You Be the Frisky Oyster, I’ll Be the Full-Bodied Red

In a mild panic that our days of spontaneous fun were coming to an end (I think because we’re in our 30’s?), KW planned a quick get-away trip for four of us to go wine tasting on the North Fork of Long Island. (I ran the Arizona Rock & Roll Marathon in 2007 with KW and DT; and JR is my best friend from high school.) We visited about five vineyards–Martha Clara, Pellegrini, Bedell, Pindar and Corey Creek–throughout the chilly, overcast day. In nearly every tasting room we were besieged by overripe, shiny parties of bachelorettes–apparently, trying on sophistication is the newest thing for brides-to-be. I had volunteered for designated driver, so I can only report back that the worst sip of the day was a Pellegrini white that earned the flavor descriptor “band-aids,” and the best sip was of a $75 red at Beddell, or as JR put it, “a special occasion bottle.”

After an early evening nap, we primped for our dinner at The Frisky Oyster, right down the street from our hotel.  The Frisky Oyster is a smooth, hip gem of a restaurant tucked into a nondescript storefront in downtown Greenport, NY. The clientele kept kissing the hostess (the original frisky oyster??), apparently since they were all regulars. We each had a standout meal, my favorite dishes were the mussels with fennel and the truffled French fries. Oh, and the white cosmopolitans were good, too! 

After dinner (it was late, maybe 11:30?) we walked across the street to pick one of the town’s two bars; DT decided on the grungier, quieter one primarily because of the dart board, and thus commenced the longest game of darts in the history of Greenport. We eventually gave up and just left it unfinished since neither JR nor I could hit the 17; and none of us could get a bull’s-eye. (Remember, we are the same group of women who follow along with written instructions when we “play” poker.) During our dart game, we had the misfortune of encountering some of the local characters: Angry Asian Man, Chinese Food Flatulence Man, and Not-Quite-a-Midget Man. 

Uhm-huh. Quickly moving on, we decided to give karaoke a shot in the back room, and put in for “Only the Good Die Young.” Since we all could sing the song by heart already, and since it’s by a local hero, we figured we had a slam-dunk. We never got to sing it though, because the locals had stacked the playlist with stand-bys such as “Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” “Fat-Bottomed Girls,” and “Don’t Stop Believin’.” Tired of being accosted by Not-Quite-a-Midget, we realized it was well past 2 AM and we had definitely accomplished what we set out to do: to somehow, at some point during our weekend, let the plan slip away and just enjoy whatever fun spontaneously presents itself. 

The next morning we went to Bruce’s Cheese Shop for brunch, where I behaved completely out of character. First, I passed on the coffee (it was that bad) and partook in the bacon. Some of you already know that I am adamantly anti-bacon unless, apparently, it has been fried in a crust of buttery brown sugar, like they do at Bruce’s! It’s like candy! Also, I was very nice to the waitress. 

Then, we dropped DT back at the hotel–she was hanging around to complete an 87-mile training bike ride with her hubby so as to prepare for the Zurich Ironman Triathlon–and KW, JR and I drove back towards the city, slightly hung over, very mellow, and perfectly content.