Dan here today. While we were in Massachusetts back at the end of May, we knew we wanted to get some lobstah. To that end, we decided to check out a place in Hyannis called The Raw Bar. Since this was the stronghold of the Kennedys, I decided it would be appropriate to talk like JFK while we were there. This annoyed Beth, who asked me to stop, but I told her to ask not what her country could do for her, but what she could do for her country. Then I told her that I chose to talk like JFK, not because it was easy, but because it was hard. She probably would have left me and gone back to the hotel at that point, but I had the car keys, so she couldn’t go anywhere. (Fact-Based Truthiness Disclaimer: Other than our trip to the Raw Bar, the preceding paragraph only occurred in my head).
Anyway, the Raw Bar was a surprisingly tiny restaurant, and, since it was right next to the departure point for the ferries to Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard, the area around it was a bit of a zoo. We climbed up to the second deck and discovered that there were no tables available (nor were reservations accepted). While we waited for one to open up, we stood at the bar and listened to a guitar player stationed in the corner playing a variety of indie/folk songs. He was actually quite good.
But we weren’t there for the guitar player. We were there for the lobstah dinner. When sat down to eat, it took us about thirty seconds combined to place our order. When the lobstah arrived, along with the requisite tub of butter and ear of corn, I was momentarily concerned that I had forgotten how to eat one during our time in the mountains. Fortunately, eating a lobstah is like riding a bike. It comes back to you quickly, and if you aren’t careful you will scrape yourself. Beth and I spent the next fifteen minutes excavating delicious lobstah meet, dunking it in butter, and slurping it up. All in all, it was a great day in MA.
3 days ago