Thursday, September 26, 2012.
New England-Canada Cruise Journal, Day Six: Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Only two ports have been on all three of our New England-Canada cruises: Boston and Halifax. The first time we came this way, Mary Ann and I (the kids could not escape their high school classes, and for the first time weren't with us) had a wonderful day in Nova Scotia, driving across the rolling, verdant countryside to a marvelous little fishing town called Lunenburg. There we ate the best lobster of our lives in a restaurant that formerly had been the town's fish-processing plant.
I looked forward to doing something like that again today. But on this itinerary the stay was shorter, enough attenuated to make the rather long drive to Lunenberg impossible.
That's what the driver of a stretch limo told MA when she asked him what it would cost to take us there. She was already determined to gather a group of Eat Clubbers together to commission this opulent vehicle. Which, at $50 per person, seemed reasonable enough.
The driver-owner of the limo suggested that we go to Peggy's Cove, the most popular tourist spot within easy striking distance of Halifax. But he warned us against eating there. "The food in the restaurant isn't very good, and the place is always packed," he said. Instead, he knew of a lobster pound that would boil big lobsters for us at a much better price.
"The man who owns it ships 747s full of lobsters to Europe every day," our driver said. "His lobsters were in the ocean this morning!" That is the magic indicator for lobster goodness. The tradeoff was a total lack of atmosphere and service. The lobsters would be served on paper plates at beat-up picnic tables in the parking lot of the lobster pound's utilitarian shed.
The limo driver called ahead to get the meal started. In the meantime, he drove us to Peggy's Cove. Movies are frequently made there, and it's easy to see why. The rocky point and its few houses and classic lighthouse no doubt look exactly the same as they did a hundred years ago.
The fellow running the lobster pound was well into cutting through the shells of our lobsters when our limo pulled incongruously into the gravel parking lot. The crustaceans were easily in the two-pound range and still steaming. We dug into claws packed with meat and fat, tails firm and rich, and tomalley aplenty inside the heads. Good as the lobsters had been six years ago in Lunenberg, these took over first place on my all-time list. Even Mary Ann--no fan of lobster--had to admit that these were spectacular.
And now, the punchline: fifteen bucks apiece. That made the modest circumstances insignificant. It was a pure lobster experience of the highest order.
They also had scallops and oysters. I shared a dozen of the latter with one of our company. They were the same species of oyster we eat in Louisiana, but much saltier--coming as they did from ocean waters, not the brackish water we have at home. But they went down no less enjoyably for that.
What we paid the limo driver was worth every penny just for that lunch he found for us. But he served us well in other ways. He took us to a shop that specialized in maple syrup, far more of which comes from Canada than from Vermont or anywhere else in the States. The shop offered a tasting of the various shades of syrup, and I tested my received knowledge that the lighter maple syrup is, the more interesting the flavor. Yep. Bought the biggest bottle of the lightest kind.
The limo took us on a tour of the town. The most interesting place was a cemetery to which many of the recovered bodies from the Titanic disaster were brought to be buried. About fifty markers of the same size and appearance all bore the same date: April 15, 1912. Funny we should want to see such a site while traveling on an ocean liner. Even one twice the size of the Titanic, as the QM2 is.
One charming detail marked our arrival in and departure from Halifax. A bagpiper and drummer showed up on the dock to herald our ship. They have been there on both our previous journeys here. The Scottish aspect is clear from the province's name. But this is also the place from which the Cajuns were hounded out by the British in the 1700s. You still see a lot of names around here that look very Cajun.
The ship left at five, giving us plenty of time to wash up and rest before dinner. Mary Ann suggested that we try the gourmet room of the Queen Mary 2 tonight. It operates under the aegis of Todd English, the Emeril of Boston. I was not impressed by English in my three past encounters with him. The first was an appearance on the radio show preceding the opening of his New Orleans restaurant Riche, which for less than a year was where the downtown Ruth's Chris is now. The second was actually eating at Riche, which looked great but lacked distinction. The third time Todd English loomed into view was during our last voyage on this ship. We had a lunch and a dinner in his place. Mary Ann remembers it as having been good, but I don't.
I never give up on a restaurant just because of past sins, so I agreed to give it another try. I'm happy we did. We had no trouble getting a table, a fact that added to the intimacy of the environment. (It wouldn't have been quite right if it had been full.
The dinner started with thinly-sliced scallops shingled atop a pile of wild mushrooms, semi-enclosed with some sort of foam. The foam thing overused by hip restaurants seemed silly to me even in its heyday. But I had a new insight tonight. The foam's bubbles formed a layer of insulation around the warm scallops and mushrooms, keeping it the perfect temperature through the whole eating.
The Marys stayed with their salads. Mary Ann's had its varied ingredients strung along a strongly linear plate. The inclusion of artichokes with the greens grabbed MA's palate exactly. ML's was more conventional, being a slight variation on a Caesar.
The most interesting entree was billed as ravioli with eggplant bolognese. The way this was accomplished was fascinating. The little pillows of pasta came with a pale yellow, buttery sauce that made us wonder what happened to the meat-and-tomato bolognese aspect. Turns out you had to cut into the ravioli to reveal this essence, which then flowed about and imparted a flavor that was as wonderful as it was surprising.
That was MA's happy choice of an entree, which satisfied her conscience as well as her palate: it was the vegetarian specialty. Neither our daughter nor I were so constrained. Before me was a four-bone rack of lamb, smeared with an herbal coating on the cut faces. The perimeter was crusty with what tasted more like mustard than anything else. It wasn't what I would call either complex or surprising, but prepared a point (not a quality we found much in the main dining room) and served beautifully with an assortment of vegetables.
Mary Leigh, of course, ate a filet mignon. What else, in this gourmet establishment?
The surcharge for eating in Todd English's depends on what you order. For the three of us, that amounted to $76 for the food. That's comparable to the upcharge for the supper clubs on other ships, but the food was much better.
When dinner ended, so did Mary Ann's alertness, and she was off to bed. I adjourned to the Chart Room for more jazz from the unremittingly listenable Mark Hodgson Trio. A few of the Eat Clubbers came and went, enough of them that it was not necessary for me to pony up for a glass of ten-year-old tawny port.
