The Cockroach of the Sea

Cedar Valley News
Fictorial Number 408 · September 8, 2026
The Cockroach of the Sea
By George Khan

A man at my counter last week turned up his nose at the oxtail.

He was a nice enough fellow, just passing through, looking for something for his supper, and I pointed him to the oxtail, which was cheap, and which I happen to know makes a broth to bring tears to your eyes. He looked at it the way you look at something you found under the sink. Is this, he said, the tail? I told him it was. He bought a steak instead, a fine one, four times the price, and went on his way. And I thought, not for the first time, about how strange, and how movable, our idea of value really is. Because the thing he would not touch is, in half the kitchens of the world and most of the very best ones, a slow-cooked treasure a chef would put his name to. My own mother made it a hundred times, and it fed us like kings. And the whole small moment put me in mind of the lobster.

You know lobster. The white tablecloth. The little bib, the melted butter, the market price the waiter says in a hushed voice, like he is quoting scripture. Lobster is the crown of the American menu. It means money. It means a celebration. And for most of American history, it was garbage.

I am not exaggerating. In colonial New England, lobster was so common it washed up on the beaches in piles two feet deep after a storm. They called it the cockroach of the sea. It was cheap, and it was ugly, and it was everywhere underfoot, and so it was fed to the people who had no say in the matter. Prisoners. Servants. Apprentices. The old, the orphaned, and the jailed. They ground it up for fertilizer and threw it to the pigs. In Massachusetts, the story goes, servants finally rebelled and had it written into their contracts, in plain ink, forbidding anyone from feeding them lobster more than three times a week. There was a stretch when a pound of lobster cost 11 cents, and a pound of baked beans cost 53 cents, because beans, at the least, were respectable.

And here is the detail I cannot get out of my head. Families who ate lobster, because it was all they could afford, were ashamed of it. They buried the shells in the backyard, at night, so the neighbors would not see and know how poor they were.

Then the railroads came, and the canneries, and lobster got shipped inland to people who had never been told it was beneath them. They tasted it, with no shame at all attached to it, and they loved it, the way you love a thing before anyone has told you not to. Demand rose. Then the lobsters grew scarcer, and scarce is the other half of how a thing gets called precious. And within a single lifetime, the cockroach of the sea, the food a man buried in his own yard, climbed up onto the white tablecloth and became the most expensive thing in the room.

Nothing about the lobster changed. Not one single thing. The only thing to change was the story we all agreed to tell about it.

I think about this a great deal, standing where I stand. I sell food to people all day long, and I watch what they reach for and what they will not touch, and I have learned the line between garbage and treasure is not in the thing at all. It is in us. It is a story, and stories change, and the humble thing you would not be caught dead with today is one railroad, one good cook, one turn of fashion away from being the thing everybody wants.

The next time you are certain something is beneath you, a food, a cut, a neighborhood, a job, a person, remember the man out there in the dark, burying his lobster shells, certain to his bones he was eating garbage.

He was eating lobster.

Go easy on your certainties about what is worth something. The crown and the garbage have traded places before. They will again.

Cedar Valley News is free, and it comes to your inbox every morning, six days a week. If this morning’s fictorial was worth your time, please forward it to someone who would value it. And if someone forwarded it to you and you’d like your own each morning, you can subscribe here.

Cedar Valley News has a Letters to the Editor page, and I would be glad to hear from you. What is a humble thing, a food or anything else, you know to be a treasure the world has not caught up to yet? Come and tell us. And if we have gotten something wrong, write and tell us, and we will run the correction.

This fictorial is part of the fictional Cedar Valley News series, written by Evan Swensen, Publisher, and Claude Marshall, AI Developmental Editor. While George and his deli are fictional, the history is real. In colonial New England, lobster was extraordinarily abundant, washing ashore in large quantities, and was regarded as low-status food, fed to prisoners, servants, apprentices, and livestock, and used as fertilizer and bait. It was widely scorned; period accounts describe lobster shells as marks of poverty. In the mid-to-late 1800s, canning and the expansion of railroads carried lobster to inland diners unfamiliar with its low reputation, and rising demand and later scarcity transformed it into a luxury. Some vivid claims, such as servants’ contracts limiting lobster meals, are widely repeated and likely embellished. Sources include historical accounts collected by the Maine Lobstermen’s Community Alliance, the Smithsonian, and contemporary food histories.

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