We tour our first medieval cathedral

Walked and walked uphill to find cathedral — worth the trek

On our little pop-out pocket map of downtown Glasgow, we seemed to be only a stone’s throw from the Glasgow Cathedral. What the flat map failed to show us was the uphill slog.

However, we made our way doggedly upwards through the campus of the University of Strathclyde, missed the turn to the cathedral, found ourselves outside the Royal Glasgow Infirmary, re-jigged direction, navigated crossing the roads and arrived at “one of the few Scottish Medieval churches to have survived the Reformation largely unscathed."

http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/glasgow/cathedral/

Built in the 1100’s on the site of an ancient wooden church founded by St. Mungo in the late 500’s, it was our first visceral experience of how drenched in history Scotland (like other “Old Countries”) is.  After a while, so much history begins to feel somewhat oppressive. Everything is so layered with accretion on top of accretion: fascinating but at the same time so very heavy with century upon century of so many things that have happened.

flowers in Cathedral Square

David Livingstone, one of several statues of famous Scots in Cathedral Square

We left our luggage near the pews by the east window and joined a tour in progress.

A few minutes later, as we drifted farther and farther away, I began to worry that someone might take a liking to them —pot-luck theft, as it were. This caused further consternation amongst the cathedral volunteers, as one is not supposed to leave bags unattended and they are regretfully not allowed to check then anymore, for security reasons. So we ended up dragging them around with us down to the crypt and back, worth the trip but cumbersome.

We found out a lot about St. Mungo, aka St. Kentigern (Mungo was a pet-name given to him by St. Serf, the monk who helped raise him), including why the lamp posts outside were decorated the way they were. The four images are Mungo’s symbols and they each have a legend attached to them:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/paullew/8375093847

The volunteer guide was a jovial fount of knowledge: five stars for the cathedral, which incidentally, hasn’t actually been a cathedral (bishop’s seat) since 1690. It is part of the Church of Scotland, i.e. Presbyterian. I never did get all the denominations of Scottish Christianity figured out and I won’t bore you with all my difficulties trying to get them sorted.

Walked downhill to catch the #2 bus to the Kelvingrove Museum

The cathedral volunteers had put their heads together to advise us of the best way to get across town to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. After much more walking — all of it downhill, thank goodness— we found the bus stop and soon the #2 arrived. We had a scenic tour across central Glasgow. Always look up, our cab driver had advised us earlier in the day in the short haul between the airport shuttle bus station and the Scotrail station. The old buildings are wonderful. One of the most famous is the Tolbooth Steeple, a medieval tower in the middle of the busy street.

We walked by it, but I didn't take a picture; this shot is from wikipedia images.

 The Scots don’t have as well-developed a propensity for tearing down old buildings as Canadians do apparently. 

a view - from the taxicab - of a pediment 

near George Square

Sir Walter Scott in George Square (erected 1837); column by David Rhind, sculpture by John Greenshield, carving by Handyside Ritchie (likely no relation), pigeon of unknown provenance

We also got a kick out of the local colour provided by the passengers on the bus. After about 20 minutes, we were within walking distance of both our hotel, the Argyll Guest house, and the museum.

We got off, pop-out map in hand, and found our hotel where we were allowed to stash our bags, along with those of other guests, until check-in time several hours later.

We make our way through customs

Day 2: Tuesday,  September 6^th

Security: “We’re not after style” Problems with who is our contact person - very nice customs man ...

The quotation is an obscure reference scholars far in the future will spend ages deciphering. I can’t quite figure it out now.  In the first place, we were at customs, I believe, not security. You stood in line until invited to go forward to a wicket.  Couples could go together.  

I believe this comment was said in reference to Greg’s passport photo, which is not flattering. Greg remembers the customs official (a white-haired man with very blue eyes, like Peter O’Toole's – my memory), saying all he was after was “a resemblance… We’re not after style.” 

It was fortunate he had a sense of humour. 

On the plane, we had received little cards to fill out with our names and other information. One question stumped us: Who is your contact person in Scotland? We did not know a soul in the entire United (for now) Kingdom, aside from a couple who had moved to Eastbourne last spring. That is about as far away from Scotland as you can get without wading in the English Channel.

The conversation went something like this:

Customs: You haven’t filled in the answer to this question.

Me: No, we haven’t. [I have been told never to give any more information at border crossings than that which is asked for.]

Customs: Who is your contact in Scotland?

Me: Well, we don’t actually have one.

Customs: You don’t?

Me: No, although [to Greg]  I suppose we could name Cam and Dinah.  [To the customs guy] They live in southern England –  moved there last spring… but that’s kind of a long way away in case of an emergency.

Customs: I see.

[pause]

Customs: What are you doing in Scotland?

Me: We are touring in a large circle beginning here in Glasgow and then going to Fort William and maybe Maillaig, and then Inverness and up to the Orkney Islands, then back south to Nairn, then Edinburgh, Melrose and back to Glasgow.

Customs: I see and why are you doing this?

Me: Well, I am tracing my family tree; I have quite a few ancestors who came from various places in Scotland.

Customs: So you don’t have any family here.

Me: Well, not exactly… I might be a distant cousin  to the woman in the Orkneys who is going to guide us around the neolithic sites, but other than that they are pretty much just in cemeteries, I’m afraid.

Customs [in a resigned tone of voice]: I see. Well, where are you staying tonight?

Me: We’re booked into a hotel on ah ... I  can’t pronounce it … Sauchiehall Street. Just a sec. I have the name in my folder.

I reached into my black bag, pulled out my plastic folder for holding reservations, and found  the reservation sheet for the Argyll Guest House.  

His wrinkled forehead relaxed. He smiled, told us how to pronounce Sauchiehall, and suggested we really should plan on going to the Isle of Skye. He said he had never been there himself, but he heard it was wonderful. I said the train trip up there was supposed to be very scenic.

He wished us a good trip and that was that. We had officially arrived in Scotland.

And in case you are wondering about Sauchiehall:

While the correct pronunciations of this famous shopping street in the centre of Glasgow may well be more like "Saughiehall" (with a soft "gh" sound) you will find that from many Glaswegians it will sound more like "Suckiehall" Street. The name is derived from "saugh" the Scots word for a willow tree and "haugh" the word for a meadow (which was later corrupted into "hall"). Originally, it was a winding, narrow lane, with villas standing in gardens of about an acre or so. It was widened in 1846 and is now a mile-long, broad street, running in straight lines, from Buchanan Street in the east to Kelvingrove and the Museum and Art Galleries in the west.  http://www.rampantscotland.com/features/pronounce3.htm

Our Big Trip to Scotland: Day 1

I ventured off the North American continent for the first time a few weeks ago in September. Greg is a more seasoned traveller than I am but not by much.We both kept travel journals. I am going to post my journal entries in bold with embellishments where needed, one day at a time until finished. Yes, there will be pictures.

Anyhow, I shall begin with  the riveting account of our departure:

Day 1: September 5th, 2016

No reservation for the ferry

This was a major oversight on my part. It was the only detail of the trip I had neglected to tie down. I forgot it was Labour Day and everybody and their uncle (and aunt) would be travelling home. Also only one of the ferries was in service from Wood Islands to Caribou, so there was an unusual four-hour gap between them.

On our way through Montague, I glimpsed the father of the family of Syrian refugees recently settled in town. He was mowing his lawn. I had enjoyed tutoring his mother-in-law in English every Wednesday afternoon all summer, so we stopped to say hello, and he invited us in for coffee. We regretfully declined, thinking we had better get to the ferry.

We reached  the ferry terminal in very good time for the 1:30 crossing and there was no traffic in the lot at all. How odd, I thought. Where were the cars which were left behind for the next crossing? That question was soon answered! Everyone had a reservation and would be arriving much closer to the departure time.  The woman in the ticket booth offered to put us on stand-by; we thought that would be risky, so she directed us to a small side exit — made for clueless people like us, apparently.

So we left Wood Islands at 10:45 am and drove to the fixed link

On the way west, we discussed what we would have done had there been no bridge! Maybe fly out?  Anyhow, the day was lovely, the scenery bucolic, and the traffic light at least until we got to Truro.

A photo I took several years ago of the Confederation Bridge 

I drove from Amherst to the airport… got the shuttle… no problem … Parked in “B” at the end of the driveway near the fence.

We were the only ones on the shuttle bus, which took us the half-mile or so to the terminal. We were too early for check-in (a pattern — unusual for me — which was to repeat itself frequently during our trip), so we explored the airport, then sat on a bench and watched the same people walk back and forth in the concourse. The outfits people choose to wear while traveling are often eye-catching, to say the least. 

Ate dinner at the airport pub, not a bad meal. I had unbuttered boiled potatoes, veggies and fish from which I removed the panko coating.

I am not usually so conscious of food. I just enjoy eating it, but I had had a horrible digestive upset which began the night of July 28^th and lingered for seven weeks. At one point the diarrhea was so bad I thought we might have to cancel the trip. After four weeks or so I went to the medical clinic in Souris (again), and the doctor gave me a prescription for codeine for its off-label side effect: constipation. It proved to be my new best friend on this trip.

Our dinner venue, Maritime Ale House (Source: http://hiaa.ca/at-the-airport/food-beverage/maritime-ale-house/

Pleasant cheerful security people... I walked through the arch by mistake.

Knowing with my fake hip, I would have to go to the imaging machine, I took off for it once the security guard motioned me ahead and walked quickly through the arch most other people go through, thinking I was being very efficient. I wasn’t. I did not however get a chewing out, as I might have in other airports. That is Maritime patience and kindliness for you. I got patted down and then stroked with a wand, and soon Greg and I were sitting on a bench putting ourselves and our luggage back together.

Loooong  Flight — twitchy legs — no sleep

I was assigned a the middle seat on a Westjet Boeing 737-700, a plane  with winglets, which make it look cute and perky and helped instill nonchalance in me. It was full: 130 passengers.

My young seat-mate to the left  spent most of the trip cocooned under his hoodie. After we landed in Glasgow, he said hadn’t slept much either. Could it have been the twitchy restless seat-mate to his right? He was too polite to say. He did say he was from St. John’s, Nfld and was going to spend the next year studying medical engineering at Strathclyde University in Glasgow. (By coincidence, later that day we walked through that very campus.)

Thank goodness Greg was the seat-mate to my right (by the aisle), since I had to crawl out over him a number of times when nature didn’t just call, but hollered. I felt very badly at one point that I didn’t let a very elderly woman, leaning on her daughter’s arm,  into the bathroom ahead of me, but doing so would have been much much worse for everyone.

This is what our plane looked like. (Source: wikipedia)

Finally we landed. I am never going to take another red-eye flight ever again.

The only good things about the flight were that I was not white-knuckled, we didn’t crash, and the Thai chicken wrap I had ordered on-line a few days before leaving — because I thought I might be healthy again by the time we left — was delivered without a hitch.

Oh, the sunny south

One of my long-time friends — since grade nine — invited Greg and me to spend a week with him at Longboat Key in Florida over Christmas. Greg had prior church commitments, but said why don't you go? So I did. 

I have always wondered why people go to Florida. Now I know: Sunny  days ... sunny, sunny days, unending stretches of white sand and ... warmth.  In fact, it hit the mid-80s F while we were there. I was swimming and jumping over the waves in the Gulf of Mexico on Christmas Day. My goodness, that beat the cold and lowering skies of SW Ontario. 

When I got back home, I realized I had not made up a daily to-do list the entire week. The most major decision was which to do first: lounge and read on a recliner chair or walk along the beach. 

I kept Greg up to date via email.  So I am posting my emails to him of my adventures for the first part of the week. 

18/12/2015 

To: Greg Little

Hi there,

I just got to the hotel. Had a good trip to Detroit where we went via the tunnel. The US customs people have an x-ray machine indoors there; otherwise, at the bridge, they look through  your suitcase contents outdoors in whatever weather is churning around. The actual border crossing was uneventful, although the guy did ask when was I last in the States. Apparently I gave the correct answer.

I am heading over to Bob Evans.  It's cold! So I won't dawdle! The hotel is on the fight path to the airport. The planes fly over in a very determined low way. None has crashed into the hotel yet, however.

I'll email you once I get back!

Fri, Dec 18, 2015 at 7:35 PM,

Hi again, 

Re Bob Evans: yes, I think you could say, the meal experience surpassed my expectations. I didn't realize potatoes and gravy were a side and you only get one side in the price for the dinner. So I also ordered green beans — at least I think that is what they were — very soft and an odd shade of green with what might have been bacon chunks!!  

Pumpkin bread I saved for tomorrow since what I sampled was tastier than what might be on offer here at the newly refurbished La Quinta.  I drank too much coke (it gets replenished automatically), so I likely will be awake all night.

The food one eats when it is so cold out! However, it was actually a pretty good meal all things considered... turkey had been slow roasted for six — count 'em — six hours, and it did seem done.  I treated myself to a chocolate sundae for dessert and feel I really don't need to eat another thing for a couple of days!!

No radio in the room so I have set my alarm on the cell phone. I think I'll also phone for a wake-up call.

Glad you enjoyed the movie and that the spiritual direction went well.

BTW, I am in room 209. So far the planes have managed to stay aloft.

19/12/2015

To: Greg Little

Re the winter wonderland/manna from heaven in Parkhill: There were a few flurries on the way to Detroit and then a wee bit of snow in the air this morning when we took off.

The flight, once we got in the air, was actually rather enjoyable. I was trying to identify the rivers we flew over. (Maybe your prayers worked, although landing and taking off were not fun — very routine, according to John, however)

Sarasota is nice — extensively  developed and neatly manicured especially over here at Longboat Key. It was fun riding the trolley as we saw a lot of Sarasota, and it only cost 60 cents!

The apartment is a bit generic as you would expect of a “time share”(although it is not exactly a time-share) but very tasteful. There is a great overhead heater-fan in my shower.

John and I walked over to the grocery store and got provisions and gin. It reminds me a lot of the area T and C moved to after their first apartment was broken into: lovely but almost too perfect.  All the municipal buildings are heavily landscaped with palm trees and other tropical foliage, which is all new to me and rather startling at first because it is so different from what I am used to.

There is very little (and small) signage so you don’t realize you are in a commercial area. There is a bank, library, Episcopalian church, synagogue, shopping plaza, and post office.

Once on the beach, we saw a dolphin and several pelicans.

The light in Florida is so different from up north despite the fact sun sets about the same time in Florida as further north. 

It went down about 10 minutes ago. But until it did, it did not seem as if night was gradually falling as it does from about 3:00 on this time of year up north.  But now it is DARK. 

What is especially odd is that at 5:00, it is so dark and yet so warm! I associate warmth with 9:00 at night in July, not 5:00 in December.

I noticed they have the New York Times over at the grocery store.

Anyhow, do enjoy that manna from heaven! 

Tomorrow I am off to church and then likely John and I will spend time on the beach; the sand is nice but not as fine-grained as PEI's.

On Sun, Dec 20, 2015 at 12:54 PM,

To: Greg Little

Hi there,

Just got back from church and going to the grocery store for stuff to BBQ later today. NO NY Times!! They sell out by 9:30 on Sundays...

On the walk to church I thought I noticed odd movements on the sidewalk. Finally I stopped altogether and just watched. Then I saw exceedingly tiny newts. I suppose they were warned by my footfall to scurry into the grass.

I enjoyed church. It was a bit like other Episcopalian services we have attended: sort of well-heeled and bland. About 70-80  rather elderly folk were there. Good hymns well sung.  A dedicated choir. Very pretty sanctuary painted white: quite broad and open with lovely round stained glass window over the altar. 

People were a bit formal at the start, but got friendlier. I was greeted and given a bulletin, but the deacon ignored me while he greeted the people he knew. The people sitting next to me and in front and behind said hello, however. 

The Peace was passed — friendly but not overdone, thank goodness. A good sermon in which the priest mentioned the Holy Family being refugees. Not too much sign that the congregation was sponsoring a family; however, they did have other outreach. 

My kneeler came apart and fell off the chair in front, but aside from that, I did not do additional damage to the fixtures!

The announcements are at the end as at St. A of C. All guests were asked to stand. About eight or so did and five of us were from Canada, from Ontario actually: two from St. James Cathedral and two from somewhere else near Toronto and me.  Everyone laughed while I tried to explain where Parkhill was.

I went out to the parish hall for coffee hour, just to see what would happen and was besieged by friendly folk; several knew SW Ontario because they had lived in Michigan.

I was also given eggnog. 

Once a year they have the eggnog treat with added fixin's and I don't mean just the nutmeg. Mine was about half eggnog and the rest brandy. It was DELICIOUS! But I had to go to the washroom surreptitiously and pour the last quarter of it down the drain, it was so strong.  When I went reeling out of the church, I noticed I was swerving from one side of the side walk to the other in gentle drifts. By the time I got to the grocery store,I was sober enough to get this shot:

Anyhow that is the excitement so far today. 

John is out walking along the beach right now.  So he may soon return for lunch... It is much warmer today so I am no longer wearing four layers. I really wish I had shorts. I bought a proper brimmed sun-hat with a string tie when I was at the grocery store. Food here is much less expensive even with the exchange rate.

Hope all went well at St. JBTL.   Miss you!  More news as it arises.

On Mon, Dec 21, 2015 at 12:08 AM,

Hello again,

Just about to hit the hay. John introduced me to House of Cards after we watched Frances Ha (a somewhat disjointed movie he didn't like, and I found only tolerably amusing). 

By contrast,  House of Cards is mesmerizing! We watched three episodes. Kevin Spacey plays a scheming congressman ... and how. His wife would give Lady Macbeth a run for her money.

Anyhow, I am off to bed now. Tomorrow, more beach time in the morning  plus a high school friend and his wife arriving in the afternoon and staying for dinner.

On Tue, Dec 22, 2015 at 6:58 PM, 

A very quiet day today after yesterday's hospitality excitement.  John and I talked about a dream he had earlier in December. This took most of the morning, chiefly because there was nothing else we needed to do. We applied the six magic questions to two of  the symbols — something of an eye-opener for what looking at inanimate objects in dreams can do!

Then after lunch it was a walk on the beach, reading the NY Times on the beach (rather windy), and swimming in the pool (me), sitting immersed  in the hot tub (John). I have to be careful about really hot water because of my bp and meds. 

So we are now about to have dinner - then more House of Cards — you and I need to get Netflix!!

Well, time for pork chops, rice,  and salad in a bag...

On Tue, Dec 22, 2015 at 11:54 PM,

Just watched another marathon of House of Cards... So much intrigue, so little time... Only three more episodes in Season One.

On what I hope is not going to be different marathon, there may have been more than just salad in that bag, as I have just had a rather explosive time in the washroom. Took another probiotic. All I need is food poisoning; however, it may have been too much buttery creamy stuff in the form of the US version of Philadelphia cream cheese and another rich dip.

Hope you are eating well with no ill effects!  How are the rest of the sermons coming along?

On Wed, Dec 23, 2015 at 11:29 AM, 

Hello again, 

My innards are settling down. It is a bit overcast here today so John and I are heading in to Sarasota to see Star Wars... I will not be eating any popcorn.

Trumbo and Macbeth will be playing at the Hyland next week btw...

I have taken a few pictures, and I may post some from today's excursion later today.

On Wed, Dec 23, 2015

Hi there,

Star Wars was OK - I'd give it 7.5 out of 10 mainly because it was mostly shoot-ups at the OK corral but with the addition of a lot of engulfing flames. Also violence is used when a more subtle approach might have enriched the relationship of two of the characters.(I can say no more in case you want to see it at some point.)There are some poignant (i.e., girlie) bits, which are good and the scenery is dramatic in the last scenes. You can tell there will be sequels as it ends much the way the first LofTR ended... prompting me to say, "What? That’s it?”

You asked what character I would like to be if we had gone in costume to the theatre:  I would go as one of the droids, because they are sensible, caring and can be fixed if there are spare parts available. I actually got a lump in my throat when I saw poor little dusty R2-D2 languishing in storage.  It was a sort of Wilson-the-soccer-ball moment, because after all, R2-D2 is really just a piece of machinery. There are now three droids: I hope this is not a spoiler alert.

Downtown Sarasota was fun to see — lots of streets going every which way, but busy and full of interesting shops, including an Episcopalian thrift shop, which I would be tempted to go into if we should be back at any time.

Well, off to do a load of laundry. The apartment suite has a washer and dryer in the unit and detergent. It just lacks an apron to make dressing for the domestic kitchen chores complete.

John says hello and that he would be Han Solo because then he wouldn't have to wear a specific costume.

End of email string. 

(If I get ambitious, I'll report on the last couple of days and the flight home.)

Dining as performance art sparks up our evening

Recently, Greg and I visited Michael Smith’s Fire Kitchen at the Inn at Bay Fortune, purchased by the famous chef earlier this year and extensively renovated. The old kitchen and way of food service are out, and a new method is very much in. So popular, in fact, that we had to wait a couple of weeks for a reservation to this family-style eating experience.

The previous day, we received a reminder: arrive at 6:00 for the oyster-shucking cocktail hour. So, what did we find when we got there — at 6:01? In the first place, not many other people.  I knew being on time would be the equivalent of being too early; my dining companion still has to learn this. However, we were warmly greeted by a chilly hostess in the cool autumnal air outdoors. She explained the procedure for dinner, then went indoors to find a coat!   

We admired the new reception area (blond wood ceiling and birch trunks room divider).   Once the doors to the kitchen were open, which reminded me of waiting for the doors to open at  the Maple Dining Room at Christie Gardens, a few of us straggled into what was the former main kitchen.  We ate, not Colville Bay, but Fortune Bay oysters harvested about as locally as you can get — about 500 feet away in the sea. Local provenance is the byword here.  

With Bloody Mary ice on top, they were delicious.

We eschewed the gin and tonic, figuring at $13 a mason-jar drink, we could imbibe at home for much less money and equal effect.

Greg and I were not quite sure what to do with ourselves for the next 45 minutes while we waited for dinner to begin, so we sat in the lounge and watched other people arriving, while at the same time avoiding making eye contact with them, as they were with us. Is everybody here an introvert?

Carrying our coats with us, as the former coat closet was now a mini-store for cook-books by Michael Smith,  we decided to explore the dining room, found our name chalked on a slate, determined we would have to sit across from each other at dinner  (no sotto voce comments possible, darn it), and hung our coats on the back of our chairs. 

More people had arrived and seemed to be gravitating to the other end of the long room where the new ovens are. There, we found the next stage: pastrami salmon with lemon caper aioli being assembled on crackers by a very young man (to our elderly eyes). He could barely keep up with the  demand. Mmmm good! There was also smoked beef  with beer mustard, also very good as, initially, the beef was not too rare for my liking.

More drinks could be added to our tab were we to indulge in local beers.  Again, we passed: too pricey.

I got a big kick out of talking to the young chef unwrapping the baked beets plucked earlier in the day from the Inn’s garden. Rail thin and wearing a baseball hat backwards, he was cheery and chatty. I asked him, wasn’t the heat from the fire a bit much on his back and he said he was used to it. He told us they burn maple, birch and something else and that there is not a lot of hardwood on the island so they have to source some of the wood in New Brunswick …well, still pretty local! (All the gravel for driveways here comes from New Brunswick too, by the way.  Some things just can’t be helped.)

Here is our take-home menu.

In addition to place-setting menus, the courses for the night’s feast were written on the wall  on brown wrapping paper suspended from what looked like an antique paper roll, with an  impressive serrated edge at the bottom. On another wall, the 40-plus ingredients for the salad were listed. Inspecting these items relieved me of the necessity of talking to total strangers. I said to Greg, we should have gotten a group together, so we would know people.

However, that all changed when we got to our tables. We were saved by a retired teacher and co- owner of tourist cottages, who introduced herself and encouraged the rest of us to do likewise. We did and soon we were finding lots to talk about with one another.

Course after course arrived — with explanations from one of the chefs as to their significance. Sourdough yeast for the bread  takes a month to develop from potato mash, so even the yeast is local!  The resulting 12-grain Red Fife sourdough bread was irresistible, especially with brown butter.

The Taste of the Island Board was delectable. The peas could have been younger, but the dilled beans were yummy. There was way too much pate, delicious though it was, and too few crackers.  Jeff McCourt’s cheese from Glasgow Glen was pizza-flavoured — and it was “gouda.”

Cue the chowder:  all local sea food, delicious.

The invitation to smash the sand crusted on the baked halibut drew several volunteers. After whacking the sandy crust, the participants shared their adventure on their I-phones, while the chefs removed cabbage leaves from the fish, placed there  to protect it from the grit. Served with cauliflower, it was a bit bland… Even the spicy sea rocket provided from local beaches by the Inn’s forager didn’t spark it up quite enough.

However, the occasion itself kindled energy in the crowd.The conversation noise level rose, while course after course was presented. I found out the back stories of my seatmates (I already pretty much know Greg’s). Not telling them here … as what is said in the dining room stays in the dining room. It was just so convivial. 

A 90-year old woman and her 50-year old son shared a birthday, and of course everyone in the room belted out Happy Birthday when their cake was marched in.   Want to know where on the Island to go for afternoon ballroom dancing lessons? Now I know. 

I didn’t think I would like family style dining, but it turned out I do. Four hours after we arrived, we all said goodbye and wended our happy ways home.

If I had a word of advice, I’d say make the main entree portions a bit smaller. We sent way too much chicken back to the kitchen as we simply couldn’t eat it all.  Same with the excellent brown butter mashed potatoes. The beets, zucchini and roasted onions were very enjoyable, and the quantity was just right.

Also I was told that some of the garnishes the forager finds are few and far between on the beaches. Now that local plants are used in quantity at many restaurants, I worry we might be enjoying the results on our plates but over-foraging in the woods and beaches.

Nevertheless, I am looking forward to returning anytime I want an energetic, participatory, delicious dining experience. Good for Chef Michael for embarking on this rollicking adventure in Prince Edward Island hospitality and local foods.