Tell Santa To Bring Scotch

When someone sends you free whisky you accept it. Then you drink it, write about it and plug the nice folks at MasterOfMalt.com for sending it in the first place.

Master of Malt sells whisky from all over the world (think Sweden, Ireland and the USA to name a few) and posts it right to your door. It's a fantastic service for any whisky aficionado who likes rare, limited edition and hard-to-find malts. But now they've raised the bar and offer samples of nearly every whisky they carry so anyone, aficionado or novice, can order online and receive a 30mL dram taste of said whisky. (And they come in these great wax-sealed sample jars.)

It's a wonderful program and a great way for you to sample something you've never tried before for a fraction of what a whole bottle would cost. If you like it, order a whole bottle, if not, you're only out five, maybe 1o bucks.

And for the whisky lover on your gift-giving list this season it makes the perfect present. Send him a selection of unique whiskies like Miyagikyo, a 20 year-old spicy malt from Japan with a rich caramel colour and a soft, smoky finish. Or the 26 year-old Bowmore Single Cask from Scotland. It's a rich, full-flavoured whisky with a fruity, vanilla-caramel taste with just a hint of peat.

But these little drinks by the dram are also an ideal gift for someone who is new to the world of whisky and wants to be able to try a bunch of different malts without investing a month's salary in his new hobby.

Bottom line: check out www.masterofmalt.com and send Santa your whisky wish list. Christmas never tasted so good with booze in the mail.

With Friends Like These

Apart from living at Patio since July 4th and waking up in cold sweats from waitress-related dark dreams, I've had some visitors from My Home and Native Land drop in on the Provincetown scene. I'm feeling lazy and want to get to the beach this afternoon before I have to return to the mojito mines, so here are some pics from the the last couple weeks on the sand dune.

Carrie and I have been friends since high school and when she learned I was in Ptown she decided to ditch her husband and two kids for a few days of freedom. She became a "townie" on her first night. We were riding back from the A House and she crashed her two-wheeler on Commercial Street, falling off onto the sidewalk outside Shop Therapy.

Bike accidents are a right of passage in this town.

Here we are at Herring Cove before hiking across the moors and dunes to get to the beach. In three days Carrie accomplished a lot; lost on the bike trails; saw Showgirls--her first drag show ever; danced surrounded by shirtless men at the A House, witnessed a dead skunk being removed from under my deck; and ate an oyster for the first time.

Where else on earth?

A week later Stacey dropped in for her first trip to the Cape and we met for drinks at Pepe's. It was a weekend jaunt for her and her friends Amy and Kristy who drove up from Brooklyn. (Stacey and I became friends one summer schlepping 99-stamped burgers at Wayne Gretzky's in Toronto.) Kristy snapped this pic with Amy's iPhone using an app that casts this fantastic glow.

Any photographer will tell you, lighting is everything.


This morning I bid farewell to my folks who arrived Monday. They came down for my birthday, which officially was yesterday but celebrated all week. Wednesday morning a gaggle of us sipped mimosas and wolfed down lobster Benedict at Edwige where Louise (mom) snapped this photo.



L-R, William, Kelly, Eric, me, Hunter and Will.

Later Wednesday afternoon the Eastland boys threw me a little Cape Cod-style backyard party. We slugged back potent Rose Kennedy's (vodka, cranberry, lime and soda) and slurped down oysters on the half shell. Instead of cake Eric whipped together a lemon-tequila meringue pie. Soon-to-be a new Cape tradition. Amaze-balls.

The best lemon pie I've ever eaten and a recipe the world needs. Stay tuned, it'll show up here at some point.


If you read one of my earlier blogs you'll know my summer is unofficially sponsored by Rolling Rock, the delicious lager from Pennsylvania. Hunter found me this bucket at the Unitarian Church bazaar. Best $2 birthday gift I've ever received.




My 35th year on this planet is off to an incredible start. With friends and family like I have, getting older only means I appreciate them more.

Drinking more is merely a coincidence.

Servers with Special Needs Deliver Outstanding Bistro Fare

It's rare you find a restaurant that does everything right. One that can transform a mere meal into a truly exceptional dining event, where every detail is seamlessly carried out and the food so exceptional that you as a diner only focus on your enjoyment of it.

I wish I could say this about PB Boulangerie in Wellfleet, Mass. The food is bang on, top shelf, fantastic. The service so lacking it's silly. A friend thinks it's on purpose. Done so the stand out dishes stand up for the attention they deserve. I don't buy it.

Perhaps there's a volunteer organization on the Cape that helps servers with special needs find employment. I suppose the training program is horribly underfunded.

The decor of the newly opened bistro, just off route 6, hits the right mix of comfortable and chic. Mustardy yellow walls adorned with copper jelly molds, Parisian posters and even a horseshoe crab wall sconce create a warm and casual room. Sage green booths edge dark cherry wood tables on one side while a snaking bar caps the other. Bar patrons have the best view of the open kitchen where Chef Philippe Rispoli executes some of the best food found anywhere I've eaten on this sand dune.

Cooks in crisp white jackets and royal blue caps move effortlessly in their stations preparing deliciously simple plates, like shaved prosciutto, Parmigiano Reggiano and melon--triangles of cantaloupe cut so thin you can see through them--all strewn out on a long bed of peppery baby arugula.

And while the kitchen staff seem relaxed and confident the servers look as if one false move might land them in an over sized stock pot for tomorrow's soup du jour. Our waiter, red faced and perspiring, loses his train of thought on his opening line.

"Would you like something to drink or. . .,"

Or what? Were not sure.

Bottled water is poured almost immediately but our cocktails take another 20 minutes before they're in front of us, delivered finally by the hostess we befriend.

Serving is not an easy job but at a restaurant where the food is so exceptional, (a lemony tuna ceviche shines on a raw platter of local oysters and clams) a good waiter can guide his customers through the evening with ease, knowing whatever item they order will please them.

Our petrified server just can't seem to get it together; we don't get to taste the bottle of wine we order he just pops the cork and pours. Empty glasses linger on our table until we physically hand them to someone passing by. We're sure she worked there though, her face also visibly stressed.

But the faux pas don't start and end with our server, there's other oddities at play. A basket of house baked bread, including an amazingly soft and crunchy cranberry batard (a bastardized baguette) arrives with a dipping plate of churned butter, olive oil and an ice wine vinegar, yet side plates seemed to be 86'd from the room. We haven't been overlooked, they're not on anyone's table.

When a complimentary platter of amuse bouche is delivered--toasted country bread squares topped with thin slices of creamy foie gras and dollops of red pepper marmalade--again, no plates accompany it. Drips of jam run down our fingers and finally end up staining our place mats.

Hot-out-of-the-dishwasher plates are set down in front of us before the chilled platter of seafood arrives; and it's only when the table is reset with salad forks and knives that we realize we ate our apps with dinner silverware.

None of this matters at a truck stop diner or say, a Denny's, because it's well, cheap and easy. Twenty eight bucks for a seafood platter deserves to be served with side plates that won't cook the clams. I guess having plates at all should have made us happy.

It's a good thing Rispoli's cooking can shut up even the most judgmental of patrons. We're silent except for a few contented sighs when our entrees arrive. Buttery roasted cod tops pureed potatoes and leeks and wins the entree war, while a seared tuna encrusted with black pepper and served over crunchy veggies in a light yet fragrant broth is a close runner up.

The portion of shrimp risotto could use a little more heft but its fresh lemon flavour and perfect consistency make up for its size, though the spring peas were a little more al dente then they should have been.

Rispoli's best was actually saved for last. Tender crepes Suzette swim in a pool of vibrant orange flavoured syrup, their combined heat melting a single scoop of vanilla-flecked ice cream. A dark chocolate cream accompanies a baseball-size beignet, a warm and chewy vehicle for the intense sauce.

At this point our waiter has been banned from our table--the mutual loathing so evident Rispoli's wife steps into finish serving us. We cringe for a moment thinking we've perhaps been a little too harsh, then come to our senses. If the food wasn't so good we wouldn't be so critical.

The Bear Blog

"What's bear week?" asked a 60 year-old woman dining with her husband in my section last Saturday night.

"Do you know what a bear is," I replied?

"Well I know what a bear is. . ." she answered.

"Do you know what a gay bear is?" I asked.

She looked at me with a blank but curious face. "Bears are large, hairy, bearded guys and this is their week in town. The circuit boys packed up their Louis Vuitton valises and rolled out this morning and the bears took their spot."

"What's a circuit boy?" the two of them asked in unison.

"Oh, well, they're the gays with the perfectly smooth bodies, all sculpted and plucked and tweezed, sporting designer sunglasses and looks of mild disdain."

The both nodded, taking it all in.

I then told them about the Baby Dykes from Memorial weekend, Women of Color week, the leather daddies descending in October, and of course Carnival and (woop woop!) family week.

This week, town is overrun with big, hairy, manly men woofing at each other as they strut down Commercial toward Burger Queen.

Pool filters are working overtime.

A friend witnessed four grapefruit-sized hairballs extracted from the Ptown Inn filters on Monday and Possum snapped this shot earlier today at the Boatslip. We hung on the deck--no way was I getting in that stew.

There's not enough bleach in town to clean that pool. But in a good way.

My friend Addam invited me on the Bear Boat Monday for a sunset dance party. We set off from MacMillan Wharf on the Provincetown II with 900 burly men at 5pm, cruised into the bay then out into open water.

Addam and I are of similar height and build so we had to dance with elbows out, taking up as much space as we could for no other reason but survival. At one point all I saw were the nipples of giant bears towering around me. I could have stared at those for days.

Last night Possum and I turned the tables. He doesn't have any issues in his 6'3" frame but I can easily get lost on the dance floor so we jumped up on go-go boxes at the Paramount and danced the best two hours of our lives. Hundreds of bears thumping in unison to Kelly Rowland's Commander--it was like throwing a teddy bear picnic in a steam room with a massive sound system and $3 Rolling Rocks. You could see the testosterone in the air.

And because we were wearing matching sailor hats from a mariner-themed bear party we attended earlier, some of the revelers assumed we were hired help. Possum left with a sweaty crotch full of cash and I hopped down off that box with a not-so-crisp single.

I don't care if it was a pity dollar, I kept it anyway.

Bears aren't known for their genorous tips so I'll take what I can get.

86 Social Life

I'm glad I got my fun in last weekend.

Fourth of July kicked my ass and most of my coworkers at Patio. I've never heard so much screaming in that kitchen as I did last night around 8pm when it came to a standstill. Every one of the 200 seats in that restaurant was full and order tickets were cascading from the expediting printer to the floor. Roxanna was trying to get food out but the kitchen literally stopped cooking. They were so far behind and had no idea had to dig themselves out.

"If you're not running food get the FUCK out of the kitchen," yelled Joaquim (Mr. Patio) at one point.

Waiters and busboys scattered like roaches. I kept my back to the scene plugging yet another order into the clog jam.

I asked Dwight, working the salad and dessert station, to fire me some bread for a table when Roxanna turned to me and barked,

"Don't fucking talk to the kitchen, I'm the ONLY one talking to the kitchen. I WILL slap you."

I turned on point and retreated.

Then things got better. Before they got worse.

The fireworks were beginning to blast up from the bay creating a mass exodus from the restaurant. Finally allowing the kitchen to dig itself out of the weeds and the waitstaff and support staff to catch its breath. It lasted all of 20 minutes before the masses re-descended. We filled 3/4 again at about 9:45pm then the rain started.

Not enough to even wet the sidewalk but enough to send customers into panic mode, jumping tables to secure a spot under an umbrella to avoid a couple drops of rain. And after already working 12 hours I was mentally and physically spent. Nothing left in the reserves.

I worked straight through yesterday hoping to get an early cut so I could go out and at least have an hour of a social life at the A House. But it didn't happen. Instead servers who only worked the dinner shift were getting cut and cashing out while those working doubles were still taking tables at 11:30pm. I'd had it and the look of disdain on my face screamed it loud and clear.

That's when Possum coined this posts title, "86 Social Life".(86 is resto speak for running out of a menu item). And from that vantage point it looked like we were kissing ours goodbye.

But Possum had a plan and talked me down from the proverbial ledge. We cashed out at 12:45 and raced on our bikes to the A House. Good thing we know a couple of the bartenders; Flabio hooked us up with four Rolling Rocks the minute we crossed the threshold and Eric hooked us up with a couple more on the patio bar after last call.

I've said it before but it pays to know people in this town. Bartenders especially.

We even got two songs on the dance floor. Gaga's Monster and Madge's Like a Prayer, this year's last track of the night. It's played every night just before the lights come on and they kick us all out onto the street.

Next on Possum's agenda was Spiritus pizza, where everyone gathers after last call. When I say everyone I mean every gay man in town who's been out that night. It's not just about pizza, it's about the final chance to scoop up a date for the evening. Literally a couple hundred people gathered in the street and out front of the joint, scarfing down slices and rehashing the nights events.

Nobody, not even us wanted to hear tales from the Patio--that's why I'm telling you.

Okay, finished venting, now off to work.

Blessed are the Few

I just spent two perfect Ptown days.

This past weekend was the Portuguese Festival culminating with the Blessing of the Fleet on Sunday. For more than 50 years boats of all shapes and sizes crowd the harbour and get in cue for the bishop who tosses some holy water on your vessel blessing it (and you, I would think) with prosperity and safety on the high seas. I'm not religious but who couldn't use a little blessing from time to time?

The bishop and his buddy were stationed on the top deck of the slow ferry, the other decks crowded with tourists and well-wishers witnessing hundreds of boats in various stages of party.

Originally meant for the fishing fleets who harvest the waters off the Cape to provide for their families and feed the town, now the BotF is just an excuse to get out on the water and kick off the summer with the first of many nautical hoot nannies.

And boy did we have fun. My friend Rachel invited me to join her and her friends on a pontoon party boat she was renting from Flyers in town. Here's a self portrait with Will and our Bulgarian friend Julia, who's also a Patio employee.

The pic below shows just a hint of all the boats in the harbour with the Pilgrim Monument in the background.

Sunday was hot and hazy and the water in the bay so warm we headed to long point where we anchored, all of us diving off the boat and only coming back to it for beer and other refreshments.

Then on Monday Peter, myself and his friend Ben and Becky headed to Herring Cove beach at the edge of the bay. I muddled us a huge batch of mojitos, packed it in the thermos and we spent the day jumping the waves and lying in the sun.

The battery on my camera died so I don't have any pics of the day but here's a bunch from Dan's Mexican Fiesta Birthday last week.

Here's Lawrence, one of the Eastland lads having a good belly roll while sipping his manly Mexican brew.

And this is Meredith, Dan's beautiful sister presenting the gorgeous tropical fruit platter to the ravenous guests--half of which ended up on the lawn (fruit that is).

And below is Eric and Hunter (a.k.a. Possum) sharing a, um, moment I guess. Eric's excellence in baking created this seven-layer rainbow cake--spectacularly delicious!



And of course, the birthday boy Daniel taking a good whack at his condom and candy-filled pinata. Ole baby!

Margarita University

I learned a few things in Mexico this past winter, like you should always negotiate cab fare before you get into a taxi and that men should never wear thongs on the beach (or in private, really). But the most valuable lesson I left with, was how to make the perfect margarita. And because summer is officially here I feel compelled to share this knowledge.

I'm also inspired because we're celebrating Daniel's 30th birthday today with un grande Mexicana fiesta at Eastland. I should be there now helping prep the refried bean tostados, the tomatillo enchiladas and the shrimp in agua chili--but first the world needs to know how to make a kick-ass margarita.

I catered a little feast for some friends during my brief Toronto stopover between Vallarta and Ptown and my friend Jamie asked how much bar mix to use in a marg. The simple answer is none. Use only fresh-squeezed lime juice when making margaritas and you'll never be disappointed in the results. Bar mix or sour mix or bar lime is pure evil in every way. It's full of sugar and synthetic flavour and even letting it sit next to a good bottle of tequila should be punishable with jail time. Bartenders who use it in cocktails should have their speed spouts sealed shut and their liquor license revoked.

But I digest. . .

For the best tasting margarita start with good booze. I like to use a reposado--a mid-level tequila that's aged in oak barrels for at least three months, which adds flavour and softens that harsh edge common with un-aged (blanco) tequila. Basically, the better your tequila tastes the better your margarita will.

Start by squeezing the juice from 1 1/2 limes into a cocktail shaker. To that add about 1/2 ounce of agave nectar or simple syrup. (You can find agave nectar at health food stores or in the organic section of your supermarket or you can make your own simple syrup by dissolving two parts sugar into one part water.) Next add about two ounces of tequila and 1/2 an ounce of Cointreau, then fill the shaker with ice. Shake the bejesus out of your marg then pour into a salt-rimmed cocktail glass. And don't skimp on the salt either--use a good quality sea salt or Kosher variety--something that will enhance the flavour of your cocktail not distract from it by burning your tongue.

Insert straw, garnish with a lime wheel and a dash of smugness. Then go forth my pupils, into the summer and make happy everyone who sits at your bar. With this recipe it's impossible not to.

Stay tuned for pics and more recipes from Dan's party.

Cha cha cha!

The Road to Wellfleet is Paved with Lemon Tarts

I'm rendering some baby back ribs and sipping a glass of Chianti as I write. One more hour in the oven and the ribs will be fully cooked and tender, at which point I'll transfer them to the barbeque to brown 'em up and add some more flavour.

I'm using a really simple technique and only a few ingredients. First I seasoned the rack with a little S&P and liberally sprinkled on smoked paprika. Then I doused them in a tablespoon or two of cognac and massaged all the flavours into the flesh before laying the ribs over a sliced onion and five or so cloves of crushed garlic. I wrapped it all up in aluminum foil and shoved it in the oven at 350 degrees F for an hour.

That brings us to the Chianti (La Striscia, 2008, a full-frontal fruity mama with a not-too-dry finish) and the last two paragraphs. I've reduced the oven to 250 and will cook them for another hour.

Now I wait. And write.

Today was my day off and I spent it exploring. (Had I remembered that my camera battery died last week at Will and Roxanna's wedding, I would have had pictures to document my day and show to you. But that's not the case so you'll have to rely on my vivid retelling to conjure your own images.)

My roommate Peter, The Boys of Eastland and at least half the town keep raving about this new bakery in Wellfleet so I hopped in my bird-defiled Mazda 3 and hit the highway. Wellfleet is about 20 minutes from Ptown and until today I new exactly two things about it: the local fisherman harvest oysters in the bay and PB Boulangerie churns out some damn fine confections.

Peter returned home one day last week with chocolate cream-filled eclairs from said bakery and barely the heel of a former baguette he devoured in the car on the drive back. Delicious and amazing. In that order.

And the people have caught on too; they're lining up for the tarte au citron and waiting 20 minutes for fresh country loaves to come from the ovens. I picked up one of those pale lemon tarts and asked the woman behind the counter to make room in the box for a fresh fruit tart as well. I'll tell you what they taste like as soon as I finish those baby backs but the simplicity and elegance of them reminds me of the Queen of Tarts in Toronto. If their flavour measures up to their aesthetic I should be in for some good sweetness later.

I might even share with Peter.

Okay, I just yanked the ribs out of the oven and peeled back the layers of foil--the fat has been perfectly rendered and the meat is tender. You can tell this by the pool of fat oozing from the foil and the bones wiggling freely from the meat.

Too the grill!

I'm going to cook them over a low flame for probably 20 minutes, turning after 10 minutes until they have some nice charred bits and a cool flame-broiled colour. Then I'll brush them with some of Annie Natural's Organic Smoky Maple barbeque sauce that I picked up at the Ptown Stop 'n' Shop.

I'm on the second glass of Chianti now. Which explains the state of my dessert. When I went to grab the tart box from the refrigerator I stumbled a little and the box fell to the ground, half smashing its contents. Oops. Might as well drag my finger through the lemon curd smears on the side of the box, right? It's perfect. A smooth and light consistency, creamy texture and a great balance of two parts sour to one part sweet.

Okay, don't let me burn the ribs. Seriously.

Beach Weddings and Random Goings On

I'm going to my first social engagement of the season tomorrow evening. My friend Will is marrying my manager from Patio Roxanna. On the beach across the street from Eastland, 7pm. I'm hoping the weather holds out for them--it's going to rain like a bitch tomorrow and I don't know if there's a plan B.

Enough about them. . .

Getting to the beach today was out of the question. The lazy sun decided not to come out on my day off so I hit Commercial St. to find a shirt for the nuptials. First I stopped into Drinks a great new store carrying chic bar ware, drinking vessels and related boozy material, including books. I dropped off a copy of Cooking with Booze and Entertaining with Booze when I first got to town and they've decided to carry them both in the store.

With that good news I decided it necessary to blow the cash in hand on some well-deserved retail therapy. Marc Jacobs, Item and All American Boy, here I come.

Success on a skinny brown leather belt at MJ and a military style navey and white plaid linen shirt from AAB. With 10 bucks left in my pocket and a hole in my stomach I crossed the street to the small wharf food court to Big Daddy Burritos. For all the stuff stuffed into my chicken, black bean, brown rice, homemade salsa, guac, sour cream, hot sauce burrito it still needed S&P at the table. All those things and still not enough flavour?

Bid Daddy might also consider grilling his namesake wraps. A crispy outer tortilla layer and a heated centre is what I want on a Mexicali menu. He did throw in a free iced tea, so that was nice.

Anyway, it's not only cloudy but it's cool today so when I road passed Patio the, um, 100-seat patio was nearly vacant. I waved at Vasile, resident food runner, waiter, bar back, bus boy and default go-to guy whenever you need a question answered or something done. He waved back.

Vasile is one of the gaggle of eastern Euro staff. Roxanna (Romanian) and I counted 15 nationalities on the roster at Patio this summer. Bulgarian, Russian, Macedonian, Moldavian, Kazakhstanian(??), Cuban, Jamaican, Mexican, Canadian, American, Austrian and a few more I can't remember right now. It's pretty cool.

And because this blog is a random mess of silly day-to-day goings on I'm going to leave you with my favourite new musical discovery, country harmonists Ladies of the Canyon. Download Follow Me Down, Haunted Woman, No Deliverance and Every Minute. If you like melodic twang from pretty girls you'll like this Montreal quartet.



And one more bounce. . . to some pics I snapped last week when the weather was gorgeous and I got the better part of an afternoon in at the beach. Nature porn, nature porn, nature porn.

Barking Dogs, Dancing Queens and Delicious Brews

Memorial Day kicked my ass.

What a weekend. I totaled 47 hours schlepping mojitos and lobster mac 'n' cheese at the Patio (funny, it wasn't the Bud Light and Boca Burger weekend I thought it would be). All told, it was long and tiring but for the most part the Baby Dykes were well behaved and decent tippers. I made a month's rent in four days, I ain't complaining.

And even though working 12, 13, 14-hour days is exhausting, going home to bed afterward isn't an option. Being all wired up and needing to blow off steam (and down a few beers, rightfully) myself and co-waiter Hunter headed to the A House each night after our shift.

Last call in this town is 12:45am so it doesn't leave a lot of time to hangout, dance and drink when we'd finish out cash-out at midnight. Ordering two beers at a time is how you get that done quickly.

The Atlantic House is where everyone goes on the weekend to dance, drink and fall in love--an old kindling building that gets really crowded and equally steamy. Good thing its got a sprawling back patio and ice-cold Rolling Rock, which is turning out to be my beer of the summer. From small town Pennsylvania it's a crisp and easy drinking lager--ideal for quaffing in hot situations.

Although, Sam Adams Summer is up there too. A not-too fruity wheat beer from Boston's famous brewery. Were serving it at Patio and I've gone through a half-case personally since I've been in town.

For something a little more bitter and hoppy I picked up 12 Harpoon IPA. I'm still on the fence a little about this one. It definitely fills a moment but it does have a robust bitter finish and I'm not always in the mood for that.

You know how that is.

Bring on the Summer Whites

I'll get back to you Tuesday after I recover from my first Memorial Day weekend but it's shaping up to be a real trip.

I'm working tonight then three doubles in row; Saturday, Sunday and Monday and the Baby Dykes have already descended on Ptown. It's girls weekend here in the Cape and young college-aged lesbians are here to drink, drink, drink--among other things I'm sure.

The weather looks like it'll be warm and sunny for the duration which means we'll be running our butts off at Patio, going through cases of Bud Light and truck loads of veggie burgers.

Earlier in the week I drove an hour down the Cape to Hyannis (Kennedy's anyone?) to stock up on uniform supplies. I left with bags full of white polo shirts, khaki shorts and a blindingly white pair of Converse. I took this picture of them before I wore them to document their condition. I'll take another shot at the end of the summer so you can see just how hard I kicked it here this summer.

Before I left Toronto I took this shot of my Chuck Taylors--the shoes I wore through at Joe Jack's in just three months. And some people think I live a life of leisure. I just choose to live in leisure towns and while most of the time it feels like vacation the reality is these little legs of mine are constantly on the move.

Like now.


I'm off to work but before I sign off here's a few pics of my cottage life this summer. And yes, you should be jealous.

Until Tuesday. . .

Housing: check!

Just back from the beach with a bit of a buzz. The Eastland boys made a picnic with corn on the cob, steamed shrimp and a selection of local beers and we made the two minute trek across the street to the sand then sat ourselves down.

If there's a better way to spend an afternoon I don't know what it is.

I also found a place to live so that's peeking my mood on this pristine Cape day. (The sun is intense, the tide's receding and the air around here smells like a mixture of briny ocean and lilac. One of the most beautiful places I've ever been. It's nature porn everywhere.)

Okay now back to business.

Yesterday, Eastland's Realtor Joe Somethingorother dropped by the house to move some things into storage for the boys. We started talking and he mentioned he still had a one bedroom unit available for rent. I met him at his office on Commercial St. just after lunch and walked a few blocks so I could check out the space. The place would run me $5200 and take me to mid-September. Not cheap. But that's Ptown and finding housing here's a bigger bitch than the local drag queens.

The location was pretty good; a couple blocks from the beach and a few blocks from Eastland. The apartment was simple, in a cheap motel room kinda way, but my options were that or sleep in my car. Besides it's only for a few months, so what the hell.

Joe was going to draw up the contract and I had to go get a cheque so I jumped on my bike and road back to Eastland. Upon my arrival I met Peter, my new room mate.

Him and his friend John were walking past Eastland and got to talking with Kevin in the front yard. Peter is renting a two bedroom cottage about a 3 minute bike ride from Eastland. I keep bringing up Eastland because I really don't want to leave. I mean I sleep in what's called the Princess room--a floral and lace pantry off the dining room, with little space and even less privacy--but this house and it's contents couldn't be better.

Oh, and the woman who used to own this place died in that room.

But it is a big frat house with a constant rotation of guests, visitors, tricks, maids, lawn guys, friends and foe. I need my own thing and so it's time to go. And my new place is fantastic.

Before I could get back to Joe Realtor and pay for the shack he was hawking I thought I would check out what Peter's place was all about. I walked in and changed my mind immediately.

A gorgeous cottage, not fancy but spacious and adorable and filled with original art. And while the other place came complete with nothing but a dingy bathroom and two single beds my new place has it all: washer/dryer, dishwasher, cable, internet, BBQ, a large deck, parking. And the best part? A queen size bed free of lace and frills.

I'm home.

Today, Tomorrow and the Next

The Patio's opening party last night was a whopping success and a lot of fun. They through me on the satellite bar mostly pouring wine and beer and mixing simple cocktails. I sold $1200 in less than three hours and pretty much solidified my spot there this summer. I churned out more drinks than the main bar and outsold them too. And so far, it seems, The Patio's opening party was one of the best this season.

We made sure people got fed. At a lot of the other parties I attended this week the food played second fiddle to the cash bar. Some cheese trays at one. A few cupcakes at another. The Patio on the other hand shucked 500 oysters, served lobster roll crostinis, tuna tartar and a bunch of other hors d'oeuvres I didn't get to try. I did wolf down half a dozen mounds of lobster salad from the crostinis and a few fresh oysters. Then washed it all down with a giant caipirinha (Brazilian booze, lime and shuga). All in all a good night.

Then, I hit the ground running this morning and started training at 10am. My shift ended at 9pm. A bit of a wild day learning the computer system, the food menu, cocktails, how the kitchen works, where everything is stored, how to set up the place and tear it down, what coworkers to avoid and those I should make friends with.

Exhausting really. But energizing too.

The Patio is definitely going to be busy this summer and I'm going to be working a l0t.

Perfect. It'll keep me out of trouble. Mostly.

I'd like to elaborate but another episode of The Golden Girls is on and it's like religion around Eastland, so I've gotta go.

Oh, and I think we're getting up at 6:45am for high tide to put Ursula (Eastland-boy Kevin's new ski/fishing/leisure/party boat) into the water. Or at least someone's getting up that early.

If I know what's good for me I'll be up to.

Job: check!

Snapped this pic on my way to Cafe Heaven this morning where myself and a couple of the Eastland boys went for breakfast. I couldn't resist.

Okay, this is going to be short and sweet. I'm officially employed. Woohoo!! Much thanks to Will who put in a great word for me at one of the spots he's working this summer.

Yesterday I met with the manager as well as the owner of The Patio (www.ptownpatio.com), a busy, casual spot right smack-dab in the middle of town on Commercial Street. As you can probably guess it's got a large, street-front patio, decked out with stainless steel tables and white chairs, accented with bright orange and navy umbrellas. It has a modern Cape Cod feel with white-washed walls and floors with soft blue mosaic tiles above the bar.

Roxanna, the manager, called just after 1pm today to offer me a job. Three days in and my list of things to do has one check mark on it. I'm feeling pretty good. That, combine with the gorgeous weather today (sunny and warm) is making for a damn good Thursday.

I'll fill you in on the food once I've had a chance to taste some of it, but of course it's big on seafood. I should know more if just over an hour, when I go in for my first shift. I'll be splitting my time there between tending bar and serving. Tonight is the opening party and I'll be working a satellite bar, serving mostly wine, beer and easy cocktails like Cape Cods (vodka, cran) and Cuba Libras (rum, coke).

Okay, gotta run and get ready for my first shift but before I sign off, acai berry (Absolut Acai) may or may not be an excellent antioxidant. Scientists are still figuring that out but it is a small, black berry produced from the acai palm tree. It's also supposed to help you lose weight (there's the Oprah connection) but the verdict is still out that too. Consuming it in the form of vodka had gotta be good for you. It just has to.

Day 2 Ptown

Here I am freezing. It's 9:41am. I'm drinking coffee and watching Regis and Kelly with my roomies. Well, my short term roomies anyway. The coffee's strong and the company moving a bit slow. Myself included.

Freezing because in Fahrenheit it's 54 degrees outside. Raining and windy. That's about 12 Celcius or just plain damn cold. The weather combined with the events of last night are making for a quiet morning. Though the second pot of coffee is definitely helping.

But let me back things up a little and show you some pics from the last few days. I arrived in Provincetown on Monday at about 5pm after a beautiful drive through Vermont and New Hampshire. The sun was shining and the music loud; perfect driving.

As soon as I rolled into town I made it to the beach and snapped this shot. Today doesn't look like this outside. Doesn't matter, that ocean and all its bounty are still there.


Next move was to grab a beer of course so I found the closest bar, The Crown and Anchor where I cozied up and ordered a Stella. My friend Will arrived not long after, shaking his head.

"Why y'all sittin' in here paying for drinks when they're serving free food and cocktails next door?" he asked in his North Carolina accent.

What could I say to that? We headed across the bar into another room where Absolut was holding a tasting for industry folk. I'm not industry yet, but I'm working on it. The vodka girls were mixing up cosmos and muddling cocktails using Absolut Citron, madarin and the new acai berry flavour. (I'll find out what acai berries are and tell you tomorrow. I think Oprah has something to do with its sudden popularity.)

At the muddling bar you got to choose ingredients from a long lineup of fresh berries, mint and limes, mush it up yourself then hand it to the bartender who would add the Absolut Acai then finish it with whatever mix you fancied.

I liked the combo of mint, lime and blueberries topped with lemonade and soda and a healthy shot of Absolut.

If the weather clears at all today I'm going to get some resumes printed and hit the streets. I've got a few leads on jobs and need to follow up on them. But I'm quickly learning how this town works. You need to meet people and talk to people and I've definitely been doing that. Three parties in two days and another one lined up for tonight.

The lead up to Memorial Day weekend is when all the local bars, restaurants and guest houses throw their opening parties, serving up free food and free drinks. Or at least cheap drinks. And because things like jobs and housing happen by word of mouth and recommendation in this town, I've got to be at these parties. The hardest work, I tell ya.

Okay, I gotta go. It's now 12:35pm and I've been writing this post for the last three hours but the cobwebs are clearing and so is the weather. It's time to get things done but I want to share a few more photos before I sign off today.

This is Eastland (The Facts of Life anyone?) where six of my newest friends are living for the summer and where I'm staying until I find a roof of my own. Eastland is across the street from the beach and possibly my new favourite place in town.

Below is my giant plate of fried oysters that I enjoyed yesterday for lunch. We drove out to Wellfleet, about 20 minutes down the Cape to a roadside resto called JP's. Or PJ's. One of those. The plate must have had more than a pound of deep fried oysters, chip wagon style fries, creamy slaw and a crispy dinner roll. A great way to start my food journey this summer.

And below is Kelly, one of Will's housemates slurping down a 1 1/4 pound lobster and getting the deal of the day, paying less than $20. He ate everything. Even the shell.

I would have too.

Brace yourself Ptown: Here I Come

"Your imagination is your preview of life's coming attractions." Albert Einstein

I came across this gem of wisdom last night while reading my weekly horoscope. I consider Georgia Nicols (www.georgianicols.com) my personal astrologist and look to her Sunday email blast as the barometer for my week, month and year ahead.

The Einstein quote rings true. How do you imagine yourself and what do you see in your future? (Sorry if this is sounding a little like The Secret.)

A little back story to get you up to speed. While working and playing in Mexico this past winter I got the idea that a purely hedonistic lifestyle is not just a helluva good time but also entirely achievable. You don't get any closer to hedonism than living in a vacation town, where everyone is relaxed and happy and in search of the "best night ever!". So, in four days time I'm setting off for Provincetown, Massachusetts and another season by the sea. And all I really have is my imagination.

No job and no bed. Yet. Nothing for sure except the great unknown. And how much fun is that? It's the greatest stew of feelings: fear, excitement and anticipation all bundled up in a few suitcases and my Mazda 3. But to tell the truth I'm not going into this without a couple pages of crib notes in my pocket. I'm staying with a friend until I find a roof of my own and I have at least some lukewarm leads on jobs. I'm not worried.

People often ask how I was able to spend four months in Vallarta. My answer, "If you want something bad enough you make it happen." Sounds simple and it is. Or can be. It was in Mexico and I'm hopeful my lucky streak will continue.

At least that's my tone now. We'll all know soon enough how simple it is for me to land a job in a restaurant or bar. A winery maybe? Hell, hauling lobster traps even. Who knows? At this point I've only imagined myself dancing around a beach fire, roasting corn, slurping back fresh oysters and downing a few micro brews. That's not a bad start.

The Best of Mexico

I started this blog last Wednesday and never got it finished. Here it is. My last Mexican adventure report.


I'm hanging out one last time in my outdoor living room. I might cry a little.

It's a perfect Vallarta day. A clear blue sky and a very comfortable 30 degrees. I might just hangout on the sun deck for a few more rays before I go for lunch then depart for the airport. My flight home leaves at 5:40pm. I said farewell to the beach and the ocean yesterday.

Okay, now I'm really going to cry. Leaving paradise ain't easy. And those are just a few things I'm going to miss about Vallarta. Having spent four months here I've made a lot of good friends, had way too much fun for one person and indulged in many gluttonous activities.

Here are a few other things I'm going to miss.

Bacon-wrapped hotdogs—if you’re gonna eat a hotdog (and I’m not talking an all-beef jumbo frankfurter, but a skinny little wiener’s wiener) then you best be rolling it in delicious pork candy. One of these and a quesadilla after the bar, it’s like eating the best of what North America has to offer for preemptive hangover food.


Serviettas—Mexicans are obsessed with these tissue-paper like square napkins. And now I am too. They collect the sweat from my cold bottle of Pacifico and clean my fingers after eating beef and bean quesadillas outside Farmacia Guadalajara. The funny thing is you need to use a dozen of them every time you eat so these little scrunched up bits of stained tissue litter your table (or Styrofoam plate) at every meal.


Bags—Of juice. Salsa. Even mojitos. Get fresh-squeezed orange juice at a stand before work? Plastic bag with a knot tied around a straw. Spill-proof, cheap, and more earth-friendly than Styrofoam cups. Order tacos to go? Salsas come tied up in little bags. Want a mojito to go at Joe Jacks? Normally you’ll walk out with a plastic cup but if you ask Tanque (king of the bar) nicely he’ll pour it into a bag for your walk back to the hotel.


Staff meals—almost every night after the last customers left the restaurant the kitchen staff would prepare a meal for whoever wanted to partake. Platters of grilled mahi mahi or Mexican lasagna or shrimp fried rice would be laid out on table 35. We’d all gather up on the terrace, wolf down some food, have a beer or two, smoke cigarettes and occasionally get high. The waiters would be gathered plotting what bar we’d go to. The kitchen staff were just taking a long needed break from the craziness of the line before they returned to tear out the entire kitchen and hose it down. Another two hours work ahead of them.


Joe Jack’s amigos—what a group! Some of the craziest and funniest people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. We worked hard and drank even harder. There were secret affairs, ass-kickings, burgeoning resentment and admiration. Love and hate. Drama. Good times.


Simon—five month old Jack Russell terrier. My roomie and great friend Alfonso’s newest sidekick is one of the cutest, most well behaved and quiet puppies an owner could ask for. We shared a lot of naps.


Vallarta sunsets—sounds cheesy but damn they’re great. On days when I worked lunch I’d get off at about 4pm, grab a couple Dos Equis and head to the beach. Nothing’s better than a jump in the ocean after schlepping food and drinks all day, downing a couple beers and watching the sun slide into the pacific.

Lessons en Espanol

I'm officially on vacation. No longer working, I can focus on my Spanish and in turn impart some of my education of the language on to you.

When I arrived here in December my Spanish consisted of two words: si and gracias. After three months I've managed to add a few more words to my vocabulary, many of them slang and taught to me by my coworkers at the Shack. I became fairly fluent at words used in the restaurant. The majority of staff at Joe's is Mexican and other than the servers, they don't speak English. It made communicating difficult but somehow I managed to fit in. They all thought I was loco (crazy) but most of them are loco too so we didn't need language to bond.

Some favourite words from Vallarta:

Piojo/pioja (pee-yo-ho/pee-yo-ha) A "cheap bastard". Also the word for lice. Commonly used at Joe Jack's to describe poor tippers, generally Canadians and especially French Canadians. Sorry fellow Canucks but we have a bad reputation in Vallarta and having worked in the industry for the last three months I can honestly say it's deserved.

No mames (no mom-ees) Vulgar slang meaning "no way!" The literal translation is "don't suck me" and it was a long-running source of humour at the Shack when someone in the kitchen would say "no mamis!". It was then my cue to follow with "Si mamo, y a domicilio. Bien rico." Which translates to "Yes, I suck! At my place. It's really tasty." This joke never got old.

Porfa (pour-fa) Colloquial term used as an abbreviation of "please". Tourists say "por favor", locals say "porfa".

Quisiera (key-sarah) "I would like". This is my most frequently used word. "Quisiera una cerveza porfa." "Quisiera una margarita." "Quisiera un hombre!"

Caliente (kali-n-tay) Means "hot" as in temperature but when used to describe yourself or another person it means "horny".

Mas (mass) "More." Comes in very handy at the bar. "Una mas, porfa". "Dos mas Corona. Gracias."

Por que, no? (pour kay, no) "Why not?" Should we get another beer and dance at Manana until 6am? "Por que, no!"

Hodgepodge of Happenings

It's the beginning of the end. This is my last week of work at the Shack. Three months has flown by in a blur of red snapper, mojitos and coconut pie. I'm going to miss that place but I'm also ready for a new adventure. The wheels are in motion but I'm not disclosing my next destination until I tell my parents.

I'm 33 years old and yet I feel I need to let them know before they read it on the internet. They're coming to PV April 2nd so I'll tell them in person. Not that they will try to talk me out of anything I want to do but I did get an email from my mom this morning. It read:

"Hope things are still going great with you and Mexico is still the place you want to be. Hard to believe that you have been gone so long, and yet it has gone by rather quickly (miss you close by though). "

Kinda tugs at my heartstrings.

I'll only be back in Toronto for the better part of a month before heading out again to explore the food scene in another beach town for a few months. The beginning of another great adventure. But don't worry, you're all invited to tag along for all the delicious details. Well, most of them anyway.

On another note, and to change the subject, I just submitted a piece to Holmes magazine (Mike Holmes that is) on everything a guy needs to know about steak. It's 2000 words on cows, cuts, cooking and the mountain of beefy stuff you should know about man's favourite meal. It'll be published in an upcoming issue--I'll be sure to let you know when it hits newsstands.

And speaking of steak, have I mentioned how good the one at Joe Jack's is? It makes my list of new favourites in PV.

Five Pepper Steak: Actually it's 10 peppers. The 8 oz. filet mignon is first seasoned with 5 peppercorns (white, black, green, pink and Szechuan) and grilled then topped with a sauce made from 5 peppers (moron, hungaros, guerros, poblanos and guajillo). I dream of this steak.

Taco Rellano: A stuffed poblano pepper with octopus and shrimp, deep fried then made into a taco. Ridiculously good. Located on Aguacate between Cardenas and Caranza. When I remember the name I'll update this post.

Churros: Deep fried, star-shaped tubes of doughnut, rolled in cinnamon sugar from the vendor outside the clock tower church on Aguacate. They cost 1 peso each and wolfing down 10 on my way home from work is never an issue.

Mi Cafe Sandwich: The signature sandwich at this new cafe just a block from my house is killer. Fresh ciabatta stuffed full of turkey, pesto, shredded carrot, cucumer, cheese and served with three house-made sauces (garlic, chipotle and creamy basil) along with crispy wedge potatoes and fresh fruit.

Citrus Cloud: One of the best desserts I've eaten. Maybe anywhere. Ever. Lime-licked custard cooked in a ramekin like a creme brule would be, except where the brule should be is a soft and delicate sponge cake. The signature dessert at Archie's Wok, one of my favourite restos in PV serving up some of the best Thai food I've ever had.

Choco Banana: Frozen bananas from this eponymous corner cafe get dipped in chocolate and rolled in a myriad of toppings like coconut or chopped pecans. Simply perfect.

Victoria: a Vienna-style amber beer from the makers of Corona it's refreshingly malty with a good hoppy flavour to boot. The best part? You can buy a 60 oz. bottle at Bolero (local bar for Joe Jack's staff) for 50 pesos.