BC and I have escaped to the wild Russian River, to an Argento-esque setting in the windy woods, on the muddy river. Last night we shared a frighteningly caloric dinner in Duncan’s Mills, at the aptly named Cape Fear Cafe. Perhaps we shouldn’t have downed the bag of chips and beers before winding our way down the road to the restaurant. I started with oysters, which were some mutant variety probably used in a 50’s sci-fi film in which they take over the bodies of the inhabitants of some small town like the one we’re staying in. This was followed by a salad, which wasn’t mentioned on the menu, but was a delicious tower of mixed greens, set in a moat of vinaigrette, and crowned with a bushel of cranberries and the cheese of a small goat herd. I was stuffed at this point. And then came the entree, scallops covered in a reduction of pernod and cream, way too thick, way too rich, with potatoes that tasted of some sort of cheese, oh no, please somebody get me outta here, and thank the lord up in heaven, some broccoli. When the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I almost threw up on him, but some inner voice with a green spinning head asked to see them, and they looked great. Go there for dessert, folks, but be forewarned: don’t eat the bag of chips before, and don’t get an appetizer.
We’re deciding which way to bond with Mother Earth today–mud baths or wine tasting? Both? The beach? Hiking? Bulimia?