Chowderhead in Shades

It's different in the fall.

Sure, I'd been to Merroir three times this summer, but the drive out to the northern neck wasn't the same today.

Trees were leafless or colorful. Fields were golden or brown. Everything looked exposed.

Green was mostly absent from the landscape except the occasional stand of pines.

It was after 2:00 when we got to the restaurant and it was empty.

Our server said we'd just missed the lunch rush, but there are worse things than being the lone occupants of a picnic table overlooking the river on a day like today.

Two months ago, the enormous tree overhead had provided ample shade for a sunny meal and today its bare branches meant sunglasses were required for eating without squinting.

For the first time, I looked at the red wine offerings on the menu, eventually choosing a Thorny Rose red blend from Washington.

It took a while for me to notice the music, maybe because it wasn't immediately recognizable, but eventually I realized that it was a distinctive enough playlist that it wasn't a radio station, even a satellite one.

A little nosing around and I learned that the mix had been made by Travis, one of the owners.

I'd interviewed Travis a while back and he seemed like the kind of guy who'd know exactly the type of music he'd want in his place.

His thoughtful selections ranged from Social Distortion covering "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" to Van Morrison's "And It Stoned Me" with some cool Americana around them.

I always appreciate a well-thought out restaurant music list.

Merroir's menu is understandably smaller than it was during the heydays of summer, but we managed, even with fewer choices.

Our first was one of today's specials, a Kobe all-beef hot dog with housemade kimchee.

Let's just say it was a really meaty dog and the mild kimchee was beautiful.

Next, we each downed a bowl of Barcat oyster chowder, finally able to appreciate a warm dish at Merroir.

Make no mistake, we'd had the lamb and clam stew in the heat of July, but it hadn't been as easy to enjoy then as it was today.

Slurping up oyster crackers and oysters, we watched as a waterman came back to shore, his small boat loaded with oysters.

A guy met him at the dock and hauled several heavy bags of oysters from the dock to his truck.

From the river to your lips, or at least ours.

One thing on the menu we'd never had was the pan-seared barbecued shrimp over cheddar grits, another warmly satisfying dish.

When the grits were gone, we turned ourselves around on the picnic bench to face the late afternoon sun behind us.

A long-limbed cowboy-looking type walked by us, stopping to attempt some reconnaissance work with the nearby duo of women sipping craft beers.

They weren't biting and he loped off.

Our server told us how incredibly busy they'd been the last two days with the weather bringing in hordes of people wanting one last outdoor meal at Merroir.

Sure, sure, I know they're opening a restaurant on Grace Street barely 3/4 of a mile from my house.

But no matter how good the menu turns out to be, it can't compete with a lazy afternoon meal as sailboats and fishing boats glide across the water while you eat.

Even once the hot weather ends.

No, it's not the same experience now as it was drinking endless bottles of Gruner Veltliner and slurping raw oysters for hours, the very definition of a languid summer day in Topping.

But this is fall.

And I don't need to think twice. It's way better than all right.