Peaks Island Lobster Roll: The Inn On Peaks Island

One recent sweltering Sunday, we found ourselves trying to beat the heat by heading out into Casco Bay. We boarded a packed car ferry and set sail for Peaks Island where we rented bikes and rode around the island for an hour. (FYI: It wasn't much cooler than the mainland.) You know what riding bikes does (besides making me feel incredibly old and out of shape)? It works up an appetite!

We decided on The Inn On Peaks Island for lunch and were happy to have a table inside out of the heat. It's not a bad little place although the beer selection leaves a little to be desired. I was excited to see they had a lobster roll special, and despite my tendency to steer clear of lobster rolls that aren't a regular menu item, I ordered it! I mean how hard is it to construct a lobster roll? You'd be surprised how easy it is for a place to suck at it.

The Inn on Peaks sucks at a lobster roll. I didn't even need to taste it to come to that conclusion. For $18, I expect a little more than a fistful of lobster on my bread. I also expect that if you're going to jip me on said lobster, why don't you at least try to spread it out to cover the whole hot dog bun so it looks like... well, not like the picture. When it arrived in front of me, I almost asked the waiter if he was serious. But I'm pretty sure he was since he didn't apologize for it or offer to bring more lobster.

And that's not even the whole story. If you've been a loyal reader of this blog, you know I like my buns buttery and toasted. This one was the opposite of that. One side looked like it may have brushed against a hot surface at some point, but the other side was basically cold. I was confused. Was the kitchen staff drunk? Suffering from heat stroke? Eating hallucinogenics? Pissed off about life in general? Whatever is going on in your life, I think you should take a certain amount of pride in building a respectable lobster roll in Maine. This one was clearly made by a four-year-old with a broken arm and an attitude problem.

The only one tiny little bright spot in this experience was the taste of that tiny blob of lobster. It was lightly dressed with an herbed mayo and the meat tasted fresh and tender. It had real potential. The meat is half the battle – once you've perfected that, the rest is gravy.

Disappointed, we headed back to the dock to wait for the ferry home where we were entertained by Reggae Sunday amateurs that were so drunk by 2:30 in the afternoon, they needed to be escorted home. Nothing like standing in line to board the boat, wondering if you're out of the splatter zone in case they hurl.