If we were to have found a shack open earlier than 11 a.m., I would have opted for lobster for breakfast. (Settled for blueberry-topped crepes and waffles instead. So tough.) They do lobster rolls right in Maine: lump meat, a touch of mayo, grilled bun with a hint of butter, no fillers. And the steamers. Oh, the steamers. You can't find 'em much fresher. I was thanking the pregnancy gods both crustaceans and shellfish were allowed. Not sure what I would have done otherwise.
A short drive up Route 1 brought us to Porpoise Cove, where we hit Nunan's Lobster Hut for dinner. (Jon looks cute in a bib, doesn't he?) It was the quintessential lobster shack: the smells of sea salt and butter, buoys and fishing nets hanging from low-slung ceilings, sounds of cracking claws interrupted by intermittent conversation. Perhaps this is the Maryland in me coming out, but there is something savage, yet oh so satisfying, about having to work for your meal.
We finished our night with a little putt-putt at Wonder Mountain Fun Park in Moody (Jon beat me handily, this time) and homemade ice cream from Big Daddy's Ice Cream in Wells.
The next day we moved on to York Beach for the Maine event (har har), the wedding of one of Jon's college friends. We stopped at Goldenrod Kisses to pick up taffy for our parents (who were tag-teaming taking care of Bogie back home), ordered some shaved ice from Hawaiian Jim's, and did a little candlestick bowling (Jon beat me. Again. But only by a hair).
Somehow Jon agreed to let me dress him for the wedding. Those seersucker pants he bought as a joke before he knew me? Oh, yes. Add a Brooks Brothers navy blazer, one pair of Ray Bans, some stubble, and he was my Maine Man. Lookin' good, Jonny D.!