Sunday may have been more beneficial if I had merely written a check to Type II Diabetes, Attn. Diabetes Administrator c/o M.O. Then I could have avoided the fattening food binge I succumbed to. But that wouldn’t have been as much fun. Instead, I did it the hard way and participated in my fair share of consumption that will eventually contribute to my impending Diabetes case that I will develop in 35 years. But enough with the administrative details, I’ll delve into Sunday’s eateries because that was the most absurd. So I woke up, had a double dose of caffeine (black coffee and afternoon tea) and a handful of antioxidant infused Smart Start. That was my starter. Then my fellow comrades and I went to check out a new restaurant, Fieldstones, in Portsmouth, RI. Fieldstones was pretty good--they took the basic menu and turned up the volume. I ordered a smoked chicken sandwiches layered with alfalfa sprouts, cranberry mayonnaise and bacon. Although the bread was a bit too doughy, I certainly didn’t have a problem polishing off my sweet potato fries, and helping myself to my fellow diner’s waffle fries, Portobello burger and Rueben. After this greasy brunch, I was satisfied…for about 2 hours. Then I got a sudden craving for sweet so I rummaged through my host’s cabinets and had a handful of crystallized ginger and chocolate chip morsels. One hour later, I went to the Cookie Jar and had the tough decision of choosing between oatmeal chocolate chip and oatmeal butterscotch. I did what most people would do and got both. No use in driving yourself crazy. It is Sunday after all. Now here is the part that kills me. After scarfing down our treats my accomplice and I keep walking down the wharf towards the water, until we pass The Black Pearl. And although we have both frequented this Newpy establishment, neither of us had the pleasure of indulging for quite sometime. So that being said, we hastily conjured up some ridiculous reason as to why we needed to go to the Black Pearl after we had indulged in brunch and cookies. We cleverly came up with a desperate need to “re taste” the famed clam chowder and used this poor suggestion as our excuse. At least I was pleased. The Pearl is cuter than I remembered. It has that traditional New England sea fare flair—low beamed ceilings, dark wide set polished wood floors and walls, boat-like tables. If you were wondering, our re tasting was worth it. The chowder was delicious and the crackers and hot rolls with salted butter complemented the rich dish well. I was so full from the creamy soup and immediately vowed to have a small green salad for dinner, or at least something on the lighter side. But I was heavily mistaken and found myself eating beef fried dumplings, fatty spring rolls and pad thai noodles. Nicely done.
