This year’s Maine trip to Kennebunk and camp got off to a good start despite an early rise and hitting the three ferries all before 9 a.m. The SUV was packed to the rafters with all kinds of things–my coffee supplies, snacks, clothes for various social events, my tennis racket in case, a stack of books I have been meaning to read, a full office knapsack with everything from pencil sharpener to note pads and pencils and of course my new old Smith Corona to exchange for my old 1940s Hermes at camp. The typewriter switch was the plan, that is until the Smith Corona—a gift from my kids–fell off the tailgate and crashed while we were packing. The space bar doesn’t work now, so it is headed to a top typewriter doctor in the area for repair. There were a few things in the trunk of Patti’s, but I dominated the back of the car with my stuff. It was like a safari only without the Land Rover—no large animals but plenty of lobster en route. The sunny day took us halfway to Worcester, Massachusetts, where we stopped at the Miss Worcester Diner–a little metal shack with a dozen stools at the counter and five cramped booths. These petite metal diners are typical of the area–dropped off the back of a truck in the 1950s complete with a simple grill, they were all self-contained.
After a short wait in line in the parking lot, we were escorted to one of the tiny booths in this old-time breakfast establishment, open 5 a.m. to 2 p.m. daily. The air conditioning was a relief. Run by an all-female waitress and cooking staff, family-like, everything was timed to the minute: coffee, take your order and then wait. It was a pleasant atmosphere, with colorful stickers all over the walls and ceiling and tacked-up, hand-made advertisements selling everything from mugs to t-shirts with the diner logo. This was our second Worcester diner experience. A couple of years ago we found the Boulevard diner almost by accident. We needed a quick tail pipe repair (my backing up error at a gas fill up) and were directed there to wait. I have been dreaming of going back to a Worcester diner ever since. Anyway, back to the food–the best pancakes I have ever had including the Highland Park Diner growing up in Rochester. A veggie omelet I could not finish. I rolled out of there for the next leg of the ride to Kennebunk but what I really wanted was a nap. It was going on 1:30 p.m. and we had another two hours of I-95 to travel. The nap would have to wait. I felt good though.
Seems I was destined to have some interesting dining experiences on this trip north. A few days later, dinner at Little Barn in Kennebunk, Maine, with Florida friends was memorable: President George Bush and his entourage showed up, Secret Service detail and all. When they walked in there was a momentary hush in the room. Then he started talking to people he recognized; his Texas accent stood out above the restaurant din. No autographs or photos taken–seemed most of the restaurant guests knew him or were related to him—a lot of high fives at the tables around us. We were the outsiders. The former President was jovial and seemed happy. His family compound is down the road in Kennebunkport at Walker Point. Never know who you are going to run into passing through Maine.
