Getting Out: The Adventures of an Innkeeper Tourist

For what then matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph, to turn one’s predicament into a human achievement.

- Viktor E. Frankl

Late March

 If you’re ever going to drink a beer in your truck while gorging on whole-belly fried clams from a Styrofoam container pressed between your stomach and the steering wheel, make sure you’re not parked in a lot directly in front of a police station. I guess I should say don’t do it at all, but that’s what happened, and if we were under the same situation today, with a pandemic on the loose and us stuck inside for over a month, we’d probably do it again. The lot was off Route 28 in Centerville, the perfectly crispy clams were from the Osterville Fish Market, and the beer was from the package store two doors down (there’s a tiny police station in between – who knew?). Anyway, the fried clams were exceptional, our brief moment of “freedom” felt refreshing, it’s just the setting that wasn’t well thought out. After hurriedly finishing our lunch, we high-tailed it back home for another month of quarantining, mostly satisfied with our fried food fix, but not quite.

Early May

Standing in a long line that snaked around the building, I was squinting at the murky, orange apparition. The Home Depot maître d’ was foggy, thanks to the warm face-mask air steaming up my glasses, and I was worried I’d miss his “you may enter” signal. I questioned whether buying a box of light bulbs was worth it, but I was committed (if not to the line, then just to get out of the house). Shortly after entering the store, my mood turned from discomfort to frustration when faced with Siri-compatible lumens, incandescent equivalents and geo-fencing smart bulb options. Light bulbs have historically been the measure of stupid. “How many (blanks) does it take to screw in a light bulb?” When did these things become “smart?” Watching anxiously as the checkout line started to rival the massive entrance line, I was thunderstruck with the realization that I was 54 years old, quarantined to the house, and could no longer buy light bulbs by myself. Was I going crazy, or had the world? At that moment my phone pinged... It was eggs. On my phone was an Instagram photo of take-out Lobster and Avocado Eggs Benedict from The Optimist Cafe in Yarmouth Port. I decided that I had to change up everything; it was time to turn life around. I took another look at the photo, dialed Ali, and said, “Find the dog’s leash. We’re getting out.” The light bulbs would wait.

The Lobster and Avocado Eggs Benedict were nothing short of exceptional, and I had made sure that this outing would be better thought out than our first. Rather than dig in right where we parked, I decided that it was the perfect opportunity to enjoy Cape Cod. Terms like “take-out” and “curbside delivery” led to “Good food with a view,” our new mantra. We grabbed our squeaky Styrofoam breakfast and drove it to a dirt pull-off overlooking nearby Hallets Millpond. We sat under a large oak, watched two men casting fishing poles into the light rain, and were lulled by the sweet serenity of the moment. After finishing our eggs benny, a heaping pile of heavenly beef brisket hash, and two splits of champagne with cranberry juice, Ali asked, “Did you notice?” She scanned the wooded road. “No people.” She was right; this normally vibrant little spot remained empty. Not one car had driven by. Suddenly we were appreciating that feeling that only good food, a good view and a sense of peace could bring. We were definitely onto something here.

A little more time passed, and we kept up our new tradition of enjoying the gifts that a winning team of talented cook and Mother Nature could offer. One afternoon we took a ride up to Truro Vineyards and sprawled out under the sun on their lavish, green lawn, dining like royalty on tuna bolognese over pappardelle and fried cauliflower with capers, parmesan and lemon zest, courtesy of Black Fish Restaurant’s Crush Pad food truck. Another day we awoke before the sun and drove to Woods Hole in the dark. Pie in the Sky bakery was our goal. Ali was craving their pastries, while I was thinking about their sinful baked desserts. We watched the sun come up along the flat Shining Sea bike trail, feeling decadent in the moment in no small part thanks to fresh, hot coffee, Sticky Buns and Wonderbars.

Early June

Cape Cod was starting to bloom. The sun was shining. People were branching out a bit farther from home. Restrictions were being lifted. More cars were heading over the bridge, and it seemed like things were heading in the direction of normal. Restaurants were now allowed to serve outdoors, so picnic tables and tents, it seemed, were popping up like rhododendrons. But I wasn’t ready to go back to the old ways of dining. It seems that underneath all this darkness a new appreciation for my surroundings took root. To the average person it might not make sense, because Cape Cod has always been known for its natural beauty, but somehow I lost a little of that appreciation somewhere along the way. Our new approach to dining was transforming our blues into every other color of the spectrum! Our love for food was always prominent, but now our love of Cape Cod was pairing with our food like the finest of wines.

“They use Wolferman’s English muffins!” Ali proclaimed, looking up from the computer. It was 8am, the dog had been fed and looked like he was ready for a drive. As innkeepers we rarely get to go out for breakfast, so the call of Eggs Benedict echoed once again. We jumped in the truck and headed toward Whisk Breakfast and Lunch Cafe in Orleans. We had never been, but heard about their Build Your Own Breakfast Bowls, so east we drove. The menu at Whisk is a refreshing blend of smart culinary education meets family whimsy. Running the show are three generations of ladies: grandmother, mother and daughter, and the passion you feel just perusing their website is palpable. Struggling with the number of choices, I asked Brittany (daughter) for assistance constructing my Breakfast Bowl. She suggested their ham, wood-fired artichokes and the house-made pesto, plus and whichever cheese I chose (I went with goat). Once again Ali went the Eggs Benny route (they had her at “Wolferman’s”) and ordered the house-made corned beef hash Benny, and added a side of roasted root vegetable hash for good measure. While things were getting prepped, we perused their other menus. Heavily steeped in local products, Whisk proudly features two local coffee roasters: Three Fins and Red Barn. Their drink menu highlights seasonally-changing sangria and beer from Berkshire Brewing Company, as well as Ricker Hill Maniac Man Hard Cider, which also spills its way into the Hard Cider Corned Beef Hash. (It should be noted that the family all frequented Ricker Hill Farm in Maine as their favorite vacation stop for apple picking and apple spice donuts. Now, as a family, they own a cafe that features their favorite farm!). At a picnic table under the nearby Jonathon Young Windmill, which proudly stands guard over Orleans Cove, I had my morning meal. My Breakfast Bowl superbly blended the smokiness of the ham with the woody, yet bright punch of the artichokes, plenty of gooey goat cheese richness, and a pesto that launched the bowl from delicious to ethereal (whichever concoction you come up with, add their pesto!). Ali’s Benny was perfect, and the thick English muffin did the righteous job of soaking up every drop of the rich Hollandaise.