the shinest lobstah rolls you evah seen, all the way back since the sonnovabitch himself, Babe Ruth, was playin’ for the Sox. Curse’a the Bambino, baby – the Scallop Shack was the only good thing in New England in 1919. Hold one of those up to the sunlight and they glimmah, they got that much buttah. The boys at the Scallop serve their rolls warm and delicious, with no mayo. A bold choice, ayuh, but that shit’s fahkin divine comin’ in from off the shore. This is like the one your nasty Uncle Jimmy from Methuen would make for the Fourth’a July, back home. She’s a tasty one, Reggie. Believe me. Please – believe me.
3) Lobster Lounge, Eastham, MA
This is ya classic Cape Cod afternoon delight, here (and I’m not talkin’ about my Saturdays with that sexy lil lady who lives next door to my time share, Reggie). Tourists drive through every yeah to get their grubby mitts on our precious rolls, but this boy is far enough outta the way that us townies can get our fill (that means stay the fahk away, Reggie). The food’s warm, the beahs are cold, and the girls are fahkin’ gawgeous. Good for a night out with the boys. But you know who isn’t invited? You, Dickhead Reggie. What kinda guy mows his lawn on a weekly schedule? Reggie, that’s who. Fuckin pretty-girlfriend-nice-grass-Reggie. Makes me sick.
2) King Crab Cafe, Hampton, NH
Hey Reggie, ya like a nice sit-down joint with ya pals? You like a nice hot coffee on a cold day? You like sittin’ down and watchin’ the Sox on a nice flat-screen TV? Huh? What’s that? Oh no! I’m sorry, bub, I forgot. You’re a fahkin’ Yankees fan. I guess that means you like watching the boys from Beantown hand your team’s asses to ‘em on a silver fucking plattah, with a little bitta celery seed and some kettle chips! Got one numbah for ya, Reggie: 2004, baby! Anyway, pop down here to get a bite. Classic fare – but this boy is served cold, with some mayonnaise, the way Carl Yastrzemski would have wanted it.
1) The Best. . .
That’s right, Reggie. All buttered up and perfectly griddled, with a lil’ bit of mayo. Just for you. What’s that, sandwiched between a nice New-England style hot dog roll? It’s my middle finger. Shove that down your gullet, Reggie. You think you can come into my town, disrespect the food’a my people, and wear your fahkin’ Yankees cap with pride? You’re never getting ya hands on Ricky Mckenney’s very own lobstah rolls. Nobody makes ‘em better than I do – right next door to your stupid little condo on the nice side of town. You’re a piece’a shit, Reggie. Fuck outta here. Tell your ma I said “hi.” And that the boys at the Cape sure do miss her, ayuh.