I have been to this place so many times in my life that I think familiarity doesn't only bred contempt it also brings complacency. However, this last visit we were all jolted to the very true and startling realization that this is not a good place to eat, I don't care how many people they serve a day (2,000 according to the manager).
First, if the wait line has to wander through aisles of cheap trinkets and coastal attire I think that might be the very first clue that something is amiss. Mood rings and killer whale candles before dinner, anyone?
As we were seated our waitress shuffled over and asked if we wanted drinks. She was friendly enough, though did seem to lean in a little too closely for my personal comfort. Once she got our order, the bus boy scurried over to get our waters. We had the unfortunate pleasure of being seated near the drink station and the entrance to the dish room. We witnessed him dash through the swinging door, grab dirty dishes from the table near us, drop them in the tub near the door, and immediately grab our water cups, filling them up and then proceeded to our table. What a minute, did he wash his hands? No. As he set our glasses down, we all noticed how sweaty he was. It wasn't just a bead of perspiration here and there. No, his whole face had a glossy sheen and there were droplets literally running down his face. I held my breathe, watching a drop dangle precariously on his chin. Dear Lord, please don't let it drop into the water. I held my breathe. It didn't. After he put the water cups down he scurried off to another deserted table and cleared it. After which he poured drinks from a pitcher and served another table. With no hand washing.
By this point all at our table were wide-eyed and observant, shifting on our benches nervously. By then our soup came out, their "world famous chowder". We got the option with shrimp and as our waitress set our bread bowls down we saw about 1/2 cup of tiny bay shrimp perched on top. I'll admit, their famous chowder did not look terribly appetizing. It looked like a bread bowl with nothing but shrimp dumped on top. As I poked at it with my spoon I mentioned to my table-mates, "If I don't get food poisoning..." There were nods of agreement as we bravely took bites. The chowder underneath the mountain of bay shrimp had a layer of water on it. From the shrimp? Possibly, but as we dug to the bottom, the chowder was clearly watered down and not a thick creamy base as all good, world-famous chowder should be. And the bread bowl was crusty and dry. Hmm.
Mike's entree came. The day's special: shrimp. "Here, give this a try." He told me, as he wrestled a cocktail shrimp off the skewer. I gingerly took a bit and realized that my teeth would have to work a little bit harder to bite off the tail. It was my first experience with shrimp jerky. hopefully my last.
I will give her credit. The waitress must have been very perceptive or our faces must have really told the tale from across the room because she hurried over and put her hand on Mike's shoulder, "is there something wrong with the shrimp, honey?" She asked? It all happened so fast, I had wondered if this perhaps wasn't the first time today that this shrimp had caused some concerned murmuring. "It's a little tough." Mike admitted. And with a quick nod, the plate was whisked away. Within seconds a second helping of shrimp skewers was under his nose. Hot, buttery, and with a heavy taste of...freezer burn. Freezer burn?! Why in the world would a seafood restaurant located ON THE COAST need to freeze their seafood?!
At this point, I took a sip of my special drink, a mix of hot chocolate and coffee. Watery. Watery! Are you kidding me? Mike took a sip of his drink, the same thing. Watery! We sighed, so it was to be.
Sweaty busboy darted to the drink counter and grabbed a few paper towels. He mopped at his face, threw the towels away, and grabbed more water cups. My stomach flopped.
In synchronization we put our spoons and forks down. My sister shuddered. "After being in food service management for over 10 years, this is just wrong." She got up and marched off. Mike and I looked at each other, what now? In a few moments, she came back with a man in tow. "Let me grab your bill." And with that they were gone. Oh, geeze. "Mike, you might want to see what that was all about." At this point there had been so many things wrong with our meal that I was almost ashamed to go to the front with the rest of the group. I cowardly went to the "gulls" room.
We left this restaurant one last time, with complimentary meals sitting like rocks in our tummies. Sometimes complaining to management is necessary. Not to garner a free meal, but to truly make them aware that someday sloppy sanitation practices could land them in hot, hot chowder-water. And thank goodness, we made it through the rest of the day and night with no ill effects.
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