This isn’t a restaurant review. There will be time for that later.
This is an indictment. Not of the town and it’s resources, not of the
casual or fine dining options. This is an indictment of you, my fellow
Gloucester residents. Yes. You.
Perhaps you’ve grown accustomed to the quaint rural charm of the
Courthouse area. Perhaps your lives are crowded by the relentless
procession of obligatory undertakings, the day-to-day static of
appointments and chores that seem to bleed into one another like country
music stations when the radio is set to scan in this coastal
outcropping of civilization. Perhaps there is comfort in the consistent
mediocrity of corporate chain clones. There is, after all, less to find
objectionable in a place if it has no personality.
Maybe this is why Chick-Fil-A is clogged with chugging engines, and
Starbucks plays host to a carousel of caffeine junkies rushing through
the chapters of their lives. Maybe this is why Wal-Mart is the most
happenin’ place in town.
I’m not here to crusade against chain stores. I go to them. I too
find solace in precisely met expectations, no matter how diluted those
expectations might be.
I’m not crusading against anything. This is about what I’m crusading for.
And that, Gloucester, is your identity.
This country is strewn with the strip mall monotony of chain stores.
Stand in the parking lot of an Applebee’s, and you could be anywhere.
I’d say “literally” anywhere, but that word is actually something I’m
crusading against. I digress.
What makes this place magical, and I do hope you believe your town to
be just that, is its character, its charm, its subtle resemblance to
the heavenly archetype of that little town in Tim Burton’s Big Fish, awash with daffodils and the easy Southern stroll of life being timelessly lived.
Stop and smell your daffodils, Gloucester.
There are so many great places to eat, to shop, to sip sweet tea and
speak of things without stress among hanging plants, local art, craft
beer. Over gourmet dishes, surrounded by the delicately picked notes of
musicians you can grab a drink with when their set is done. It’s called
Take that turn off Rt 17 (to speak metaphorically, there being some
great locally owned spots on that road), and do something you can’t do
anywhere else in the world: be a part of what makes Gloucester great.
Catch y’all in the Courthouse,
-The Gloucester Foodie