The only saucepan that we owned which was big enough to hold a large lobster, was the one which Ma boiled up the whites in. Not sheets and towels, just handkerchieves and knickers. So my brother and I were quite worried that this lobster would taste of Persil (and I don't mean parsley).
Pa was late home and Ma was so incensed that he'd kept this special meal waiting, that she hit him over the head with the lobster.
When the lobster was pronounced ready, there was the problem of breaking it open. Pa was lucky that he didn't get hit with the rolling pin, which Ma attacked the lobster with.
We were handed a bread board and a meat tenderiser and told to bash it - that remains my preferred stress-busting way of dealing with lobster.
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