A SEAFOOD SURPRISE

By Mike Franco

The trip north could not have been more poorly timed.  While last weekend’s “biggest blizzard ever” slammed into Chatham and other cherished New England burgs that I hold dear (and yes, this doozy may indeed have hit that high bar) I smugly did what all Snowbirds do — wallowing in a self-satisfying orgy of limitless south Florida sunshine and 80 degree temps.

If asked, anyone who knows me would tell you that I much prefer this tiny bit of sand to the Sunshine State and, ordinarily welcome a upcoming, brief mid-winter escape north from our otherwise cozy Naples, FL condo to attend to various business, volunteer and medical needs.  THIS year, however…

My flight to Boston was scheduled for the first full day that Logan Airport re-opened after the “bomb cyclone” storm ravaged our region.  I had truly hoped it would be cancelled but no — my merry band of fellow NORTH-bound plane passengers and I were taken literally from one world to another in 2:47 minutes (and the one bag of peanuts limit for the in-flight “snack” did not make my mood any better).

No doubt I was not alone in wondering what the heck Jet Blue was doing trying to land in a place that truly resembled an Arctic documentary on PBS.  Yes, we escaped that adventure but things did not get much better when we entered the nearly empty terminal.  The rental car station was particularly creepy, nearly totally void of Hertz employees, and overloaded with stranded autos which has not been serviced at all.  I spent about 15 minutes “cleaning” the windows myself before I was even able to maneuver it outside.

The drive down to Chatham was relatively easy, with few cars on the road — a good thing since the highways, while generally clean, sometimes would have a travel lane disappear with little notice, no doubt courtesy of an overtired snowplow truck driver.  One noticeable feature however — the snowfall amounts on the roads south heading to the Cape increased as we got closer to the bridge; once over it, the roadside snow piles rapidly grew with each mile closer to Chatham.

Since many of you reading this likely lived through Chatham’s thumping, I won’t go into great detail but, essentially, the town felt virtually closed down upon arrival, massive snow piles, areas where plows has not yet visited, tree branches scattered, seemingly every store shut tight — a place dark both in tone and feel in the near total absence of electricity.

Surprise!  MY house had power and, my neighbor told me, had pretty much kept it since the storm began a few days earlier.  One small step for mankind.

Perhaps it was the plane’s rationing of their peanuts, but once somewhat settled in our slowly warming half Cape, the hunger pangs began in earnest.  We essentially had left the house food-free upon our departure to Florida in early January, and clearly there was nothing open in town to rectify my dilemma.  What’s a guy to do???

Somewhat wistfully, I opened the refrigerator doors in a quixotic fantasy that perhaps some edible morsels had escaped our pre-trip cleansing.  Inside there was a lonely, half empty mustard jar, its ketchup companion, and a few other such items — however, “Condiment City” was not the solution.

Only the freezer was left — one final disappointment awaited.  At best I could only muster a listless glance into that icy world.   But wait — what were those two frosty blobs squished into the freezer’s far corner?  A few shriveled, ancient green beans?  Some rocklike blueberry escapees from the smoothie gauntlet?  Or, heaven forbid, that yucky paper cup of bacon grease or the like that I surreptitiously slip into the freezer when there is no better temporary solution for the nasty stuff until my dump run?

 Alas, a simple fingernail scraping of the smaller “ice pack” uncovered a true miracle — a half pound of what I confidently call the world’s best smoked bluefish.  The second, larger package topped even that valuable find — a one pound package of the locally caught sea scallops that I regularly brag about to my “fish philistine” neighbors in Florida or wherever else I feel the need to spread such Gospel-like wisdom.

Two nautical gems — thanks to Shareen, Brett and the many others whose collective skills and commitment have enriched our lives through the wonderful Chatham Harvesters seafood co-op.  I have no idea how these two tasty seafood morsels survived our weekly culinary assault on these and the many other tasty ocean treats that the co-op offers.  However, their unexpected and extremely welcome presence in our snowbound abode is yet another yarn to be added to the many stories that the co-op’s 1000 members have on how this local gem has added to Chatham’s overall quality of life.

I will end my story here since you doubtless know how it ended, but please do me a favor and give Shareen, Brett or other co-op a special thanks the next time you see any if them around town.  I certainly will.