I arrived at the Crab Shack in Henrietta (Hta?) at ten to six, nd parked next to a shiny red Chevy Spark. This is worth mention, as my little car is evidently no big seller – I think that’s only the fifth Spark I’ve seen since I bought mine in February.
The pleasant girls at the reception desk had only one reservation – for 18 persons, pharmaceutical company gathering, so I settled down on a couch near their desk and watched the passing scene. Not a face I recognized. Not a clue.
At I ordered take-out clams, which came after ten more minutes, and I left at . (If I remember right, you had to give a full professor twenty minutes?)
Sixteen dollars brought one of the smallest orders of fried clams I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure the chef could get a job in
, but maybe it’s just that things no longer taste
the way I remember. They were indeed
whole clams, though, soft-bellied, with a whiff of the sea when you bit into
them. Wish I’d thought to take a picture
when they arrived so you could share the whole experience, but I hadn’t had any
supper and I’m afraid I drove home one-handed. Maine