Great. It's a cool dish. No idea what we're having tonight but my day will be spent gathering groceries for tomorrow's lobster thermidor.
My brother shared the other day that Lobster Thermidor would be his Last Meal request. When we were kids in the Mad Men days, my father entertained and closed a lot of deals in swanky restaurants--all either Italian or 'Continental' as they called it back in those days--dim lighting, black and red plush leather booths, all that. As such he got the red carpet treatment, and often we'd leave the younger kids with Grandma and Mom, Dad, Chris and I would have a great night out. My inner food snob was born in those days--these were not 'family restaurants' per se, and we never went to lesser coffee shop kind of places. It was full fancy with valet parking* or nothing. Chris always ordered the lobster thermidor, I always ordered prime rib.
Anyway, so The Dal Rae, a restaurant about 15 miles from where we lived and on the edge of downtown L.A., was our favorite (strangely, it still exists, extensively remodeled but the attitude's intact). And it's the only place I've ever eaten Lobster Thermidor--well, except for one very misguided attempt by a restaurant in Vancouver. It's The Dal Rae's version I need to nail: lobster chunks and lightly browned mushroom halves napped in a sherried cream sauce, piled high in the empty half-shells and broiled for a burnished finish.
Chris confessed his last meal idea in a phone conversation yesterday, having no idea that I just acquired 20 ounce lobster tails that will provide the perfect shells. Tomorrow, we'll do it! To get the whole Dal Rae effect, though, I should wear a very short black dress with tons of white ruffles poking out of the tight bodice and insist that everyone call me "honey".
*True story: Chris and I are dad's second set of children. He had two others, Cathy and Buddy, from a prior marriage that he won custody of but then turned over to the foster system (a sad fact that only came to light when we were well into adulthood). Dad rarely saw them, in fact about 18 years later so much time passed that Buddy (birth name Albert Henry Chappell) went by the name of his foster parents, Pendleton, and didn't remember that he'd ever been anyone else. And so it was that one night Dad went to The Dal Rae and a valet by the name of Buddy Pendleton took the keys to his car and said, "you look familiar". How wild is that.