I’m a changed man.
No, no ... not in terms of spirituality or maturity. There was no grand epiphany that struck me with a burst of knowledge or insight that altered my perceptions on life or existentialism. There was no talking seagull that told me to follow my heart, and no pearl of wisdom appeared to me from the innards of a cookie at a Chinese restaurant. What I mean is, well, I’ve physically changed. Let me go back a little bit and explain.
On most Sundays, I can be found either working on my yard or peeling Dorito crumbs off the front of my shirt while I’m watching the relief pitchers of my beloved Baltimore Orioles get lit up more quickly than Paris Hilton at a keg party. It’s that one day a week when I generally don’t have to wrap my mind around anything at all, except ... no, it’s beautiful. I just don’t think about anything.
It’s my perfect day. Stress, rage, personal hygiene — they all go out the window every Sunday morning.
But last Sunday had a different feel to it from the beginning. For starters, there was no violent hangover threatening to split my head in half, and no trash can on the floor next to my bed. Plus, there was a little bit of giddiness sprouting from my heart that made me want to jump out of the bed and start my day — as opposed to my typical Sunday morning ritual of slowly sliding out from under the covers until gravity compells me to drop a foot on the floor for personal safety issues.
See, for me, it was indeed a grand day. It was Taste of Coastal Delaware Day — the greatest holiday of all, in my humble opinion.
For those of you unfamiliar with the annual event, the Bethany-Fenwick Area Chamber of Commerce puts on this lovely affair every year where many of our great local restaurants gather together under a giant tent and prepare some of their finest food for the general public to sample. It’s like an ocean of crab dip, seasoned scallops, fine beef and rich desserts, and I love nothing more than surfing those waves.
Fortunately, for the past few years, the Coastal Point has had the pleasure of being one of the sponsors of this event. We set up a table under the tent, display some of our papers, give away a few goodies and basically chat up anybody that feels like talking about what’s important to them. It’s great exposure for us, a good chance for our reporters to get some interesting leads from the community and it’s just a good feeling to be involved with an event that we really enjoy.
But the food is the star. Believe me.
After the Point’s table was set up, I attacked. Mountains of shrimp and scallops filled my first plate, and they were soon replaced with a few different offerings of crab dip and crab cakes. I scurried to secure some crab soup to complete my cravings for all things crustacean and ambled over to another table to add some red meat to the tank. A select beer here and there, and one or two margaritas from Baja Beach Grill, and I was ready to rip into some more food.
Have you ever seen a hyena tearing into the carcass of some poor animal on the Discovery Channel? Well, put a bald head on the hyena and add a gentle moaning sound to the background, and you can imagine my performance on Sunday. At one point, after I noticed that I had half-digested a plastic fork in my rampage, I had to take a small break and gather myself. But then I saw the table presented by Touch of Italy, and made myself a plate of my favorite local cookies.
You would have thought that I’d have been full by then, right? Wrong. I scoff at your assumption. The name is McCann, not McCann’t. I knew there was still work to be done.
I grabbed a few sandwiches from Philly’s Finest, some treats from Warren’s Station and another select beer and made my way back to the table. That’s where the unthinkable happened.
I was full.
Like watching an old Willie Mays fall down in the outfield or hearing your favorite singer miss a key, the Great Stomach had met its match. It was an odd feeling, knowing that there was still so much food out there and just no place to put it. I was out of my element, like that time I tried to join in a sing-along with the Osmond family ...
But I digress.
Consider the gauntlet thrown, Taste of Coastal Delaware. The Great Stomach will be back next year.