The toasted-bun urges.
The clarified-butter shakes.
The uncontrollable craving for sweet, sweet tail meat.
All signs the season of the lobster roll is upon us.
And all signs you should go here...
It’s Cull & Pistol, the quaint new sit-down branch of the seafood mother ship that is the Lobster Place, opening for lunch Tuesday at Chelsea Market.
You’ve seen all the glorious oceanic goodness at the Lobster Place proper. Spectacular cuts of rare tuna and lobsters the size of very large lobsters. Well, this is all that, just brought into a bare-bulb-lit stretch of restaurant and raw bar where you can relax and have it served to you on plates and such.
It’s simple. You walk in for an “ideas” lunch with a fellow responsible colleague (dinner starts the following week), you procure one of the wood-planked two-tops along the brick wall on the right, and you enjoy. The enjoyments: grilled whole fish that’ll change daily, two (count ’em, two) kinds of lobster rolls—the warm Connecticut and the cold Maine—and a raw bar that thinks having live sea urchin is no big deal.
Of course, none of that for you until you’ve thoroughly scoured the chelada menu. Your scouring could net you an oyster-stout-stocked take on the Dark and Stormy called Hurricane Bob or a Gatorade-powder-rimmed shandy called the Gator Beer 2.0.
Feel free to pour it on the nearest NFL coach.
The clarified-butter shakes.
The uncontrollable craving for sweet, sweet tail meat.
All signs the season of the lobster roll is upon us.
And all signs you should go here...
It’s Cull & Pistol, the quaint new sit-down branch of the seafood mother ship that is the Lobster Place, opening for lunch Tuesday at Chelsea Market.
You’ve seen all the glorious oceanic goodness at the Lobster Place proper. Spectacular cuts of rare tuna and lobsters the size of very large lobsters. Well, this is all that, just brought into a bare-bulb-lit stretch of restaurant and raw bar where you can relax and have it served to you on plates and such.
It’s simple. You walk in for an “ideas” lunch with a fellow responsible colleague (dinner starts the following week), you procure one of the wood-planked two-tops along the brick wall on the right, and you enjoy. The enjoyments: grilled whole fish that’ll change daily, two (count ’em, two) kinds of lobster rolls—the warm Connecticut and the cold Maine—and a raw bar that thinks having live sea urchin is no big deal.
Of course, none of that for you until you’ve thoroughly scoured the chelada menu. Your scouring could net you an oyster-stout-stocked take on the Dark and Stormy called Hurricane Bob or a Gatorade-powder-rimmed shandy called the Gator Beer 2.0.
Feel free to pour it on the nearest NFL coach.
