Sunday, March 3, 2013

Rhymes with rarity

The San Jose Mercury News says the Flaherty Restaurant in Carmel is one of the top 10 seafood restaurants in California.

Personally, I believe newspapers to be tantamount to the word of God, though it is hard for me to wrap my brain around how one could rate the many thousands of seafood restaurants in California. Still, it's a newspaper, so ...

It doesn't hurt, of course, that Carmel is, you know, all that -- the former mayor being Mr. Eastwood (he of the bizarre Republican convention speech and macho films) and home of something like a dozen square blocks selling really expensive stuff. It is here that we find Flaherty, with some thanks to our motel (more on that later), which provided a 10 percent discount card. We didn't, however, read the fine print, which indicates that we get 10 percent off of only one of the two dinners we purchased (since, it turns out, Kathleen also wanted to eat).

The Caesar salad, frankly, wasn't as good as the one I had at Ristorante Villa Portofino in Avalon (that's on Catalina Island, and I'm pushing very hard to mention it often so they'll send me some coupons or something). However, the barbecued oysters ... well, they were way, way awesome, as we food critics like to say. I apologize to the people I will be around the next few days for the garlic odor that will no doubt emanate from my pores.

That's really all I have to say, and I regret that I have no pictures. Fortunately, we had driven in from Cambria along Big Sur, including a really interesting stop to look at elephant seals on San Simeon Bay, which I mention here only to have an excuse to use the photos.

Oh, about our motel -- so far on this trip I've been knocking it out of the park. Carmel Lodge was, at best, an infield single or maybe a sacrifice fly. No, an infield single, no runs scored. Nice location, but it's old and not great. Is it really so hard to run a vacuum along the edge of the carpet and the sliding door? And, I don't know what century the place was built, but it apparently was at a time when people were very short, since the shower head reached nearly chest-high.

So, not even an infield single. More like an infield fly after fouling off a half-dozen nasty sliders. But I made the pitcher use his best stuff.

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