Tropical Storm Danny is pouring long ropes of rain down the walls of the Truro Public Library. I’m taking advantage of the wireless, while Jack negotiates with the hordes of other kids for a few more minutes with the trains. He’s into non-fiction lately, so we’ve just read books about tornadoes, hurricanes, the first railroads, and kittens.
We had a good meal last night, at Mac’s Shack in Wellfleet. Mac’s original restaurant is more the shack—right on the sandy shore of Wellfleet Harbor. It’s all take-out from a window, picnic tables, paper and plastic, and BYOB. It’s a kid-friendly spot that also serves excellent food. The story about the more expensive and relatively fancier “Shack” is that they hoped it would be less of a kid and family destination, and more of a date or dinner party spot. But last night—Saturday at 6—almost every table had a child or two. The building’s facade is pretty inviting to those little people for whom reality and fantasy are often blurred:
(Jack asked if the fisherman was real, but he knew the lobster was pretend.)
I haven’t been able to persuade Jack to eat fish except in highly disguised forms, so he ordered a bacon cheeseburger. Good boy. While he waited impatiently for his fries, I let him have the camera. He took portraits of everyone, but I won’t embarrass Peter, Anne, or Curtis by posting them here.
Local shellfish was flying out of its shells, due to the fast, professional shuckers:
The Roving Locavore 