Lobster Is a Lifestyle on Prince Edward Island

The rain has just let up when my 16-year-old son, Max, and I leave our hotel and head to Sea Rocket Oyster House in downtown Charlottetown. It is our first stop on a multi-day journey to explore lobster on Canada’s Prince Edward Island — not only on the plate but in the lives of the people who catch, cook, and serve the tasty crustacean.

It isn’t my first visit to the island. I was here years earlier with my husband, and the memories of wild lupin fields, red cliffs, cute lighthouses, and signs for lobster suppers outside whitewashed churches have stuck with me. It’s no wonder it inspired L.M. Montgomery to write “Anne of Green Gables.” This time, Max and I set out to better understand PEI’s most iconic dish.

I haven’t come to relive storybook memories. I want to see how lobster, once considered poor people’s food, has become a regional symbol – and how it still connects people across the island. We find that it has been transformed from humble beginnings to become a culinary delicacy, propped up by a community that serves it with care, creativity, and deep-rooted tradition.

Prince Edward Island is Canada’s smallest province, stretching just 140 miles long. What it lacks in size, it makes up for in scenery and seafood. The island’s economy thrives on potatoes, tourism, and fisheries — with lobster at the heart of it all. “People come here for the lobster,” says Nancy Fraser, a visitor from Nova Scotia I meet near a lobster mural in Charlottetown. “It’s cultural. It’s what we do this time of year.”

At Sea Rocket, server Sarah Mayaleh recommends the Lobster Thermidor: poached lobster tucked back into its shell and dressed with truffle mornay sauce, cherry tomatoes, and a German-style dill potato salad. “You can get lobster rolls anywhere,” she says. “This one looks better in photos — and tastes just as good.” Tools arrive with my plate: lobster pliers and seafood picks. The pliers remind me of the ones I used as a kid to crack Brazil nuts from my Christmas stocking. I twist off the claws, split open the shell, and dip the sweet, firm meat into butter.

Across the island, lobster is more than a menu item — it’s a ritual, a profession, and a source of pride. That is made clear the next morning aboard the Top Notch, a working lobster boat turned tour charter that Mark Jenkins and his son Luke captain. “This boat is my office,” Mark says as he hauls up a trap. “I fish May through June, pulling 272 traps a day. That’s how I make 85% of my income for the year.”

Mark’s father, who still fishes at age 75, paid 25 cents for his license. Now it’s worth more than $1.7 million. The shift, he says, happened when lobster became fashionable — once royalty started requesting it, and it could be canned properly and shipped inland. “My dad used to throw out his lobster sandwich at school,” Mark says. “It was better to show up with bread and butter.”

That shift in perception is echoed by J.J. Chaisson, a lobster fisherman and fiddler who with his wife, Julie, runs Chaisson A Dream, a dinner cruise based in Souris. “It used to be that farmers spread lobster on their fields as fertilizer,” he says, steam rising from a pot near the wheelhouse. “Now tourists fly in from all over the world to eat it on deck.” We crack shells at picnic tables as J.J. plays a fiddle and the boat rocks gently in the water. It is my son’s first time eating lobster. “It’s good,” he says, “but I think I’ll stick to cheeseburgers.”

Restaurants across the island riff on the local delicacy in creative, regional ways. At Peake’s Quay in Charlottetown, I order a seafood bake loaded with lobster, scallops, shrimp, and white wine cheese sauce. At the Chip Shack, a red-roofed hut on the floating food court, owner Caron Prins serves up lobster poutine and her signature hand-cut fries. “I try to keep local pricing even in the busiest tourist areas,” says Prins, known as the Queen of Fries. “It’s about making good food accessible.”

At Fin Folk Food, a beachside restaurant at Blackbush Beach Resort, I enjoy a lobster roll as part of a sampler plate served with hand-cut fries and house slaw — one of the best meals (and views) of our trip. And at the Prince Edward Island Preserve Co. in New Glasgow, I try a buttery lobster croissant seasoned with lemon-dill mayo and fresh herbs, followed by a stroll through the nearby Gardens of Hope.

Some chefs elevate the shellfish with international flair. At Dalvay by the Sea, a historic inn inside PEI National Park, executive chef Jamie Power prepares a stunning lobster pho. “I wanted to create something unexpected,” he says. The broth is made from lobster shells and halibut bones; simmered with star anise, Szechuan peppercorns, and cinnamon; and poured over grilled halibut, pickled shiitakes, and shelled lobster. “I like to stay rooted in local ingredients but play with global flavors.”

Still, the most memorable seafood feasts are those steeped in tradition, such as New Glasgow Lobster Suppers, where the first lobster dinner was served in 1958 as a fundraiser. Owner and general manager Carl Nicholson leads us into a refrigerated storage area where dozens of lobsters wait in tanks. “We served over 500 people last night,” says co-owner Elaine MacRae. “All our meals come with chowder, mussels, dessert, everything.”

The sense of abundance — and community — is part of the draw. Diners still line up at places like New Glasgow and Fisherman’s Wharf in North Rustico, where meals include 60-foot salad bars, chowder, mussels, and signature pies. “It’s a lot of food,” MacRae laughs. “But it’s what people expect when they come to PEI.”

Beyond the food, it’s the people who shape our story — from a seatmate on the flight who told me about his lobster-fishing family in West Point to the dockhands who welcome my son aboard their boats and encourage him to try his hand at lobster fishing. I came looking to photograph lobster in all its forms and leave with something more: an understanding of how this crustacean connects generations, supports communities, and defines a way of life.

On our last night, a pink moon rises above Dalvay Lake as a guitarist plays quietly nearby. I raise a glass of Chardonnay and watch Max deal cards for a game of Kings in the Corner. PEI has gifted us moments both big and small — cracked shells, kind strangers, walks along red sand beaches. I smile. This island has once again painted itself vividly into my memory — no filter required.