Books literally lining the streets.
Books: There were bookstores around every corner. Used bookstores, new bookstores, children's bookstores, genre bookstores. The urge to fill my suitcase with 50 lbs of paper and leave my worthless clothes behind was almost insurmountable but I resisted. Oh to have even a tenth of those shops. And they weren't filled to the ceiling with Danielle Steele and Stephen King. They were teeming with good books, but I must note, I found no Wendell Berry. Is this indicative of Bostonian character? Yes. Undoubtedly.
150 beers to choose from and your own mug etched with the author's name of your choice to drink them out of if you put them all under your belt.
Food: I made a pact, a blood oath, a sacred vow, a promise, crossed my heart coronary blockage be damned, that I would eat good food and lots of it. We would not attend to a chain restaurant of any manner in our nine days in Massachusetts. And we ate some good food. And it was easy. There are small little eateries around every corner in the city. We had seafood on the wharf- scallops, calamari, clams, and shrimp all fried to perfection, sandwiches on par with renaissance masterpieces, Tortellini Alfredo on the north side that makes my mouth water with the memory, Canolis and Lobster and all manner of beer and burgers – a vanilla porter at a great local place in Maynard, and Bukowski’s, a literal hole in the wall of a parking garage and the Mecca of beer drinking, the home of the dead authors club, and author itself of one hell of a burger. And then there was the epic fail.
Walden Grille in Concord – home of the laziest Caesar salad in the history of gastronomic Epicureanism. Sara didn’t like much on the menu so she ordered the Caesar, playing it safe. When it arrived it was a plate, with dressing squirted on the bottom, uncut crutons in that and a full head of of romaine lettuce with three salty anchovies flopped over it.
Yes, one of these. Surprisingly it was at least clean of dirt.
We laughed and laughed and laughed. I thought it may be worthwhile to ask the waitress for a knife to cut that crap up and a salad tong to toss it but Sara managed with a steak knife and a fork. Terrible meal but perhaps the most memorable.
Like this only without the grating, chopping, and tossing.
All this to say at least they have more local institutions than you can count on two hands and quite a bit of local food from area farms. Albeit, the ubiquitous non connect with anything resembling soil and grass was quite apparent. And the prices were astronomical.
History: Standing on the old north bridge where the militia stood there ground against the British regulars on April 19th 1775 and reading the inscription on the stone, "I'm not afraid to go, and I haven't a man that's afraid to go," brings a shiver to the back of my neck. We stood for something in a brief moment. It renews a certain amount of idealistic hope in your soul to see it.
By the way, I told someone about your caesar salad; and she wasn't surprised. She had seen it somewhere else. Evidently it may be the new way of doing caesars. Next time you order a caesar salad ask them how it will arrive on your table.
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