After a full day of furniture shopping my husband cried uncle.
Or more accurately, Sicilian Table in Falmouth.
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It’s the new sister restaurant to our favorite and we’ve been a few times. Remember the fabulous fish?
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We snagged a spot at the busy bar…
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And commenced cocktailing.
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Okay, maybe that was me.
First up? A rosemary lemondrop.
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Sheer herby perfection.
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Enough so that I had two, with a beautifully rich chicken Marsala.
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Moving on to the winter Cosmo I watched my husband devour the Devils Tower of beef.
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My name not theirs. It was a fabulous but ridiculously expensive filet mignon, no sides included. I don’t mind paying for a great meal, but geesh… don’t make me pay extra for potatoes and veg.
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I don’t care how full you are you can’t pass on their desserts.
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I took half home, but the hazelnut tiramisu was divine.
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And according to my fussy husband, their cheesecake is the best in the state. Caramel bourbon pear sauce…
My husband rolled his eyes and scoffed at the idea of me not being able to choose a fabric for the sofa he liked among a hundred and fifty choices so I decided to let him experience the joy of fabric selection first hand.
Since we needed to find a different brand of furniture, shopping began anew.
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Can you tell how thrilled he was?
He didn’t mind that couch, but vetoed the square arms.
The salesperson said it could be ordered in a rolled arm style….
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And we were off.
Standing in front of that brand’s wall of fabric, I started pulling patterns.
The following comments are his.
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Too swirly.
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Too wavy.
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Too blotchy.
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Too hippie dippie.
45 minutes later, he started wandering around and picked these.
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Too bad they belonged to a brand that didn’t sell a couch he liked.
The designer in residence took up our cause at that point and pulled this.
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The husband?
He said it looked like television static.
Almost an hour and a half in, he was done…. and pointed at this.
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“That one.
Get that one.”
I thought it an odd choice, but the salesman plugged it into the creation app and the husband was so sick of the process he approved.
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I argued that it would be too light a pattern for an ottoman not to mention our white walls and opted to take the swatch home.
The husband? He opted for a bar because the whole thing had driven him to drink.
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Cranberry gin fizz for me.
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Two beers and a disappointing French onion soup for him.
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My crab cakes with spicy remoulade were wonderful.
Fortified with lunch and alcohol… we kept shopping.
Having nothing better to do last weekend we decided to take a drive down the coast and try another Batson River drinking establishment.
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Until a snow squall moved in out of nowhere and we opted for a late lunch closer to home.
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Tuscan Brick Oven Bistro has served us well in the past, so we headed there.
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As did everyone else because my husband’s beloved bar was full, as were all the tables.
Thankfully a young couple was vacating a bar adjacent high top and offered it to us… because clearly we looked thirsty and pathetic.
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I was thrilled to see the seasonal Apple of My Eye had returned ….
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And promptly drank two.
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My crab cakes were tiny but tasty but my husband complained his meatballs were “different”.
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I blacked out their faces, but here’s a modern family of three… every one of them on their phone and oblivious to the others presence. Ah, technology… thou art a heartless bitch.
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My chicken Marsala with homemade pasta and pancetta was flavorful if a bit thin on sauce.
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But my husband … who was already upset with his meatballs… said his shrimp scampi was “different” as well. When I asked him to clarify, all I got was “different”.
Since he clearly wasn’t interested in eating his meal, I called the waitress over who then brought the manager. He was a lovely young man who immediately removed the offending shrimp, promised to delete it from the bill and offered substitutions.
After talking with the guy for over a half an hour… sigh… husband chose a bowl of haddock chowder, which I thought was an odd choice for an Italian restaurant.
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But ooh la la! It was thick, creamy heaven in a bowl. Full of fish and fresh herbs and damn near perfect.
Too full for dessert we asked for the bill… and were pleased to see good customer service is alive and well in Freeport, Maine.
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The scampi charge was removed, and the chowder was free.
With chemicals and plastics and oil spills… and though the waters off the coast of Maine are cleaner than most, I’m afraid even they’re showing signs of the pollution.
I live in Maine and have lobsterman friends. They often post pictures of the weird and wonderful blue and orange lobsters they haul up in their traps. The colors are rare but occur naturally as a mutation of genes.
But lately?
The pictures have taken a darker turn.
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Mutations are being found.
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And this doesn’t bode well for our oceans.
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This last one is not only disturbing , but downright creepy.
I often complain about things in the kitchen. The toaster that doesn’t toast evenly, the dirty spoons my husband leaves on the counter and more often than not … the fact that we pay more for food each day but seem to get less.
I understand prices rise, and though I never like it… I expect it. What I don’t expect is to start cooking, reach for the 16 ounce can (box or bag of whatever) only to find it’s shrunken to 14. Two ounces short of what I need forcing me to downsize my recipe or worse yet, buy another full can (box or bag of whatever) and waste most of it.
Grrr.
The insanity needs to stop… because today I discovered it’s gone one step too far.
My husband likes the old fashioned Shake and Bake barbecue chicken so every once in a while I throw him a bone and make it.
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There I was with my foil wrapped pan, my chicken leg quarters and and a box of seasoning packets. I was primed and ready to shake.
Problem was… there was no shaker bag in the box. You know the ones – they were flimsy, never closed properly and weren’t big enough for whatever you needed to shake?
Nada.
Zip.
Nothing.
Even though the side of the box clearly states you should use it.
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This is egregious marketing.
If you no longer include the shaking apparatus? You should no longer be able to call yourself Shake and Bake.
We visited a place I’ve driven by many times but never stopped the other day. The Newcastle Public House…
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Housed in a building dating back to 1845, you knew the minute you stepped inside it was a local spot despite its proximity to the tourist heavy Damarriscotta.
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Laid back and casual with distinctly potent portables.
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The bartender has a heavy hand so beware the Moscow Mules, they literally kick.
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Crab cake appetizer? So good I didn’t waste time taking a picture of the husband’s required French Onion soup. Which btw, he approved.
The menu was varied with a twist on New England favorites.
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While deciding … we met a colorful local resident, the kind that makes my husband beeline for the bar everywhere we go.
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He was a hoot and we enjoyed some interesting conversation before our meal.
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Which turned out to be fabulous. For me… barbecue shrimp and grits with roasted broccolini.
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For the spouse? Some very large and juicy General Tso wings.
River's world..... 