Thursday, July 11, 2013

Crab Cake c/o Surfing Crowd and Philadelphia Roof Party

Ours was a Saturday to Saturday rental, so we all pretty much got on the road by eight the next morning. I drove up through Virginia, across the bay into Delaware and then hit traffic. Stupid, dumb traffic. I'm not sure I'll be able to get to Cape Henlopen for my annual beach/camping/oyster fest of previous years, but I knew that I wasn't far from it when I hit that snag of serious traffic. Though the stopped flow of cars moving north were surrounded by fast food joints and the like, I decided to take it as a sign that my need to eat warranted a detour. And with that decision I began wending my way east through some pretty good country roads for about 20 minutes in order to arrive just about on the doorstep of the Surfing Crab. I was right. It was worth it. Much like my last visit, I was on the early side and there weren't but one other family sitting in the establishment. I knew before I sat down what I was going to have and barely looked at the menu before requesting it. Sometimes a good thing is a good thing.
Still a good crab. I ordered the sandwich but ignored the bread entirely.
I arrived home around 3 or maybe 4 and spent a few hours trying to reorganize my life (I failed and have continued to fail ever since; my room is a disaster). I knew that M. and D. were having a party that night, but I wasn't sure I was up to heading out so soon after returning home. In the end after a number of hours reading a book on my deck and fixing some damage wrought upon my plants while I was away, I decided to put my party face (and dress) on and join LW, CPM and R. on their walk to the part-ay. There we enjoyed numerous finger foods, nice seats on their roof, copious beer and a few new conversations. It was a good night that didn't end in disaster. This was due, at least in part, to my decision not to join the party's bandwagon to go dancing, where I'm pretty sure only madness would have followed. I do sometimes wish when I had been 22 I was the type to understand what fun it could be to go dancing. It's never too late to know it's fun, but often the fun doesn't start until it's too late for this 31 year old to want to mess with. I am an old fogey. Let's move on.
The next day I had a number of errands to run, including a trip to Target, a need to make a stop at the Headhouse Farmer's Market, and an attempt to find soft shell crabs at Reading Terminal Market. The soft shell crab search didn't work out, but I did try a Dinic's roast beef sandwich with broccoli raabe and provolone cheese, which was good though not as amazing as I had expected.

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