Satisfying our craving.

One of the very best meals we ate in Maine didn't - believe it or not - involve any lobster whatsoever. Mom, Louisa and I had a craving for fried clams, and once again Liz and Skyler helped us find the very best. That's how we (plus Miriam and our friend Reff) ended up headed for lunch at The Slipway in Thomaston, just a hop, skip and a jump from our house on Rackliff Island. (A hop, skip and jump from Rackliff requiring a minimum of 20 minutes in the car, of course.)

The Slipway is, as you could probably tell from its name, located just beside a little slipway a few blocks from downtown Thomaston. There is an indoor dining room, but on the sunny afternoon we ate there, every single patron was seated outside on a deck built over the water. I was feeling in a bit of a celebratory mood, and so I ordered a glass of Prosecco. (Bubbly drinks, you see, go marvelously with shellfish and fried food - a double whammy.) 

After a week of ordering and retrieving lobster rolls from one walk-up window after another, being waited upon at The Slipway felt like an overwhelmingly decadent luxury. The hospitality was top-notch, right now to little details like napkin weights (painted rocks) on each table. 

Louisa and I started with a half-dozen local oysters, delightfully briny and sweet. Then came the main event: fried clam baskets. The fries at The Slipway were the best we ate in Maine, positively fresh and piping hot. And the clams? Amazing. They were whole clams, crispy, chewy strips and fat, tender bellies, tasting of nothing so much as the ocean. The batter was crunchy and light and held tight to the clams - no crumbling messes to be found here. Rounded out with little dishes of tartar sauce, mayonnaise and cole slaw, our lunch was pretty much perfect.

And that's not just the prosecco talking.

Ladies who lunch.

When Louisa visited New York ahead of Thanksgiving, we spent a whole day together doing a whole lot of nothing. Or, more specifically, got ridiculously long massages and then had a ridiculously long lunch at Balthazar, one of New York's best approximations of a Parisian brasserie.

Oysters and Champagne were both enjoyed, as was a fair bit of salty conversation. I do love visiting Austin, but sometimes I wish I could have lunch with Louisa every week.

A preview from the Windy City.

Full posts to come, I promise! In the meantime, enjoy these amuses!

Fresh from the bay.

On my last day in California, Faith took me on a road trip up Highway 1 (also known as the Pacific Coast Highway) to Point Reyes. On the way we stopped in Stinson Beach, where we browsed a teeny tiny bookstore, and Bolinas, where we got dirty, dirty looks from the locals. (Bolinas residents are infamous for their dislike of tourists; the signs pointing to the town have routinely been torn down by its inhabitants.)

Eventually we made it to the Point Reyes National Seashore, a seriously gorgeous piece of land about 30 miles north of San Francisco. Craggy, windswept and covered in that low, slightly scrubby, multicolored foliage you find out west, it's a desolate and beautiful place. We walked down to the observation platform above the Point Reyes lighthouse, one of the foggiest and windiest spots in the country. As we walked back to the car, the fog began to roll out and the azure sky to peek through. Stunning.

After our drive through Point Reyes, we headed up to Marshall, a tiny little town (population 400 - or 50, if you believe the locals) on Tomales Bay. Tomales Bay is famous for its oysters, and we were on the hunt. We'd been told that Hog Island Oyster Co. was a good spot, but they were closing just as we pulled up. We turned around and headed down to The Marshall Store, which we'd passed a little ways back.

As it happens, fate had treated us well. The staff at The Marshall Store were awesome, and we helped ourselves to a small clam chowder and a big can of Foster's and placed an order for a dozen grilled oysters: half barbecue, half chorizo butter. We trotted outside to a picnic table set about three feet from the bay and waited for our oysters to arrive.

As you can see, the staff's awesomeness extended to treating us to an extra three oysters, something to which we did not object. The garlic bread was welcome as well, since we desperately needed a way to sop up every bit of liquor and sauce. The oysters were huge and juicy, just barely cooked by the heat of the grill, and full of saltwater essence. The ones with chorizo butter were salty and spicy, as was to be expected, while the barbecue oysters were garlicky and slightly sweet. All were delicious and more than a little bit sinful.

We did ourselves proud, though, and headed back to San Francisco (on a foggy, twisty Highway 1) with bellies full of chowder, oysters, and a bit of beer. Wouldn't mind any of the three right now, as it happens.

Family time.

On Friday night, I met up with my brother, Jeremy, at Joe, and we made our way downtown to Pearl Oyster Bar. We arrived at 5:30, a half hour before opening, and there were already about 10 people on line waiting to get in.

When the doors opened at 6:00, we hopped into two seats at the bar and ordered - oysters and a lobster roll for me, clam chowder and a lobster roll for Jer. Few people appreciate food the way my brother does, and he seems to have a special place in his heart for seafood - so it was really fun for me to share his first Pearl experience with him.

The oysters were fantastic - clean and fresh tasting, with just a hint of briny sea. The mignonette sauce was fantastic - bracing and full of tangy shallots - but the cocktail sauce could use a bit more zing. It was warm on Friday night, but the air conditioning was going full-blast, so the weather inside was just right for a bowl of soup.The clam chowder was rich and creamy, filled with bacon and chunks of potato.

And, unsurprisingly, the lobster rolls were amazing, though a tad overdressed with mayo that night.

Jeremy had to head over to the theatre, so we had to forgo dessert, but we agreed that next time we'd try the hot fudge sundae and the strawberry rhubarb pie. Yes, we're definitely related. Like you couldn't tell just by looking at us...