Lobster on the Wharf (Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island)

I stuck my head outside the door to our suite. “It’s spitting,” I said. The forecast called for heavy rain later in the evening. But it hardly seemed worth taking the car to the restaurant. It was literally down the street from The Great George, as everything we had planned to do in Charlottetown seemed to be.

We decided to take a chance. We threw on our thin water-resistant rain shells, and ventured out into the night, minutes before our 8:00 reservation at Lobster on the Wharf. The air was warm, the night was humid, but not unpleasantly so. It was only spitting.

We arrived at Lobster on the Wharf with minutes to spare. It was packed with people waiting. Groups of 2, 4, 6, 8, and more. We were more than fortunate to have made a reservation and were whisked to our table, overlooking the wharf itself. Our hostess apologized that it was not a night to enjoy lobster al fresco on their large waterfront patio. Moments later, the skies opened up, and the waterfront was enveloped in a deluge.

The splish splash of raindrops were battered aside by sheets of water. The water in the harbour, which seconds before had been undulating unassumingl,y was transformed into a mass of grey waves, tossing buoys and floating docks about. A massive gale force wind tossed the water of the sea and sky without mercy, sloshing it as though from gigantic buckets against the restaurant windows. It was an honest to goodness maritime storm. We were delighted!

What a perfect setting for our meal, which was decided without ambiguity the moment we opened our menus: The Lobster Feed For Two.

Not Feast.

Feed.

And it was a feeding frenzy of seafood. A pound of fresh-steamed mussels, no fuss, no muss, and no nonsense. Just plump morsels of fresh-as-you-can-get mussels. Two lobsters a piece, cracked and presented to you so that you could eat it, if not delicately, without risk of flinging shells about the room. A basket of warm rolls with plenty of butter to slather them with. A litre or buttery chardonnay.

We ate.

We feasted.

We fed.

Then, in the pouring rain, we walked back to our hotel arriving drenched to the bone and perfectly content.