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From the Annals of SFMP History - An 1830s Lobster Recipe

9/23/2015

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Boston, Massachusetts                                                                                                                    August 20, 1837

Dearest Mother,
I once more take the opportunity of addressing ye a few lines from the far and distant shores of Boston hoping they will find ye and family are in as good of health as I. It has been too many fortnights since my last letter, but I promise to be a better son for the future even if I don't write very often. In your last correspondence to me ye were fraught with concern about my health and diet. My employer has been feeding me lobster nearly every day of the week even though it was specified in my employment agreement that I would not eat this putrid animal more than two days a week. It is barely fit for human consumption and even inmates here in Boston have revolted against it as prison food. Some local farmers even use it as fertilizer. Imagine that Mother, I have been eating the equivalent of manure! As a servant I have not been afforded the pleasantries of the Gentleman who provides my wage, but a number of chance circumstances have changed all of that. I will eat lobster no more! At the writing of this letter this is the last time I will prepare a lobster. I am only doing this because it is my hope that this recipe will help make this foul insect of the sea somewhat bearable for those pitiful souls and that it will be blogged about on a shitty food website one hundred and seventy seven years from now.   
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Step One - "Befriend" a Rich Man
Lobster is a disgusting food with a texture that can only be described as "mush" and a taste that can only be combated with the additions of countless masking agents to hide the flavor. Since arriving here in America this bottom dweller has been a staple of my diet and I have found that one is best distracted of the flavor when it is consumed over a white linen cloth and out of a silver bowl. Now Mother I am certain ye are wondering how a man of my meager status has managed to procure white linens and a silver bowl. It's actually quite a humorous anecdote; I grew so tired of my boss and his feeding me of lobster that I murdered him! Do not worry about me though. It turns out that it is quite easy to get away with murder here in America since forensic science is rudimentary. I am fairly certain that a crime only gets solved if the policeman is standing next to the crime as it is taking place. I assure ye that there was no law enforcement officer in the area and keep in mind that I am also white, so I am certain a "less fortunate man" will be blamed for the crime if anyone at all. I had to take advantage of these present conditions as racism is sure to be extinguished from this promising nation in the coming years! Some day this murder will undoubtedly be an ideal case for the television show Unsolved Mysteries.
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Oh dear, look at me babbling on and on. Back to my recipe; I like to lay down a bed of parsley, an herb that no one would eat, but the color will liven the dish. 
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Step Two - Make the Lobster Thrash About
Now Mother I must admit that there's something terribly exciting about throwing a live lobster into a pot and hearing it thrash against the lid of the pot until it succumbs to the boiling water. I only wish ye were here to experience that same excitement! Eating these shelled monsters has been the bane of my existence and seeing them squirm about has been my only solace when eating them. I like to serve the lobster with a sprinkling of salt and an amount of rancid butter that would not be considered socially acceptable. I also cover the lobster in corn to hide the slippery devil meat as much as possible. If I wanted to I am certain I could be a chef in a fancy seafood restaurant. My skills are so good that no one would even know they are eating lobster!
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Step Three - Fruit and Bread
The lands in the United States are even more fertile than those of Ireland, ah how I miss the food of home, but the fruit here is abundant! Just as I do with fish n' chips back home, I like to squirt lemon juice all over my lobster. I find the sourness helps dull my taste buds while choking down this horrid creature. I like to counter the taste of the lemon with a slice of apple. I am able to wander the fields picking fresh apples right out of the tree. I only wish the farmers had a chemical substance to kill the birds and bees that leave unsightly spots on my apples. 

I compliment all of my meals with bread. I have had the pleasure of meeting an artisan bread maker. The bread he makes is delicious, but I can't help but wonder if he's way too excited about "handcrafting". He tends to go on and on about how he only uses the best flour and water and how he rides his fixie all over town. It all seems a little pretentious to me and sometimes I just want scream at him, "It's 1837! Everything is handcrafted! Just give me my bread!" 
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Step Four - Fresh Milk and Eggs
In addition to my former boss, since arriving in Boston I have also "befriended" a farmer and his entire family. I befriended them so much that they decided to give me their farm. Now I have fresh milk and eggs to go with my lobster. This farming endeavor is extremely exciting and I feel I am making great strides in the advancement of farming. I have been giving the chickens and cows daily injections of a ground breaking synthetic elixir called "growth hormones" that I procured from a medicine man who I also "befriended". It has helped the cows and chickens double in size and made them healthier than ever!
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Well mother that concludes my lobster recipe and my correspondence. As you can tell my fortunes have certainly changed since arriving here. America truly is the land of opportunity with riches available to any man who is willing to work hard for them. I hope someday you, father, and brother are able to visit.
 
                                                                                      Respectfully yours,
                                                                                                                
                                                                                                     Samuel Cargill
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