A Hamburger Today
The Food Lab: How To Cook and Shuck a Lobster
It's time for another round of The Food Lab. Got a suggestion for an upcoming topic? Email Kenji here, and he'll do his best to answer your queries in a future post. Become a fan of The Food Lab on Facebook or follow it on Twitter for play-by-plays on future kitchen tests and recipe experiments.
This week we've already discussed how to buy and store a lobster and tasted soft shell lobsters blind against hard shells (hint: we unanimously preferred soft shells). Now the real question: what's the best way to cook them? Boiling? Steaming? Roasting? And what about killing the sucker before you do it? Should they be boiled alive? Frozen to death? Bludgeoned with a rubber chicken?
Let's take a look at all of those questions (except the chicken one, silly).
The Best Way To Kill Lobster
Let's get one thing straight: lobsters aren't humans. They aren't even mammals, or fish. Their anatomy is much more similar to that of, say, a cockroach or a beetle, grown to gargantuan proportions because they live a life unfettered by gravity at the bottom of the ocean.
That said, lobsters do have nerves, and a very real (if very primitive) nervous system that can react to outside stimuli. Current research is unclear on whether or not their brains have the capacity to process such stimuli as pain and undergo emotional trauma when it's administered (a feeling we'd refer to as suffering), but many people still like to minimize the chance that the creature is suffering before being consumed.
The fastest way to kill a lobster is the same way you'd dispatch zombies in a Walking Dead scenario: stab it in the head.
Press the tip of a knife in the crack you'll find set slightly behind the eyes on the head, and press down firmly and quickly, splitting the head completely in half. This will instantly sever the main nerve ganglia in the lobster's carapace (though it does nothing to the ganglia around the rest of its body, which is why you'll see its tail and claws continue to move for a long time after the lobster has been dispatched), as well as most of its vital organs.
That a lobster will continue to crawl around and, well, act like a lobster even after its head has been removed is a good indication of the primitiveness of its nervous system. Like a cockroach, its body can still move even without a central brain to control it.
Boiling or steaming the bugs is also an option, and in reality, not much more cruel. The lobsters will continue to show some movement through reflexes for several moments, but their central brain functions cease within the first few moments of hitting the water.
How To Cook A Lobster
There are a number of recommended ways of cooking lobster. Let's take a look at them and see if we can't figure out what's really the best.
Method 1: Boiling
Very old recipes for lobster call for cooking times as long as 10 minutes per pound. 10 minutes! Per pound! How the heck did anyone ever eat those rubber balls? As we now know, when cooking meat, temperature is a much better indicator of doneness than time. For optimal tenderness and texture, lobster meat should come to around 135°F, which ends up translating to just around 4 or 5 minutes of boiling for a 1 to 1 1/2 pound lobster (use a thermometer). Any hotter, and you end up in rubber band territory.
How you get the lobster to that perfect final temperature is another matter entirely
But first, an interesting aside. Lobsters turn red when you cook them in much the same way that leaves change color in the autumn: the underlying color is there all along, waiting to be released. In the case of lobsters (and other crustaceans), the bright red hue comes from a heat-stable carotenoid pigment called astaxanthin. It's this pigment that turns the flesh of salmon and the feathers of flamingos—animals that feed heavily on crustaceans—into the familiar pinkish-orange color. (Farmed salmon have pigments added to their diet to color their flesh—without it, they'd be totally white.)
When mixed with the many other pigments found in a lobster's shell, you get the familiar range of bluish purple to green or dark orange colors of a live lobster. Heat them up, and the other pigments break down, leaving just the carotenoids behind.
Why do I know all of this? Because every year during our annual Christmas lobster course, my grandfather—who by which point has already got two martinis, a couple of glasses of Chardonnay, and half a pour of Vin Jaune down the hole—insists on telling me.
While this tidbit is certainly interesting, it doesn't exactly help me on my quest for perfectly cooked lobster meat. What does, however, is the other bit of wisdom he feels compelled to bestow from on high every Christmas: the best way to cook a lobster.
Here's his problem with boiling: cook a lobster in a large pot of water, take them out, then look inside the pot. What do you see?
That's right: cloudy, murky water with weird white gunk floating on top. Now stick your nose in there and inhale. What do you smell? Yup. Lobster. And here's one thing I can guarantee: what's in that pot is not in your lobster.
The massive amount of water circulating in and out of the lobster's body can quite efficiently wash away many of the flavorful compounds you find inside the meat. Not only that, but for larger lobsters, the high heat of boiling can cause the exterior to overcook while the interior remains raw (one of the reasons why larger lobsters often seem so much tougher than smaller lobsters that cook faster).
So plunging them into boiling water is not the way to go.
Method 2: Steaming
At first glance, you'd think that steaming is a more gentle method of cooking than boiling. Surely very dense water at 212°F should heat faster than steam (which is not very dense at all) at 212°F? The denser the medium, the more efficient it is at transferring heat, right?
True, but this doesn't take into account the latent heat of vaporization of water. It takes about five times the amount of heat energy to convert water into steam as it does to raise either water or steam's temperature by 1°C. This energy is stored in the steam molecules, and as they hit the surface of the food being cooked and re-condense into water, the stored energy is released onto the surface of the food, heating it.
While steaming does offer the advantage of not diluting flavor like boiling, it does nothing to solve our fast-cooking problem.
This finally brings us to...
Method 3: Roasting
Now this seems promising, and it's the method my grandfather has always recommended. According to him, rather than diluting and washing away the flavorful compounds in the lobster's flesh, roasting will heat the lobster through, cooking it, while at the same time evaporating some of its excess moisture. The result should be meat that is more intensely flavored, not less.
He's absolutely right. Roasting a lobster in the oven (I found that bringing it up to 135°F in a 350°F oven worked very well) gives you extraordinarily aromatic meat with a much more intense, sweeter flavor. Roasting is also a slower cooking process than steaming or boiling, leading to more evenly cooked meat
I Am Rubber, You Are Glue
But as every rose has its thorn and every cowboy sings a sad, sad song, this good method comes complete with a couple of problems of its own. The first you'll notice is that roasted lobster meat is much harder to remove from the shell than boiled. This is because as the proteins in the meat slowly heat up, they will chemically bond with the interior of the shell. Rapid heating, on the other hand, causes them to shrink too fast for them to form these bonds
This leaves us in a rather sticky situation. Cook too fast by steaming and some of the meat gets rubbery. Cook too slowly by roasting and the meat sticks to the shell.
Solution? Steam the lobsters just until the very exterior of their meat just sets—about one minute—remove it from the steamer, then finish it off in the oven.
With easily shelled, evenly cooked, and intensely flavored meat, we're almost there. There's just one last hurdle to overcome. The trouble is with enzymes mostly located in the dark liver in the central carapace. These enzymes break down the protein structure of the lobster's muscles, becoming highly active after the lobster's death (the main reason you should always look for lively lobsters), particularly at warmer temperatures. Cook too slowly, and you give these enzymes too much time to work, delivering tail meat that borders on mushy near the carapace end.
The only two ways I know of to prevent this from happening is to either cook it all the way through very rapidly (already out of the question), or to completely remove the tail and claws from the carapace (and offending liver) before cooking. The latter seems the more sensible option (and you can always cook the liver separately if you are one of those who like to eat it).
Keep 'Em Separated
There are other distinct advantages to cooking tails and claws separately from the carapace. For one thing, it allows you to address the fact that the tail is much thicker than the claws or knuckles, and therefore needs a little more cooking time. It also allows you to keep your carapaces intact to use as desired (I make mine into stock to cook my paella in).
Finally, it solves the pesky old curly-tail problem. You know, when your lobster tail curls up into a little pillbug-like ball (an isopod which it very closely resembles)?
It doesn't make much difference to flavor, but sometimes it's nice to have straight tails for presentation purposes.
Here's how you do it:
That's right, just flatten it on a board. Don't be alarmed if the tail continues to curl and jerk suddenly even after its been completely removed from the lobster's body: this is a reflex reaction. I've seen it last up to two hours after the rest of the lobster is long dead.
Once you have it flat out on the board, spear it with a couple of stiff wooden skewers, starting from the body end and exiting through the joints near the tail end. Of course, insert the skewers as close as possible to the shell to minimize muscle damage.
And if ripping the claws and tail off of a lobster which you've just impaled through the head with a knife leaves you cold, you can always perform the par steaming step first, then use kitchen towels to grasp and dismember the dead beasts before continuing with the roasting steps. (You won't be able to get a straight tail this way, btw.)
Nothing More than Peelings...
There's no easy way to break it to you: peeling a lobster is messy, painstaking work.
Whether hard or soft, the best way to peel a lobster is to start with the tail. First, squeeze it firmly from the sides, pushing the edges of the shell together underneath the tail until you hear a series of cracks. This should break or crease most of the cartilaginous material under the tail. Next, pull apart the edge of the shell. It should separate quite easily (if not, use kitchen shears to carefully snip through the cartilage, then try pulling it apart again). Once cracked open, the shell meat should easily pop out.
Claws are a bit trickier. With a soft shell (new shell) lobster, you can usually get through them with kitchen shears, but for very hard lobster, some more force is required. I start by wrapping them in a clean dish towel, and whacking them sharply all over with the back of a heavy cleaver. The goal here is to crack them like eggshells, not smash them into smithereens.
Once they're good and crackly, I break off the knuckles (I protect my hands with clean dish towels—yes, I go through lots of them), then gently break off the small pincer. If I'm lucky or feeling extra talented, I manage to get the shell off the pincer without ripping the meat off the rest of the claw. More often, I have to fish out the little nugget with a skewer or a chopstick.
Finally, fish the knuckle meat out with the help of kitchen shears and a chopstick.
What you should end up with is a nice big tail, solid pieces of claw meat, and four little knuckles. The legs I don't bother pre-shucking, but you can serve them on the side in their shells for people to pick the sweet meat out of directly with their teeth.
Picked lobster meat can be stored in the refrigerator for up to 2 days.
Watch The Slideshow!
For a full, step-by-step illustrated breakdown of the process, check out the slideshow here »
About the author: J. Kenji Lopez-Alt is the Chief Creative Officer of Serious Eats where he likes to explore the science of home cooking in his weekly column The Food Lab. You can follow him at @thefoodlab on Twitter, or at The Food Lab on Facebook.