I’ve seen Jamie Oliver do it, and I’ve seen other chefs do it. But exactly never have I wished for the opportunity to be the chef appointed to boil, clean and shell a pair of live lobsters. Eating lobster, however, is a delicious experience I would never, ever turn down. So when www.givelobster.com appeared in my inbox last month, I started thinking about that holiday gift list. Something for just about everybody is the goal in my family. The problem is that a lot of those people just don’t need anything. Why not give lobster?

I gave the company a call and requested a sample. Then I read the materials closely. Those lobsters headed for my doorstep were going to be alive! Now this may seem like a small detail, but it is seriously significant for me, a city girl who gets all her seafood dead, and without the heads attached.

A delivery date was set. I was on edge. On the appointed day, the doorbell rang and I answered. There was an envelope addressed to me. Could this be the lobster? I reached for it and I thought it moved. It rattled for sure. I summoned my courage and picked it up and carried it inside. But it didn’t seem alive. No, this was not lobster. My box with lobster inside arrived the following date, and it was was stamped on the outside “Live Maine Lobster.” Inside was a culinary thrill ride that I will not soon forget.

I let the box sit on the table for several hours. Round about dinner time, I poured a half-glass of wine, downed it and opened the box. Inside was a kettle, and inside that were two gray colored lobsters that were moving! I moved the pot to the stove and pondered the problem. The recipe said to put the lobster in boiling water. Yet there was newspaper under the lobster and on top of the lobster, apparently holding them in the pot.

I decided I would boil water in a different pot and summon the culinary fortitude to make a transfer. The water came to a boil and it was time. I pulled the paper off the lobsters and reached inside with my trusty Orca glove, a really thick silicone glove. I squealed and screamed my way through the task, then slapped a lid on the pot and weighed it down, just in case the lobsters tried to make a run for it. Someone asked me if they made any noise as they met their demise. I don’t honestly know since I made such a racket myself.

Exactly 16 minutes later, I opened the pot to see a pair of bright red lobsters, good and dead and ready to eat. I hacked the bodies in half and served them up with melted butter. The claws were delicate and tender; the meat inside the tail was slightly chewy but so much sweeter than crab.

After our lobster feast, I went to the web site to see all of the different products the company sells. Among them is a 6-pound lobster for $99. Now that would be an outrageous meal _ and just the adventure for those thrill-seekers on your gift list. For more details, go to www.givelobster.com. The company is running a special this month. Two 1.25 pound lobsters with free delivery is $39.95.

_ Jolene Thym

There it is again. Another potluck invitation. I like potlucks, but for me, they cause lots of angst. I can cook. I can bake. But the concept of being able to bring anything at all is just too broad. There are so many options. Should it be dessert or savory? Vegetarian or meat? Spicy or subtle? Indian, Chinese, Mexican or plain old American?
For lots of people, potlucks are simple. They bring one of two or three dishes in their potluck repertoire and deliver them with pride. But me, I have questions.

Recently, my assignment was to bring a salad. I was fraught with questions. I started to think about the people coming. Would they like feta cheese or blue cheese in their salad? What kind of greens? Spinach, baby greens, iceberg or romaine? Will they hate bell peppers? What about onion? Do young people like onion? Would they prefer cheddar cheese? Of course, another person might have reached for the bottle of Italian dressing on their way to the supermarket checkstand. But no, that wouldn’t do. I had to make the dressing because I just hate bottled dressing. It tastes so very bottled. Alas, more questions! Balsalmic, red or white wine vinegar? Extra virgin or virgin olive oil? You get the idea.

After much consternation, I produce a salad and dressing and we arrive at the potluck banquet. We chat with friends, who inevitably ask what we brought. I apologize, “Salad, but it has goat cheese on it.” Then I ask the same question, and compliment whatever dish it happens to be. That’s potluck etiquette, which is uncomplicated, thankfully.

At this particular potluck, however, I encounter a mom who utterly impresses me. She is a potluck princess, in my book. At the end of the evening, she glances over her shoulder to make sure others aren’t watching, and tucks her crockpot under her arm, out of view.

“I don’t really want to claim it, but look, it’s all gone,” she says when I ask. “My daughter’s favorite. Weenies in barbecue sauce. You dump in the sauce, add the little weenies and they love it, every time. The best part is that my daughter can make it herself.”

No kidding. I was in awe. She doesn’t fret. She doesn’t go searching through cookbooks. No, it’s not exactly haute cuisine, weenies-in-sauce. But if the people like it, it’s definitely a smashing potluck success.
As she hugged her crockpot, I grabbed my salad bowl, which was also empty. They didn’t hate it after all. I just wish my success had been as stress free as those weenies-in-sauce. _ Jolene Thym

That’s it. I’ve had it. Fruitcake abusers have gone too far. Now Coldstone Creamery is offering a “ransom” (discount) in trade for my luscious, brandy soaked fruit cakes.

This just isn’t right.

Thankfully, it turns out that a pair of fruitcakes agree with me. Miss Fruitcake and Art the Friendly Fruitcake Expert are standing up for fruit cakes online, at www.ilovefruitcake.com.

Sure, they’re main reason for being is to sell fruitcakes and the stuff that goes into fruitcakes, but I applaud them nonetheless.

Since I was a child, fruitcake has been a part of my Christmas. Mom made the most perfect fruitcake, which she always sliced and placed on a tray mounded with cookies. I would partake of every kind of cookie, of course, but unlike most other children, I would also enjoy at least one piece of fruitcake.

When I got a bit taller and older, I got to help make the family fruitcake. Licking the bowl was the best part. I am absolutely certain that people who do not like fruitcake have never, ever in their lives tasted fruitcake batter. One mouthful and there really is no turning your back on the cake again.

Once I was on my own, I had to make my own fruitcake tradition. I started making it myself, but one recipe was really too much cake for a single person. But soon after I started working at the newspaper (I will not confess how many years ago that was) I found a fruitcake partner. She and I would make a date each December and make fruitcake together. We would enjoy lunch and conversation while the cakes baked, then laugh as we poured brandy over the still-warm cakes. We divided them up, making sure that no one took more than her fair share. To us, they were precious. And both of us would give some of our fruitcakes away.

As the years passed, other fruitcake lovers joined in the fun _ but the fruitcake-making became more complicated. There were debates. Some wanted to puree the dates. Some wanted to make light fruitcakes. Some didn’t measure the ingredients accurately. I still remember the time someone dumped the date pits into the batter. Ooops. Eventually, our 8-person fruitcake baking team fell apart, mainly due to children, divorces and moves across the country.

Now I am back to making fruitcake myself _ with the occasional assistance of my own three daughters who always manage to arrive in the kitchen in time to lick the bowl.

To this day, I have to admit that some of the recipients of my precious fruitcakes are not overjoyed. But at least two people I know looked forward to my homemade fruitcake year after year. One is my father in law, who says I make it just like his mom used to make. He grabs the cake and tucks it away so no one scarfs it when he’s not looking. The other was my Grandma, who would start asking about the fruitcake months before it was time. She loved Christmas so much. She adored giving and receiving Christmas presents. And she loved my fruitcake as much as I loved making it for her. Grandma passed away last year. I haven’t made fruitcake. I am not sure I can. But I have to tell you that Coldstone Creamery’s all-in-fun fruitcake ransom-offer just might shake me into action.
For more information about fruitcake, visit www.ilovefruitcake.com.

_ Jolene Thym

“Japanese Women Don’t Get Old or Fat,” (Delacorte Press, $22) by Naomi Moriyama sounds like a great read. I have noticed that Asian women tend to look younger than Caucasians (at least this one) and I am very curious.

Besides, I loved “French Women Don’t Get Fat,” and still use the author’s advice, especially when I want to eat a big, sumptuous meal (she says French women eat everything they want.)

I opened the cover of this book and began to read, expectantly. First I got a lecture about American obesity. Yeah, yeah. That’s not exactly news. What else? Next, I learned that Moriyama’s mother cooked vegetables in season, that Japanese don’t like heavy sauces and that Japanese people adore dashi. I don’t. It tastes fishy to me.

Next chapter?

The problem with the book is that it’s thin on information and so distastefully didactic that by the time I find something new, I’m seriously annoyed by the author’s attitude.

To save you the pain of reading through the entire book to learn not a lot, here are some of the tips Moriyama shares that may be of some use:

• Make a habit of eating off small platees. You’ll end up eating less even if you have seconds or thirds.
• Eat with chopsticks. You won’t eat as much because you can’t.
• Try to eat only until you are 80 percent full.
• Don’t rush meal time.
• Make your food look pretty.
• Eat fresh foods, more fish, fresh fruit and vegetables.
• Eat vegetables for breakfast.
• Cook with unsaturated oils.
• Think of vegetables as your main dish.
• Eat rice with every meal.
• Eat whole wheat noodles.
• Drink green tea.

There are likely a lot more nuggets in this book, but I just don’t have the patience to find them.

_ Jolene Thym