Originally published in 1988, Marjorie Harris and Peter Taylor’s updated guide, How To Make Love To A Lobster: An Eclectic Guide To The Buying, Cooking, Eating and Folklore Of Shellfish, captured my imagination, and sparked an unexpected critical inquiry. With great attention to detail, I pored over the survey of fairly standard recipes (divided by type of species), wine pairing suggestions, historical trivia, and mildly amusing yet thoroughly nostalgic memories of unforgettable shellfish indulgences in the lives of Harris and Taylor. The delightful literary tone, reminiscent of M. F. K. Fisher’s 1941 classic book, Consider The Oyster, and the playfully naive illustrations by Setareh Ashrafologhalai could not, however, distract this reader from what was reading like a shallow dive into an even more critical pairing than wine: the topic of ecological sensitivity. Where else but in an updated cookbook do we find the opportunity for updated ideas, such as the fact that the ocean's tasty resources are being compromised, in quality and in quantity? Setting aside this nagging question, I continued reading with an eye to mastering a certain culinary challenge I had set for myself. I'd elected Harris and Taylor to be my personal guides as I reached for a milestone in my appetite for self-education and flavourful adventures. With trepidation, softened only by the exuberance and detailed knowledge these shellfish aficionados obviously share, I was daring to prepare a live lobster, snappy claws and all. This idea left me Woody Allen skittish. That escapee live lobster scene in Annie Hall risked playing out in my own kitchen. Unlike the crab, the shrimp, the prawns and scampi, the abalone, the conch, all the shellfish — and even squid and octopus — that Harris and Taylor simmer in nostalgia and season with lyrical romance, the California spiny lobster was local and in season. Adding to the thrill of creating unforgettable moments, my husband offered to join a group of lobster divers and capture one for a late romantic dinner. I was delighted at his offer. Only the freshest would do for my lofty ambitions, as long as it wasn't me in the dark murky waters chasing a crustacean. As a Canadian who did not grow up on one of our three saltwater coasts, I did not have privileged access to dripping fresh quality seafood, until this year. I am undeniably a shellfish amateur. That is, I have had the pleasure of enjoying what others prepared. While studying abroad, in Bordeaux, France, I delighted in the annual tradition of gritty, raw oysters one New Year’s Eve. Only during the years I lived in Vancouver did I begin to truly appreciate the wondrous subtleties of sushi, and developed a personal theory that those who don't like sushi haven't tasted fresh high quality sushi. In Hawaii, I had a surprising Proustian moment, but my madeleine was the simple shrimp, the freshest I have ever had the pleasure of savouring, coated in coconut. These delectable experiences taught me about the undeniable roles that location, freshness, and expert preparation play in the flavour of shellfish, roles that are cursorily examined — or perhaps taken for granted? — in How To Make Love To A Lobster, a book aimed at inspiring and educating amateur shellfish cooks. On the night of the lobster dive, as the divers donned wet suits and checked flashlight batteries, they discussed best methods for capturing and preparing these crustaceans. The locals preferred to make love to this claw-free creature by barbecuing it and pairing it with beer. Harris and Taylor focus on their love of the “king of all …