|The view from our table, looking upriver. The Warren River.|
As The WSO was heard to remark, "How can you possibly screw up lobster mac and cheese?"
Someone found a way. It was truly unremarkable.
The Nuke's scallops were actually quite good. My swordfish was, well it was swordfish. Let's leave it as that.
But you just can't beat the view from the Wharf Tavern. (Well you can, but not without paying an arm and a leg OR having to use paper plates at a clam shack. Fighting the seagulls for each tasty morsel.) Prices at the Wharf are reasonable, though sometimes the quality of the dining experience leaves summat to be desired.
While I'm no gourmand, I do expect consistency from visit to visit.
Oh well, there was still Guinness to be had. Though it be the canned variety, it's still Guinness. (Besides which, I like the little plunger in the can, it's like a wee keg in there!)
|Moi et Guinness numéro un.|
|The view looking downriver, towards Narragansett Bay.|
|"Angry clouds" (as Little Bit calls them) across the water, though they amounted to naught.|
At least where we were sitting. Can't speak for those folks under said clouds.
Which was fortunate as we arrived at the restaurant sans reservations. The hostess seemed to react to our answer of "No, we don't have a reservation" much the same way (I expect) as if we'd walked in and said "Hi, we just all peed on the carpet in the entryway, you might want to clean that up." Or some shocked and appalled look of a similar nature.
Meh. We are perhaps at times overly spontaneous.
As to the weather, the hostess asked if we'd like to dine outside? As the weather was gorgeous and the breeze off the river tends to keep the insects further inland, we said "Why not?"
(Just now I learned that whereas we say "al fresco" for dining in the open air, the Italians don't. They will use all'aperto or fuori instead. And yes, al fresco is Italian and literally means "in the cool (air)". It's educational we are!)
|A few of the boats and houses which are rather out of reach of my current circumstances.|
I console myself by saying "I'd hate to live there during a hurricane!"
Still, I might like to try.
|What you'd call a "working boat". Probably a lobsterman.|
(Were I to hazard a guess, which I just did.)
|The evening approaches, another day in Little Rhody draws to a close.|
I thought the ducks were a nice touch.
I thought her attitude somewhat harsh, until it took over 30 minutes for my second Guinness to arrive. In her defense, there was a wedding reception in the upstairs party room, keeping the barkeep rather busy. When I mentioned this to The Nuke she indicated that perhaps management should hire more staff. I couldn't disagree. First world problems, neh? ("I say Muffy, just where is my second aperitif? Sorry excuse for a staff, do pass the caviar would you?")
As to deep thoughts...
Maybe later this week. The National Weather Service is calling for a rant by me any day now. The conditions are perfect for such an event. High pressure building between my ears and such.
|A second squadron of ducks hove to and awaiting sunset.|
|Orange sky with contrails.|
|Night falls and the festive lights come on.|
As always, Little Bit was spoiled terribly. It's what we grandparents do. It's in the job description.