David, mid-60s survivor of a heart attack, hugged me in the parking lot of the Dog Watch Cafe, as the sun candled out over Stonington harbor. We were all heading home to catch Barack Obama's acceptance speech. David whispered in my left ear, freshly shaved, "I am going to presume on our friendship and tell you that you should lose 30 pounds." He looked into my shocked eyes. "Or it will happen to you." A heart attack.
I spun away. David had just walked on my grave, a heart-stopping experience of its own. Or he'd noted my meal at the Dog: lobster bisque (gorgeous, for all the heart-attack-causing reasons), fried scallops (I could have had baked), french fries (I might have had rice), house-made chunky guacamole, and two Guinness (low alcohol; I was driving). I think of Guinness as medicine.
Go there, if you're at that end of Connecticut. I liked the Dog Watch Cafe a lot. The touching scene in the parking lot with David was just more fun. Dog Watch: boat people, car people, not a tie in the house, savoring well-prepared shore cuisine, waterside. Well-staffed: frantic but friendly. Long L-shaped bar. Flip-flop casual. Windows on all sides. A venturesome mixed drinks menu. A locally-followed chef in the kitchen. Feels right.
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