Red Hook Lobster Pound Food Truck

We’re having burgers that are not noteworthy enough for a blog post. Late lunch after two hours at the DMV so I can finally have a NY State ID card and not cart my passport around to every bar in the city. He pulls out his phone and begins scrolling through his emails.

“So.”

“So?”

“There’s a few things we can do tonight. You can say no if you want to.”

“Haha, okay.”

“There is an early thing going on. The Danger List is holding a press party for their series of events and shows at the Palms.”

The Danger List is infamous in the NYC party scene for throwing parties in places where you don’t expect people to have parties. The last Danger party we went to had a hot tub stoked by what looked like a campfire. The first Danger party we went to had us dress up like pirates, get in an unmarked windowless van, and had us walk the plank onto a Pirate ship. They’re a crazy bunch.

“What does press party mean?”

“It means they only invite press and their friends to preview the party.”

“So it’s not going to be as crazy as their parties usually are?” (Their parties are usually a bit overwhelming for a 9to5er like me who often considers Friday night her night of rest.)

“No.” He pauses. “And it’s a pool party.”

Put down burger-not-worth-mentioning-that-made-me-feel-a-little-gross-afterwards. “Done. Let’s go.”

“Really?”

“Hell yes. Pool party is always a yes.”

I run home to change into a bathing suit and my towel dress (yes, I did just use towel as an adjective to describe a dress) and we rally at his house. Our friend who got the press invite knocks on the door and we J to the G it to Jackson Heights.

The stop for the spot is the same stop as PS1 and 5Pointz and we wander around the graffiti mecca/hall of fame/etc. of 5 Pointz before heading to the party.

“Hey, is that our photographer friend?” one of us says, noticing two women glamor-shotting it in front of some art.

He starts yelling her name. Then we all start yelling her name. Then she turns around and it’s not her.

“Sorry! We thought you were someone else!”

5Pointz walkabout ends and we head over to the Palms NYC without much trouble as we can hear the DJ from five blocks away. We are waved in by the security guards and walk through the wood-paneled lobby. The hotel check-in counter is actually a bar and beers are purchased before we make our way to the back area.

To the right of us are the dumpster pools (yes, I did just use dumpster as an adjective to describe pools). There are crossing-guard-orange lounge chairs in a line in front of the dumpsters. There is a DJ to the left of us and in the back is–

“Red Hook Lobster Pound, best lobster rolls in NYC??” I squeal.

Yes, the best lobster rolls I’ve ever had in NYC are within 50 feet of where I’m standing.

The bf puts his hand on my shoulder. “That was going to be my final bribe if you weren’t sure about coming.”

Plan is already formulating in my head as I’m still digesting rock-of-a-burger I had for lunch. Lounge on chairs, wait for beers to be finished (no alcohol in the pool area, funny), swim in pool, eat lobster roll, lounge on chairs. In that exact order.

We each take a lounge chair, firetruck engine red dumpsters behind us, watching people watch us in the giant glass office building directly in our line of vision. At work on a Friday night at 7:30 pm while a pool party is going on block away? Torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. Glad I’m down here and not up there.

Beer cans are discarded of and we look at each other, nodding that it’s time. The lifeguard greets us with wide smiles and and inviting gesture to pick a pool. Because there’s three of them.

Towel dress comes off faster than you can say lobster roll and I’m making my way down the ladder of the middle pool, where one of our friends has already warmed up. The water is cold but we power through and do water aerobic sprints for the first few minutes of the holy-crap-we’re-in-a-dumpster-and-a-pool time.

We marvel at the trashy-classiness of the whole affair. We catch a lifeguard testing the chlorine levels at some point and note that the sides are lined just like a regular swimming pool, complete with ladders to get in and out, signs that indicate how deep they are (4’3″ in the shallow end, 4’6″ in the deep end in case you were curious) and–

“Oh my gosh, is that a jet??”

Yes, the dumpster pool has jets. Yes, I realize this is probably the first time anyone has ever put those words together in a sentence.

We stay swimming until the air outside has gotten colder than the water and suddenly I’m cold AND hungry.

I turn to the bf.

“Lobster roll time?” he asks.

Nod. “Lobster roll time!”

We jump out and run like penguins (logic – if we keep our legs together as much as possible when we run, our legs will keep the other warmer) to our pile of towels and clothes. Towel dress to the rescue. The sun has fully set and dusk is quickly disappearing and taking the warmth with it.

The food truck has one customer standing in front of it, looking at bit confused. He steps away when we sees us approaching with a mission.

“Two lobster rolls, Connecticut style,” we order, after we notice the other style is served cold and slathered in mayonnaise. CT style is warm and slathered in butter. Mmmm, slathered in butter.

We can’t contain ourselves when we walk over to our friends, lounging in the same spots we left. We wave the lobstery goodness in front of them before we have a seat on the fake grass to dig in.

The bf takes a bite. “Oh, THAT is good.”

“I’m going to go get one right now. How much are they?” our friend ask.

“16.”

“6?”

“No, 16.”

“What?! Never mind, I’m not that hungry.”

I am personally invested in the lobster rolls at this point. I had them for the first time last year at the Atlantic-Antic and they were as good if not better than the ones we had in Maine.

“But it’s so much lobster! Where else are you going to find this much lobster in one sandwich? Also, it’s right here. Otherwise, you would have to go all the way to Red Hook to get these rolls.” I go into ultimate peer pressure mode. It’s like I’m trying to convince him to drink for the first time at his first high school party.

I take my first bite now and am even more adamant. “This has been voted the best lobster roll in all of NYC! You’re here and you’re hungry.”

He shakes his head.

I shrug. After the second bite, I don’t care who I convince. I have one in front of me right now that needs all the savoring attention it deserves. The bun is toasted with butter on either side and has that perfect crisp on the outside with a softness on the inside that acts not just as a vehicle for the lobster, but a part of the bite that enhances in the lobster-to-mouth delivery. I’ve had lobster rolls where hot dog buns were used. Red Hook’s bun situation was clearly taken much more seriously, as it should be.

The lobster is seasoned with what looks and taste like a little bit of paprika, but mostly, it’s just butter and lobster. They don’t include the extra helping of butter like I’ve had before, but I feel like that just shows a confidence in their butter-to-lobster ratio that I can’t argue with.

I am about halfway through the roll when our friend just yells, “All right, I’m getting one!” It must have been the mmmm sound I made after each bite. Mmmm.

There is so much lobster it’s fallen out of the bun and I am left with a small pile that I get to revel in after the bun is long gone. When was the last time I had lobster just falling out of my sandwich? All I know is that it’s been too long since that’s happened.

Our friend takes his first bite. “Mmm. That’s pretty good.”

By the time he is licking his fingers, pretty good has become really good has become worth it.

Whttps://nycfoodadventures.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=322&action=edit&message=10e let the night linger a bit longer as we take in the slight breeze that is winding its way around the party.

When we are ready to leave, towel dress a bit more soaked, stomach a bit more full, brain a bit less fried, I take one last look at the view – lobster truck in front of me, dumpster pools to my right.

Good summer.

Lobster roll – shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy

Red Hook Lobster Pound
284 Van Brunt Street
Brooklyn, NY
646-326-7650
http://redhooklobsterpound.com/
Find the truck on twitter @lobstertruckny