Sun of a Beach

on the porch at the cottage

It's time to end our radio silence after several days of kicking back at "the Beach." We're now parked in Gloucester, Massachusetts at the summer cottage of Andrea's childhood-and-ever-since friend Ronni. She inherited it from her parents Joe and Ruth. Joe Solman was a painter and graphic artist of note (if you've been in our place in Portland you've seen a tiny portion of his work, including a portrait of Andrea's mother Marie.) This cottage, along with other locales in Gloucester and Rockport produced inspiration and subject matter for many of his later creations.  It is ever-so-cooler here, but hardly shiver-inducing, with highs in the eighties and lows in the 60's. This is a few degrees below what we experienced in Bethany Beach, Delaware. I can hear all you sun lovers saying, "Get over it, it is called SUMMER." And so it is, so I will stop complaining about the high humidity that blankets you with a microfilm of ooze at all times, and the sun, Mean Mister Sun, who top-broils your arms and neck in a flash. I think that living in Portland, OR has permanently lowered my heat tolerance, so nearly every place else feels too hot to be optimum. I hold out hope for Portland Maine.

cocktail sauce. So elusive!

One thing we did do in Bethany Beach and environs was to eat (I am sure this comes as a great surprise.) Two meals in a single day combined to provide us with one of the most unusual back-to-back eating experiences possible. Lunch was at a new place called Just Hooked, and both the menu and the setting were quite promising, with fresh seafood and salads, very moderate pricing and comfortable, well-spaced seating. Our server introduced herself as Amy, and promptly spilled a tray of rather large, icy water glasses all over the table. Other than a momentary threat to an iPhone, all was well, and we were reseated at a nicer, round table by the windows. Amy returned and this time successfully furnished the ensemble with ice cold waters. We by now had enough time to peruse the selections; several of us ordered the crab cake sandwich, which comes on a brioche roll baked in house as well as slaw and garlic chips (also all house made,) and "is served with tartar sauce, cocktail sauce and ketchup." I quote. Very attractive, fresh plates came out in a timely way, and all was well except for . . . the lack of cocktail sauce. We pointed this out to one of the several people who came up to ask if everything was OK, and she said she'd bring it right out. Nothing. No result. This went on and on; someone would walk up, and we'd say, where's the cocktail sauce? The story slowly evolved. They are making a new batch, would normally have been done in the morning but we were slammed last night. Ok, could you just bring us a little bit? Oh no, we have to make it for the whole house. This finally evolved into cold crab cakes sitting in front of four of us, and after yet another delay we received a promised visit from the manager. He was a nice enough man, but his management style consisted of a string of apologies, another story about why the cocktail sauce was not there, and an assurance that it would indeed soon appear. About 35 minutes after the food hit the table, the oft-requested and continually-promised cocktail sauce arrived. And oddly enough, it was, we all agreed, some of the best cocktail sauce ever. Maybe it was the long wait, or perhaps the culinary skill of the kitchen, which despite the sauce issue, had produced some delicious food. We gulped down our room-temp food, and when prompted for coffee or dessert, asked for the check instead. At this point the manager instructed the server to bring out a full tray of desserts, all six on the menu, all made in house except for some excellent ice cream from a local producer. A unique Key Lime Pie; a Lemon tart; chocolate fudge; two kinds of ice cream; warm blueberry cobbler. It was a delightful surprise and put a nice cap on an otherwise weird dining experience.

J.D.'s Sisters at the Grove. Note rain.

This is how it looked after power failure . . .

This turned out to be just the prologue for dinner. Our party of eight motored out to the near countryside to the Grove Market restaurant. I probably should not even mention this place because it is nearly impossible to ever get a reservation. It is tiny; it is well liked by locals; it has a somewhat arbitrary policy of accepting reservations a couple of weeks in advance if it fits in with their very limited seating. It also does not have a printed menu, nor will you find everything on a chalkboard. And even when the menu is recited to you in exquisite detail, course by course, one thing you will not hear mentioned is a price. Normally this is a cue to run as rapidly as you can to the nearest exit before your nest egg is permanently drained. But we had a general idea that the meal should end up at around $50 a person, and as each course was laid out the price seemed a non-issue. Every dish at this place was prepared in a tiny kitchen that divided the two seating areas, each with just a few tables; the variety of both appetizers and main courses was astounding (Grouper on skewers; smoked fish platter made in-house; salad with local beets; lobster bisque with actual lobster in it were the appetizers.) But this experience went beyond the food; just after the main courses hit the table, the intensity of the showers that had begun with our drive out to the restaurant stepped up to a new, violent level; lightning spewed, thunder rumbled, and after a few perfunctory flickers, the lights failed. "Happens all the time," said the staff, who rapidly lit the tables with tea lamps and proceeded as if this were the most normal thing in the world. The meal was completed with assistance from the Flashlight program on the iPhone and some shining of non-virtual flashlights by the staff at critical moments. We passed on dessert, which made the server happy, because she said she had no idea where anything was in the walk-in. Two bottles of wine, six exquisite main courses, and four appetizers later, we were out the door for $55 each. Thus ended the day of strange meals.

Click and check out his eyes!

Ocean City Boardwalk

Other activities included a longish walk on a soupy, sunny day on the boardwalk in Ocean City, MD, and several visits to the beach, my favorite of which was, of course, after sunset. The boardwalk gives one hope for the American economy; somehow the hordes continue to pump money into businesses that sell not one necessity, and there are surprisingly few vacancies along the way. The serene, nearly empty beach near South Bethany shows that Nature is still out there, patiently waiting for us to pause in our destructiveness so she can rebuild herself anew.

We still have a couple more days here in Gloucester before we head for Portland, ME and then begin the trek westward. More to come