In August 2010, I hopped a flight to Boston, Massachusetts to spend the weekend with my friends. I had just started dating a really handsome guy, who happened to be visiting his hometown in Boston that same weekend. He suggested that we get together for some “wicked good lobstah and chowdah” in Rockport, a town about 45 minutes northeast of the city. He took me to a little red shack called The Lobster Pool.
As we approached the Cape Ann Coastline, I noticed a change in sights, sounds, and smells. The rich city colors turned to pale blue and beige. We could hear the seagulls cawing and waves crashing against the large granite rocks. Suddenly, the city was gone, and we were surrounded by a calm breeze and salty, sea air. The quaint fisherman’s town of Rockport was filled with art, sailboats, and classic New England fare.
After driving down a narrow, one-way road, we pulled up to a small wooden chalet with lobster traps nailed to its roof and a sign that read, “Bring Your Own Booze.” The façade of the Lobster Pool restaurant, which looked like a rustic, old shed, did not prepare us for the view behind it. A truly breathtaking site, water was washing over the large rocks, a cool wind off the ocean, and boats crossing as the sun began to set.
We sat there for hours, watching the sky change from blue to orange, and dipping freshly caught lobster into melted butter. At this moment, I knew that my heart had been stolen. I was officially hooked, on both Rockport and that handsome guy. Two years later, The Lobster Pool would be the site for the rehearsal dinner of our wedding. We were so excited to share this magical place and its food with our family and friends.
It’s a family tradition now. We return every summer, as a party of three, to the place it all began. For the cool sunsets, the clean ocean air, and that wicked good lobster and chowder, we treat ourselves with a trip to Rockport’s Lobster Pool.