My husband likes this new restaurant called the White Duck. I’m not sure why as every time we’ve been there the food has been mediocre at best.
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The cocktails? Not much better.
This trip the lavender margarita sounded interesting.
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And though it was a pretty purple… it tasted more like the sugar shaker ran amok than lavender. Sickeningly sweet which is not what I want in a cocktail. Sadly the cup of clam chowder wasn’t any better. Thin, watery, full of potatoes with very few clams. Boo to that.
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I hate when the cocktail list is just phoning it in.
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The husband ordered the supposedly home made baked mac and cheese. I make this at home and never think to call it a meal. Theirs was dry as a bone with virtually no flavor. Boo to that as well.
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I stuck with the pub burger because it’s one of the few things they do correctly here. Charbroiled, perfectly cooked with melted cheddar, bacon and served on a brioche bun. With a cold Down East hard cider of course.
Next to one of my husband’s favorite summertime flea markets there was an old farmhouse.
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Which was turned into a family restaurant…
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Which went downhill over the years and became a rough and tumble biker bar called the Montsweag Roadhouse.
Now? It’s undergone another transformation and has become the Montsweag Farmhouse restaurant.
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Its a nice place to stop for a drink when you’re cruising up (or down as the case may be) Route 1.
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We’ve had quite a few meals here but never know what to expect. Sometimes it’s good, other times not. On this particular day I started with an interesting cocktail.
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The apple barn spritz.
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For lunch? An anemic Caesar salad for me and a horrible bowl of French Onion soup the husband ending up sending back.
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He switched to the mussels which he didn’t really enjoy either.
Bean sprouts on mussels? Just.. no.
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I moved on to a very tart cranberry margarita…
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And the vegetable risotto with sautéed garlic greens which was divine.
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Rich, creamy and very flavorful.
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The husband ended with a really nice blueberry crumble for dessert… and the fact that I tried to cut through the ramekin thinking it was a crust speaks to how potent my drinks were.
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In case you’re wondering where the word Montsweag originated.
It’s Maine. We have lots of Native American names.
If you read part one, you’ll know I was thoroughly enjoying this thoughtfully designed new restaurant.
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The fact that it was happy hour and if you sat at the bar their speciality cocktails were half price may have had something to do with that.
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Good thing it was a beautiful slab of granite.. because my bar bills are legendary.
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These were my three choices for the afternoon starting with the Winter Lux.
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A lovely combination of tart and sweet with a seriously booze soaked cherry at the finish.
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Next up was the Sicilian Sour which I expected to be smooth and spicy but was really just a serious bolt of brightly colored bourbon. Not complaining mind you, just surprised.
Since appetizers were half price as well, I had some delightful arincini with herbed mustard sauce and pecorino crema.
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Husband went with the mussels which were served with grilled lemon, heirloom tomatoes, shallots and fennel with a garlic white wine Pernod butter sauce.
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And chickpea fritters to mop up the sauce.
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My final drinkie poo was the Cold Night Collins, a delightfully cool and crisp citrus concoction with an herbal undertone.
And because we were actually there to try the food, I chose the bucatini carbonara.
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Which unfortunately was sub par. While the pasta was homemade, the dish was dry, uninteresting and lacking in flavor. And sadly, the husband didn’t fare any better.
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Half full from all the mussels, he went light with a salad and Sicilian pizza combo. Which had to be sent back because it was stone cold and hard as a rock. And while we assumed they would make him a new one, it seems they just threw it back in the oven to reheat because on return he flipped it over to find it was black as charcoal. Our server immediately took it off the bill and offered a substitute but by that time the husband decided to skip the entree and go straight to dessert.
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Which I have to say more than made up for the lousy pizza. Tiramisu cheesecake with Kahlua. Fabulous!
And because it would be rude to let him eat sweets alone…
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Key lime crème brûlée for moi. Ooh la la! This made up for my mediocre pasta as well.
I talked to a friend the other day whose granddaughter works there and she told me they’re still experiencing the growing pains most new restaurants suffer. Help is hard to find these days and good kitchen staff can be even harder. But we enjoyed it and there was enough on the plus side for us to return.
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If nothing else, I’ll just sit at the bar and stare at the giant fish.
A sister restaurant of our go to favorite place opened recently in Falmouth and I’ve been dying to check it out.
So on a sunny late afternoon last week, we did just that.
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Welcome to the Sicilian Table.
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Like our favorite restaurant, no expense was spared when it came to interior design.
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It was bright and cheerful with lots of wood, stone, rattan and soothing neutral colors.
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It was a good sized two floor space, but offered many intimate seating choices.
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Did I mention there were giant artsy fartsy fish flying overhead?
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These bold beauties were hung here and there and were dramatic to say the least.
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I’m guessing this lighting is meant to pay homage to Maine’s coastal lifestyle by imitating jellyfish…
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This oddly placed ceramic tile wonder … yes, if you zoom in you can see they’re all individual pieces… led to the rest rooms.
And while it was a lovely restaurant inside, the location they chose struck me as odd. While it’s sister sits on the water, this place is the bottom two floors of a law office building smack on Route 1… the busiest coastal route in the state. Falmouth is a wealthy town with multi million dollar estates on the shore. This pricey restaurant will do well, but it would have been nice to have a better view from its windows than the parking of the strip mall it sits in front of.
Housed in an old inn, the restaurant/bar was warm and inviting.
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Most of the dining sections were full so we grabbed a high top near the empty bar.
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Seeing the empty bar made me wonder about the quality of libations….
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But a stellar blood orange cranberry gin fizz allayed my fears.
Of course this was Vermont, so some of the menu items put me off.
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A skillet full of kale? There wasn’t enough gin in the state to make me order that.
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Ditto the falafel, though the maple chicken didn’t sound bad.
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But the clam chowder was homemade, rich, creamy and full of fresh herbs so I started with that.. accompanied by the most amazing peach cornbread with orange whipped butter you’ve ever tasted. Ooh la la! I raved over them so much the waitress brought me extra of both to take home.
The beer? I thought you might notice that.
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I tried both of these.
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Because a girl gets thirsty when she eats salad.
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We enjoyed this place so much we stayed long enough to order dessert. (Mainly because the husband found a fellow veteran to talk to… and you know how long that can take.)
Pumpkin cheesecake for him, Key lime pie for yours truly.
If you’re ever in the Jericho area of Vermont drop in. You won’t be sorry.
As we were randomly driving around Vermont we hit Montpelier, the capitol, and remembered there was a fabulous high end restaurant we’d enjoyed on previous trips.
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Welcome to J. Morgan’s Steakhouse.
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A fabulous place that’s actually part of a hotel. It has a very retro, 1920’s, prohibition era type feel….
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And we hit it at the perfect time since you can rarely get in without reservations.
Apple cider mule?
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Don’t mind if I do.
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It was 3:00pm… but since we hadn’t eaten since breakfast, we decided to be tacky (really) early birds and go straight to dinner. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Which kind of sucked because this place can be pricey.
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A marvelous wedge salad with maple bacon and homemade blue cheese for me, the prerequisite French Onion soup for the spouse.
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The rack of lamb was tempting but I opted for the jumbo shrimp scampi instead.
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Good call. It was scrumptious, with just the right amount of garlic and wine.
And because we were in a steakhouse?
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The filet mignon with burgundy reduction for the husband.
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We basically had the whole place to ourselves, just a few customers scattered here and there. And those amazing lights?
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Made sure the rare filet my other half ordered was definitely that.
If you’re ever in Montpelier? Be sure to stop here. You won’t be disappointed.
One of our favorite restaurants has been letting us down lately.
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And while the cocktails and atmosphere are still wonderful ( fresh blueberry mojito, yum!) the quality of the food has been going downhill. Garlic Parmesan wings? Dry and tasteless.
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Pricey pan seared scallops on risotto? Over cooked seafood on a soggy bed of mush.
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Burgundy braised short ribs? Chewy shoe leather. It all looked good, but wasn’t. So we’ve decided one of our favorite dinner restaurants will now just be one of our favorite watering holes.
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Cucumber and elderflower cooler? Yeah, I’m not giving that up.
And the regular bar crowd is a hoot.
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Mr. I Drink My Jameson With A Cover and A Straw In Case I Spill was back, and you have to appreciate a man who knows his limitations.
It’s a raspberry type of thin mint without the mint. Sign me up!
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We stopped into an uninteresting restaurant the other day because we were in an area we didn’t know. The atmosphere was lackluster, the meal uninspired… but the fresh seafood chowder with crab, shrimp and haddock? Perfection! I’d go back just for that.
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And I have to admit the restroom sign made me grin.
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I think that’s an advertising bridge too far.
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Of course.
Because when I’m craving comfort food… kale, quinoa and soybean ice cream really hit the spot.
On the way to the commissary in Bangor the other day we were disappointed to find our favorite little diner closed for lunch. This sent us searching far and wide for something quick other than the awful fast food chains. Pulling off the highway at the small town of Newport, we took a chance on a place called Anglers.
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Despite the name, (Newport is neither new… incorporated 1814… nor a port anywhere near the water) I didn’t hold out much hope for fresh seafood.
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The restaurant is a dressed up family diner but damned if they didn’t make a nice cocktail.
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An Absolute Citron deckhand lemonade. Quite refreshing.
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I went with the smaller ‘minnow’ portion of fried shrimp and was pleasantly surprised. Fresh, light and perfectly cooked. Husband had a nice clam chowder and broiled scallops which he said were equally good. But the thing that really rocked my world and made me do more than merely contemplate returning?
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.99 cent drafts. And my husband doesn’t drink Budweiser, this was a Maine craft beer called Allagash White which normally costs him $7 -8 a glass. We wondered if this was a serious senior discount, a special price for veterans, or the waitress just made a big mistake. On the way out we asked… and were told all drafts are .99 cents, all the time.
Needless to say this will now be our go to lunch destination before the monthly commissary run.
My girlfriend and I went shopping last week and were excited to discover a new Cajun seafood restaurant had opened in South Portland. Mouth watering for shrimp ettouffe or crawfish gumbo, we entered The Shaking Crab.
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Why was the crab shaking? I have no idea. But the place being nearly empty at the height of the lunch hour should have been our first clue something wasn’t quite right.
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Six dollar drinks went a long way to calm our suspicions…
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Though the Cajuns I’ve known wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a watermelon-tini.
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Giant plastic crabs were everywhere. As were plastic starfish and randomly placed hanging plastic water bubbles.
All the waitstaff were Asian. 9/10ths of the customers were Asian. The scent of the room was reminiscent of an Asian kitchen. The menu? Not an ettouffe, Boudin, or jambalaya in sight.
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Though you could order “coleslow” and “braccoli ”. (These appeared twice, spelled incorrectly both times.) I didn’t bother taking pictures of our meals, they were just typical fried seafood baskets as the only other choices were giant plates of steamed things in a plastic wrap bubble you had to crack, and we didn’t feel like making a mess. I did try to catch a shot of one being delivered to another table, but missed.
Imagine a giant Jiffy Pop balloon encircling a metal dish, only its clear plastic instead of foil. It was an absolutely bizarre presentation of what I’m assuming was meant to be a crawfish boil.
I lived down south. I had Cajun friends and neighbors. I’ve sucked heads. Whatever The Shaking Crab meant to be? It sure as hell wasn’t Cajun.
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