A Whale Of A Time

It's near 10 am when we get out of bed, odd, because we are both still tired. Gram has slept a good 12 hours, and I've nabbed at least 8. Maybe it's the season changing? Perhaps we have reached the seventh circle of relaxation? It's been almost a week on the road, so the latter has my vote.

We have a little banana nut bread for breakfast. Gram is feeling a bit unsteady this morning, so she hangs her head over the side of the bed to "redistribute the rocks." Apparently, doctor's orders. It sounds like completely crazy medical advice, in my humble opinion, but what's a girl to do? I'm not giving this old gal orders, aside from insisting she let me take care of this wound on her leg that doesn't seem to want to heal up. I've got this fabulous homeopathic stuff that seems to be doing the trick. Tramueel cream. If you don't have some, get it -- especially if, like me, you bruise easily!

We walk toward Main Street and hit a few of the shops along the way. Grandma mentions this place we saw yesterday for lunch, and though I have great recommendations from my pal Alan's friend who summers here, I can't resist how excited she is. She has clam chowder, which does not surprise me in the slightest. I swear she intends to eat her weight of the stuff on this trip. We share black and blue sliders and some jalapeno mac 'n cheese. I love how spicy it is. The soup, however, does not get very high marks. I'd rather have a bad hair day than a bad food day ... so hopefully, we'll make up for it with dinner this evening.
 

We head to the Whaling Museum. A sign on the door advertises the thoughts of one travel writer who labelled this Nantucket attraction as one of the top ten places to see before you die. Now, I have two books that give a thousand places each -- one for America, the other of the world, making this top ten list seem pretty damn manageable. Let's cross one off the list, shall we?

We arrive just as one of the movies they play -- apparently, award winning -- is beginning in the main area of the museum. The skeletal remains of a large sperm whale are suspended in an animated pose over the room, and on the walls, all manner of whaling spears and instruments for dismembering said whale. The movie goes through the extensive history of the island, the rise and fall of the whaling trade here, and Nantucket's rebirth as a tourist center. It is long. I mean really long. Several times I look over at Gram and she's snoozing a bit. Can't blame her, really ... I feel my lids getting pretty heavy, too. That said, the bits I catch while trying to keep myself awake by sorting through some email stuff for things at home are both interesting and informative.

Afterwards, there's a brief talk that answers a question I have been trying to suss out while sitting here for the last my-ass-is-now-flat hour: how the hell did they get these 60 ton animals aboard once they harpooned them? From a glorified skiff, nonetheless? It's actually pretty gruesome -- both how they dealt the final blows, and the method for getting these massive animals on board: piece by piece. Literally. Ugh. It's nasty, but completely riveting. We wander through the exhibits, checking out the footprint of the candle factory that was on this site, and used the whale oil to make the smoke-free candles Thomas Jefferson touted. Then, it's to the observation deck on the roof, where we took this pic.  What a view.

  

We get some ice cream after the museum and decide to head back to the cottage to rest up, or wine up, before dinner. Tonight we are eating at Straight Wharf. I almost like the ambiance better than Oran Mor, but, then again -- they are very different. Oran Mor would be great for date night, a place where you could visit and actually hear your guests. Straight Wharf was louder, but super charming with the cedar shake walls, dim lighting and simple candles on each table. There was also a huge -- and I mean huge -- difference in the portions. Last night, the scale was reduced so that you didn't feel stuffed when you left. Tonight, we gorged, but the food ... oh, yum. And as most of those who know me well would attest, I like getting my money's worth. Grandma thought the rosemary bread was better last night, and I agree that it was dense and delicious. That said, the French we had this evening was crusty and chewy. I love that. The scallops? A toss up.

Again -- neither was really better, just different.

We shared everything, which is how I like to roll. Gram ordered roasted root vegetable salad, the swr clam bake and broccoli rabe. I ordered pumpkin chowder, local dayboat scallops and chocolate pot de creme for dessert. They started us out with a lovely bluefish spread and some sort of bagel crisp. Divine. The root salad was very good, but nothing that blew my socks off. I could not say the same for the pumpkin soup, which was heavenly: creamy, large luscious lumps of lobster, and the soft, subtle flavor of the mirepoix balancing the chewy, saltiness of the bacon. OMG. The lobster bake was amazing, with a full, shelled lobster arranged artfully atop the chorizo (since my trip to Mexico, I am a sucker for chorizo!). The lobster could have stood more flavor, Gram chirps in, but mixed with all the other flavors on the plate, it was delicious. Makes me anxious to try my own when we get to Bar Harbor, Maine in a few days. Grammy also thought the broccoli rabe (how the hell do you pronounce this?) was broiled, and thus overcooked -- or in her words, "ruined." But as a kale chip aficionado, I actually enjoyed the crispness, and especially what tasted to me like wasabi. It wasn't in the menu description, but I'd swear it was there.

So ... that leaves us to the chocolate pot de creme: if this dessert was a man, I'd have no willpower.

Mr. Grey? Yes, please. Sir.

It was velvety, smooth with a sinfully rich flavor that made my eyes roll back in my head. I show some restraint, finishing half, after convincing my tiny stuffed white hair to try at least a bite. I am completely unable to resist the shortbread cookies that came along with it, however. I'd stalk the chef's website to see if I could track down a few recipes, but the waitress didn't give me the right one. I'll get my Nancy Drew on tomorrow.

We are going home to sleep it off. My food baby, whom I have lovingly named "Emma," needs a break.

For like a week.