Mexico's Little Lobster Town

Maybe it was hunger, or the dozens of roadside pitchmen yammering for my attention, or the hot sun searing through the windshield. But as I drove through the dusty streets of Puerto Nuevo, Mexico, it hit, and it hit hard: Crustacean Frustration.

It's a common malady in Puerto Nuevo, the self-described "Lobster Capital of Baja," where you can choose from dozens of restaurants serving up langostas. Pan-fried lobsters. Lobsters simmered in salsa. Lobster burritos. Lobster thermidor.

Puerto Nuevo, a 90-minute drive from San Diego, is a teeny fishing village with less than 400 residents and a handful of roads that lead to one of three places -- the ocean, the highway to Ensenada/Rosarito or a lobster restaurant. There are few signs of residential life, just some tilted shacks, a corroding trailer home, stray dogs -- and 32 eateries serving the town specialty, Puerto Nuevo lobster.

According to tradition, the lobsters are pan-fried in lard, so the meat stays soft and tender in its crispy brown envelope. Beans, rice and flour tortillas are served on the side, with a small dish of melted butter that is more of an afterthought than a major player. If you want a plain old boiled lobster, save yourself the 90-minute trip south from San Diego and head to Red Lobster.

A half-century ago, Puerto Nuevo fishermen would rise at dawn to check their pots for Pacific lobster, then haul their catch home, where they'd whip up a seafood feast and open their cramped kitchens to hungry passersby. The dining was minimalist and the service nonexistent, but at $4 a lobster, the price was right. These days, the tab is three times as much -- though by North American standards, it's still a bargain -- and the extended-family dining experience has been replaced with full-service restaurants.

And a certain bit of hucksterism.

"I have lobsters for you!" shouted a crinkled man named Crazy Horse, as my friend Nina and I drove past his restaurant on a recent food pilgrimage. "Five half-lobsters for $12, and a free margarita." He flashed us a wicked smile, then handed us a flier with prices and motioned to an open parking spot. "We have free parking, too." (Actually, the whole town has free street parking.)

Soon another vendor was upon us, barking his hard sell: a 1 1/4-pound lobster for $14, including refried beans, rice, and chips and salsa. As our car rolled by, he tossed us an ad promising us a free shot of tequila if we presented the ad to our server. Then another restaurant employee tempted us with all-you-can-eat guacamole. We realized we were either going to have to keep a tally of the deals (we lost count of the pitchmen running up to the car) and go by price alone or toss a shell at one of the storefronts and book a table at the one it hit.

We decided to judge the restaurants -- which, for the most part, serve the same food -- by looks alone: an outdoor deck with pelicans skimming overhead or a blue-tiled dining room with ocean views and a circulating mariachi band? We were about to settle on Ortega's, touted as one of the originals, until we rounded the corner.

The line at Restaurant Puerto Nuevo #1 extended from the front door to the end of the block, surprising since the town was otherwise unpeopled on this sparkling Saturday afternoon. Those near the doorway, including a couple from McLean and a trio from Egypt and Paris, said they'd been waiting for at least an hour and a half. A woman from Romania added, "I don't wait for anything in Romania, I don't wait in L.A. But I will wait for these lobsters."

We were intrigued. More important, we were hungry -- so we got in line.

We stood beside Rose and Nick Rodela of Sun City, Calif., who took us under their wing. Rose, a retiree who was drinking a Tecate beer on the curb, said she used to eat lobsters in the home of Doña Chayo, the restaurant's proprietress. "We would eat in her kitchen. Or if there wasn't any room there, we'd sit at a table outside or in the living room. We would grab a beer from the refrigerator and tell her how many we drank when we paid her."