What happens when you combine 100 pounds of lobster, 40 pounds of USDA choice prime & baby back ribs with about 100 people doused in alcohol?  

That's right, boys and girls.  The end of daylight savings marks the end of the wedding season and the beginning of the rugby season for some of us.  It also marks the annual right of summers passing, known as the lobster feed.  So what happens at a Feed, you ask?

(See some pictures from 2001... click here)

The night before the Feed:

20 lb. of USDA Choice prime rib will have already been marinating for a day in a secret dry rub.   When 9 PM rolls around, I the prime rib is lovingly transferred from the fridge to smoker #1 to begin the 20 hour cooking process that brings out the succulent flavor of the beef on bone ribs.

The morning of the Feed:

The baby back ribs that have been marinating overnight in the same secret rub as the prime rib, make a similar journey as the prime rib to smoker #2, where they will begin their own slow 10 hour march to "fallin' off da bone" succulence.

The afternoon of the Feed:

The house is clean, the meat is sloooowly cooking.  I've gone & picked up the 100 lb. or so of live Maine lobster from my special source.   Anticipation is building.   It's time to relax a little.  The surfers in the crowd show up early and we will make a jaunt down to "Kelly's Cove", five blocks away, and go for an afternoon surf.   A lobster is set free during the lobster ceremony.

The FEED:

Beer and wine are enjoyed as people start to show up for the Feed.  Around 6:30, I will fire up two high pressure jet gas burners, bringing 160 quarts of water to a boil in about five minutes.  Another lobster ceremony, the the lobsters, rather unceremoniously this time, get dumped in the pots and are cooked.  The meat comes out of the smokers and the carnage begins.

All preliminary indicators show this year's feed will be a blow out event.  I am expecting anywhere from 60 to 80 people from all walks of life and the four corners of the globe: from New Zealand to Chicago and New York, Los Angeles to Seattle; the rugby morons, work friends, normal people (wives), and a certain black dog who will negotiate for what she believes will be her fair share of whatever you are eating. 

Oh, did I mention the sangrias?