We were a bit in the rough ourselves, after a 10 hour drive and then a mandatory walk to the brink of every pier at the Mystic wooden boat show. From what I had read Abbott’s Lobster in the Rough the lot would be jammed, the line long, and the picnic tables busting at the seams. We found some Abbott’s breathing space on a hazy, humid July Monday evening.
It’s a big menu. When faced with such a thing my eyes edit to the quintessential. Lobster. In the rough. Lobster roll. Not quite as rough. Oh, and clam chowder. They serve it real plain here and I like that. Greyish, which might not be a person’s first choice in food color outside of clams. They have loads of other stuff, and if we lived in walking distance we might gradually take a tour of the menu. For our brief touchdown we zeroed in on the essence.
This rendition of a lobster roll took me by surprise. Have always seen it, eaten it, and read about it as a cool lobster salad in a top-sliced hotdog roll. My post-Abbott’s graduate work started here with the NY Times, and upon further reading here I found that the hot, buttered lobster roll is Connecticut’s preference.
Under the dock there are huge striped bass slipping and sliding. The counter people were generous with small bags of oyster crackers which my son liberally sprinkled into the gape-mouthed, writhing, leaping, monster fish.
Folks get married at this joint. Do you spose they pack oyster crackers in small net bags tied up with ribbon?
House chips. Tasty and they bring on a thirst. Abbott’s is BYOB. Yippee! I thought until our Sunday drive search for drink yielded zilch. Connecticut has blue laws. Blue is right. I had a case of the dying-for-a-beer blues.