Roadfood_ Revised Edition - Jane Stern [17]
How to dine at Five Islands can be a little confusing, nothing like a restaurant with waiters or even an eat-in-the-rough seafood shack. The first thing to do is go into the red clapboard building where a sign above the open door says “lobsters.” In here, confer with one of the ladies about the size you want—they’ll happily hoist lobsters out of the seawater tank for inspection—and let them know whether you want clams, corn, or potatoes thrown into the net and boiled alongside. You can buy a soft drink (or bring your own wine or beer), although we had to convince one old salt to sell us a bottle of Moxie, which she promised was too bitter for travelers unaccustomed to the Yankee beverage that was originally marketed as nerve tonic. Slices of blueberry cake and brownies are sold on the honor system. Leave a dollar for each one you take.
After arranging for dinner in the red building, head outside and find a picnic table or, if too hungry to wait foodless for the twenty to twenty-five minutes it takes for everything to boil, go next door to the Love Nest Grill (so named because fishermen and their paramours used to tryst there) and pick up an order of fried clams that are Ipswich-good, their briny marine essence encased in micro-thin crust. The Love Nest menu also features lobster rolls, fish and chips, crab cakes, even hamburgers and hot dogs.
When we told Chris Butler, who, with his wife, Jenny, bought Five Islands only a few years ago, that his lobsters were the best we ever have eaten, he explained that the water around here is the deepest and coldest on the coast, meaning lobsters yield meat that is firm and radiant with clean marine flavor. Ours fairly burst out of the shell when we took a nutcracker to it, and the juices that dripped on corn and potatoes added saltwater radiance to the whole meal.
Tranquility reigns when you look out at the islands in the distance, even when all the picnic tables are crowded with happy eaters chattering with the joy of their sleeves-up meal. As we devoured our shore dinners, savoring the beautiful scene every bit as much as the food, a fishing boat glided into the harbor and tied up at the wharf a few yards from our table. We ate Maine blueberry cake while watching two lobstermen offload crates full of lobsters just trapped in the deep.
Flo’s
Route 1
No phone
Cape Neddick, ME
L (closed Weds) | $
We’re the first to admit that Flo’s is not for everyone. Its blubbery little weenies are by no stretch of the imagination gourmet sausages, and the place itself feels like a crowded garage. Nonetheless, there are many roadside hot dog fans (ourselves included) who would put this wacky little place on any all-American top-ten hot dog list.
Hot dogs are the one and only thing on the menu, so when you enter the low-slung, six-seat diner and peer through the pass-through window into the kitchen, proprietor and chef Gail Stacey (the late Flo’s daughter-in-law) will ask simply, “How many?” They are small, so most regulars have a large number in mind. Three or four will sate a modest appetite. We’ve seen normal-size men consume a dozen at lunch, allotting no more than two good bites per dog. Like the wieners, buns are steamed to order, and these gentle buns, fresh out of the heat box, have a fine, silky texture that is itself a vital component of the singular culinary experience of dining at Flo’s.
Hot sauce, which is technically optional but culinarily essential, is Flo’s secret weapon. Nothing like the beefy chili on a chili dog, it is meatless, a devilishly dark sweet/hot relish of stewed onions, glistening with spice, and customarily finished with a sprinkle of celery salt. A “special” at Flo’s is a hot dog with this sauce and a thin line of mayonnaise, a magic combination that makes the modest dog unspeakably lavish. If instead of mayo you get mustard, the sauce/mustard interaction gives every bite a wicked kick.
Note: Flo’s has no phone! It is open only for lunch, from 11:00 A.M. daily except for Wednesday,