An old saw goes something like this:
Never eat at a restaurant called “Mom’s” unless the only other choice in town is named “Eats.”
So it was a happy accident the other day since we’re not keen on stopping at a place named “Cheese” any more than one named “Coffee.” But, this stop was urgent: “If you don’t stop here, I’ll scream.”
And we found the Foster Cheese Haus, stuffed with artisan, organic Wisconsin cheeses, beer and wines. The smoked turkey sandwich was delicious. My grilled cheese comforting with the addition of grilled onion and tomato. Thanks to Dean Parent the GM.
Such finds are pleasant surprises.
Years ago, we were camping out of a Ford Pinto in Cape Cod. Intent on a great seafood dinner, we headed out to a highly recommended restaurant, only to see guests arriving in coat and tie or dresses and heels — nothing like our stylish camping clothing.
So we headed into Hyannis and stumbled across a back street restaurant with red checked drapes and tablecloths. The street was lined with pickups, station wagons and other assorted beaters like ours. One lobster, piles of cod, scallops, clams and a bottle of Portuguese wine later we left in deeply satisfied stupor.