Lobstah

It's time for our annual lobstah dinner for displaced, relocated, and transplanted northerners here in Georgia - meaning me, Mum, our friend S, the Evil Genius (who is, after all, half Yankee) and T because he is honorary half-northern by marriage to me (and if that's not worth a damn lobster once a year or so, then nothing is).

Lobsters, corn, steamers when we can get them (none this year, alas), melted butter, salad, and some sort of desert if we can cram it down our gullets. Let the games begin!

Read about last year's fun here.