Down In Monterey

Today we went to the Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey, which is a boardwalk held together by a row of alternating gift shops and restaurants. You may be aware that my life revolves around food and the restaurants on the pier had clearly been informed of that. They must have had word that I was coming because they all tried to entice us into their restaurant so that they could advertise that I had eaten in their establishment.

What each restaurant had done was to set up a table with samples of their clam chowder. As we sampled each one, the person manning the table gave us a coupon for a free appetizer or a discount at the Earring Barn. They acted like they did this every day for everyone who walked by, but I’m sure it was set up for me.

Cabo’s Cafe had really done their homework. As we downed the clam chowder sample, the young woman serving it up informed me that they had 2-dollar draft beer. Seeing that she had set the hook, she yanked the line to try and pull me on board: “and we have deep fried cheesecake.”

If you have been paying attention, you remember the lesson on cheesecake: being that it is round and has a crust, it is actually a dairy pie that has been improperly named. Deep. Fried. Pie. Believe it or not, we went on to check out the other places before we went back to Cabo’s.

We learned later that Fisherman’s Wharf has a whale watching tour and sailboats and pelicans and sea lions. But cruising for clam chowder and “Carmel Corn” was enough for us. (We assume that Carmel Corn was named for the city of Carmel as opposed to being named for caramel, which it is made with).

When we returned to our hotel, we decided that we needed to make use of the private balcony and watch the sun go down. It was frigidly cold but, damn it, we paid extra for this balcony and we were going to use it. Sometimes the sun is just … really … slow. After a while we decided we had enjoyed the hell out of our balcony and we needed to go inside and appreciate our fireplace that we paid extra for.

Today we are off to Santa Barbara where we will search for a restaurant at which I can stick my feet in the sand while eating fish tacos and drinking draft beer. And, it is hoped, eating pie.