A day of indulgence at Cape May

I was born in July, so my birthdays were always rained-out affairs. Even as a young girl, my parties were always threatened by typhoons. The dark clouds, thunder, lightning and water on my natal day dampened my usually sunny disposition. But things were different this year. It was summer in my life out in sunny New Jersey. Born to commune with the sea, my two sisters and I decided to spend my special day at Cape May.

As in every beach outing, it almost seemed necessary to don my bathing suit. Even with no intention of taking a dip, I had my tankini under my sundress. A brightly-colored beach bag overflowing with sarongs, extra clothes and a handy mini cooler filled with chilled drinks were essentials for the perfect 80-degree day Americans refer to as "gorgeous!" From the quaint upscale town of Haddonfield, it was a slow three-hour drive to the southernmost New Jersey town of Cape May. The Garden State Parkway was swarming with vehicles anxious beachgoers, bycycles, and lots of paraphernalia to ensure a weekend of family fun at the store.

We started out with an all-female acoustic CD, and dozens of songs later we were still far from the shore. The bag of Chex Mix stored in the glove compartment provided nourishment as we struggled with hunger pangs. By 3 p.m., we were finally at Cape May. Our stomachs led us straight to Lobster House, a seafood market along Fisherman’s Wharf.

Lobster House is a famous haven situated right at the dock with boats of all sizes and ages. From drab old vessels to striking beauties, they were all docked awaiting the undivided attention of their male owners. Yet, the boats, sparkling water and clear blue skies only provided a fitting backdrop to the food. Only the freshest bounty of the Atlantic Ocean is served here. To obtain fries and fried seafood in practical styrofoam boxes, it required getting a number and standing in a long line. A separate line was for the Raw Bar serving steamed and uncooked seafood. The steamed lobsters, clams, mussels, shrimps, corn, all served in a disposable aluminum pan with a mallet to whack the lobster meat out of its shell. Intense hunger led the three of us to be smart enough to split up, one assigned to buy from each counter, while the third sought a table. Tables are much-coveted commodities as the summer months pack in tourists from New Jersey, New York and nearby states. With the tourist business booming, clever teens work hard to secure the thankless jobs of wiping tables, cleaning oysters, or washing dishes just to spend their precious vacation at the shore.

Like a mirage on the desert, there appeared our table. An empty bright red table with ropes tied to its legs like a spool of thread located near the bathroom and open warehouse empty awaited its next batch of hungry diners. It could be quite an unappetizing location for finicky diners, but that time we didn’t really care. We just turned our backs to the bathroom door and warehouse opening, and faced out to the sea. The seagulls let out loud yelps as if to demand their share of food. But little signs reminded us not to feed these vocal birds.

The Lobster House Special soup was divine. The spicy crab chowder was served in little cups with round bread croutons as nice accents to the creamy soup. Then it was time to get down and dirty to the succulent oysters. My father, a gastroenterologist, usually stopped us from eating this mollusk. But having tried it a few months back, he highly endorsed this usually sinful and dangerous act. The runny tender raw oysters slithered joyfully down my throat dipped in a cocktail sauce laced with horseradish to provide a hint of delicious flavor. The healthy steamed clambake dinner consisting of lobster, clams, shrimp mussels, red skin potato and an ear of corn were a good contrast to the oily fried fish and chips, crab cakes and calamaris.

Dining al fresco gave us sun-kissed cheeks and wind-blown hair, and a very happily-satisfied stomach.

Driving the car a few miles down towards the boardwalk to soak up more of Cape May, we got a better appreciation of this coastal town. Along the way, old Victorian mansions, pastel porches and floral gardens like architectural candy delighted our eyes. This was once the playground of the Upper Eastside New Yorkers, up to this day it still carries the signs of affluent infiltration in the elegant restaurants of Beach Avenue, but is no longer characterized by it. After parking the car, we walked to the resort town’s main attraction — its sparkling white beaches. There we got our dessert to suit our tastes. Funnel cake, a huge fried dough sprinkled with powdered sugar for my eldest sister, a generous serving of soft serve ice cream for another, and homemade fudge for me. We grazed and lay on the beach looking straight at the waves and remained silently content. Little blond kids in cute ruffled bathing suits played in the sand. Old men reacquainted themselves with the seawater of many summers past. Mothers and daughters lay on their tummies to achieve a good two-piece tan line on their backs. Nothing could have been more decadent, so the three of us completed the bliss in disgust as a seagull decided to seek revenge. This feathered friend loved funnel cake and she ate it all by herself. Because she did not give even a morsel to the birds, one punished her by targeting his feces straight at her. This didn’t dampen our moods. By 6 p.m., it was time to get up, pack our beach bags and cooler, and take a stroll. Back at the boardwalk, I continued to be tempted by the sweets. A soft fluffy pink cotton candy melted in my mouth. And intrigued by the many flavors of saltwater taffy, I was pleasantly treated to banana, chocolate, strawberry and orange chewy candy similar to Tootsie Rolls.

A beautiful Mass at the Church of Our Lady Star of the Sea lifted our spirits. It was a delight to see in a town with many pleasurable temptations, many still had the discipline to spend some time in prayer. With the gorgeous interiors of the church and the passion of their parish priest, it was easy to see why.

With our spirits high and Washington Street Mall too lively skip out on, we wove through the quaint specialty shops. It was an all-American dinner for the three of us. Pizza was my choice, a burger for another and a hoagie sandwich for another. It was way past 7, and the sun had yet to set. Dining out in the sunlight, beautiful days like this never seem to end. Popping in and out of curio shops, we set our eyes on stunning stained glass decorations, Christmas décor and little knick knacks. As the night set in, we figured it was time to go. While I fed the car radio some CDs and exchanging trivial pleasantries on the ride home, I realized we had forgotten to eat spaghetti for my long life. There was no cake or candles to blow or the traditional pasta dish, yet I knew if I spend more sunny days like this at Cape May, I’d surely have a long prosperous life ahead of me.