"Lobster Capital of Baja" FOR SEAFOOD ADDICTS ONLY (Warning: this post will make you hungry)

Perhaps it was yearning, or the many roadside pitchmen yammering for my consideration, or the hot sun burning through the windshield. In any case, as I drove through the dusty streets of Puerto Nuevo, Mexico, it hit, and it hit hard: Crustacean Frustration.

"1/2 lb lobesters"

It's a typical illness in Puerto Nuevo, the self-depicted "Lobster Capital of Baja", where you can look over many restaurants serving up langostas. Seared lobsters. Lobsters stewed in salsa. Lobster burritos. Lobster thermidor.

Puerto Nuevo, an hour and a half drive from San Diego, is a small angling town with under 400 occupants and a modest bunch of streets that prompt one of three spots - the sea, the expressway to Ensenada/Rosarito or a lobster eatery. There are few indications of private life, simply some tilted shacks, an eroding trailer home, stray mutts - and 32 restaurants serving the town claim to fame, Puerto Nuevo lobster.

As indicated by custom, the lobsters are sautéed in fat, so the meat remains delicate and delicate in its firm darker shell. Beans, rice, and flour tortillas are served as an afterthought, with a little dish of softened spread that is a greater amount of an untimely idea than a noteworthy player. On the off chance that you need a plain old bubbled lobster, spare yourself the hour and a half outing south from San Diego and go to Red Lobster.

"Sitting by the ocean and seagulls"

A half-century prior, Puerto Nuevo anglers would ascend at first light to check their pots for Pacific lobster, at that point pull their catch home, where they'd throw together a fish devour and open their confined kitchens to hungry bystanders. The eating was moderate and the administration nonexistent, yet at $4 a lobster, the cost was correct. Nowadays, the tab is three-fold the amount of - however, by North American measures, it's as yet a deal - and the more distant family feasting background has been supplanted with full-benefit eateries.

"I have lobsters for you!" yelled a crinkled man named Crazy Horse, as my companion Christy and I drove past his eatery on a current sustenance journey. "Five half-lobsters for $12, and a free margarita." He flashed us an insidious grin, at that point gave us a flier with costs and pointed to an open parking space. "We have free stopping, as well." (Actually, the entire town has free road stop.)

Before long another merchant was upon us, yapping his hard offer: a 1/2-pound lobster for about $28, including refried beans, rice, and chips and salsa. As our auto moved by, he hurled us an advertisement promising us a free shot of tequila in the event that we exhibited the promotion to our server. At that point, another worker enticed us with whatever you-can-eat guacamole. We understood we were either must keep a count of the arrangements and pass by value alone or hurl a shell at one of the customers facing facades and book a table at the one it hit.

We chose to judge the eateries - which, generally, serve a similar sustenance - by looks alone: an outside deck with pelicans skimming overhead or a blue-tiled lounge area with sea sees and a coursing mariachi band? We were going to settle on Ortega's, touted as one of the firsts until we adjusted the corner.

The line at Restaurant Puerto Nuevo #1 reached out from the front way to the finish of the piece, amazing since the town was generally unpeopled on this shining Saturday evening. Those close to the entryway, including a couple from US and a trio from Egypt and France, said they'd been sitting tight for 60 minutes and a half. A lady from Romania included, "I don't sit tight to anything in Romania, I don't hold up in L.A. Yet, I will sit tight for these lobsters."

We were captivated. More imperative, we were ravenous - so we got in line.

"You eat the lobster with your hands. I took all my gems off so I can simply delve my hands in," said Christy, as she dove her fingers in. "Simply destroy it."

We finished our parts, while Monica and Luis attempted to eat their six. Toward the finish of the dinner, just the shells remained. We requested pastry, in any case, oh, there were no desserts. We paid our bill ($28 for nourishment, $5 for beverages), at that point inquired as to whether they would stick around to shop.

"We simply eat and run," said Luis, as he and Christy hustled out the entryway, conveying their pack of remains.

Puerto Nuevo, Mexico, is 51 miles from downtown San Diego, around an hour and a half drive. From the outskirt, take after the toll street, Mexico Highway 1D; tolls are about $5 one way. An auto is prescribed since open transportation will include a trolley, transport, and taxicab. Eateries acknowledge American dollars, however, few assume praise cards. Top feasting times are late evenings on summer ends of the week, and most restaurants close around 9 p.m.

You don't have to but please Upvote, Comment, Resteem, and Follow me @scorpino