100,000 Pineapples for Slithy Toves and Sauvignon Blancs
I really did.
The Morrill Mansion in Portland was brimming with unreal awesomeocity. The place was immaculater than immaculate, with unbelievable attention to detail. The bed was so very comfy, and it was topped with a softer-than-baby-chick blanket. There were fresh-baked brownies in the sitting room. The furniture in all of the rooms was gorgeouser than gorgeous. We had a jacuzzi tub. There were chocolates in a little container on the side table by the window (with a view of the water). There was a homemade buffet breakfast with scones and apple crisp and eggs and the-best-oatmeal-bread-my-mouth-has-ever touched. And tasty coffee. There was a cute little (real live) pug with his tongue just a little too long for his mouth. They offered a nice selection of DVDs to watch if you wanted. There were bronze horse statues. The shampoo smelled like candied lemon and eucalyptus. And the innkeeper, David, was probably the nicest man... like, in the world.
So that part was pretty good.
I have a couple pictures, but I need to wait until my Official Blog Photographer hooks me up.
We ate dinner at Fore Street, which was seriously-you-shut-up good. It was an open kitchen, so you could see the cooks going to the veggie closet and getting fresh ingredients... and pulling rustic bread loaves out of the big brick oven... and grating cheese right from the block onto salads. I could go on and on and on. And on. I won't, but I will say that I had [excellent] swordfish with bacon and onions and roasted turnips. It's hard to make turnips memorable; but, with a tart cider glaze, these were.
And Jason had a venison ragout thing that he definitely would have taken home and made love to if it wouldn't have made a mess on the nice sheets.
Then we went to a wine bar (aptly named "The Wine Bar," and sat in front of a cozy fireplace on cush-chairs).
We spent the rest of the night at The Purple Caterpillar, an Alice-and-Wonderland-BeatGen-and-Beatles hookah lounge. We had vanilla. And I was put to shame by Jason's fresh-from-Dubai shisha skillz.
Bonus: Jabberwocky written on the wall in the bathroom so it could be read rightways in the mirror.
The bounty we brought back: 7 bottles of wine from Old Port Wine Merchants. The owner, (a Georgian named Jacques) was possibly the nicest man in the world...
next to David the innkeeper, of course.
Trying to get ahold of a hard-to-find wine? Call him: 207.772.WINE.
As a side note, I wish that was my phone number.
I am sad that it is Sunday night, because I wanted to stay forever and ever and ever. And now I have the stressful task of switching back and forth between the Pats and Iron Chef.
But this weekend:
'Twas [totally] brillig.