Lobster rolls are my proof that there is a God. And Pearl Oyster Bar has a direct line right to Him. Their lobster rolls are exactly as they should be: succulent hunks of lobster dressed with a simple tarragon mayonnaise, maybe even Hellman's (I totally approve). The bun is a homemade, lightly toasted hot dog bun, judiciously buttered. And they serve salty shoestring fries - a big mound of them - on the side. I also admire the few little snipped chives on the plate. Self-restraint is very appealing.
If I'm going on one food pilgrimage, it's to Pearl. It's on one of those ridiculously charming side streets in the Village that makes you want to move to New York immediately. And I would wait in line forever, which is a distinct possibility at this place. It's teeny tiny. When you finally make it inside, you may end up sitting at the counter facing the wall, as opposed to the other counter that also faces a wall, just a more attractive one. It's a little disconcerting to stare at the wall while you're eating the greatest lobster roll of your life. You'd like to look at the generous ocean that gave you such a delicious, brave, selfless lobster. But you got the wall. C'est la vie.
I'm sure there must be other stuff on the menu. But why bother. This is the Charlton Heston of lobster rolls (in his Moses days). Big, hunky, sorta sexy but deep down, still a Momma's boy. This is the one you marry.