When my parents went out for the evening, they left us with a baby sitter and one of two dinners. Fish sticks or turkey pot pies. I have recently understood that these were trends in food in the mid 1950’s. Fish sticks were the first taste of fish I ever had as a child. We ate deep fried shrimp at the Chinese restaurant, but had no other sea food except those frozen sticks.

The important thing to do with fish sticks was to cover them with ketchup or tartar sauce. I suppose that was because they had no taste at all on their own! They were frozen and reheated in the oven on a cookie sheet until “done.” They were not particularly crunchy, nor were they at all “fishy,” a selling point I presume. But we gobbled them down. Four for each of the four of us. With Ore-Ida frozen french fries to go along. They didn’t taste like anything either, so we coated them with ketchup too.

The fish and chips we ate in Ingonish, Nova Scotia were wonderful. They had nothing in common with the fish and chips of my childhood. Only the name.

The empty spot on this plate held a scallop which I promptly ate before writing. We arrived after a five hour drive north from Halifax at Ingonish on Cape Breton. And the welcome was a plate of warm bacon wrapped scallops. I am not a fan of bacon, so I stripped my little mollusk and downed it. Perfectly cooked, though not seared.

The Cabot Trail is as beautiful as promised with steep cliffs looking out over the Atlantic. We drove by Smoky Mountain on the way. Of course I had to start singing “on top of Old Smoky” which somewhat reduced the fear of falling off the road into the ocean.

At last, scallops. Prepared perfectly, seared and not overdone. We are heading north to Cape Breton today, where I am less sure to find scallops and may have to return to haddock. We ate in Gio in Halifax. We were to be amidst 30 eye doctors in a noisy setting, but they were all late, and we had the restaurant virtually to ourselves.

Halifax is very walkable, with a large public garden and very polite people. No one jay walks and bicyclists stop at red lights. It takes some getting used to!

This is as you can see a picture of rocks, evidence that we went to the lovely beach at Lawrencetown today. Over a croissant this morning, I asked the proprietress where we could get an excellent seafood dinner in Halifax. She said “my house.” That seemed a large imposition, so we kept looking. Which is why we went to Lawrencetown.

We were able to watch surfers using parasail type kites to surf. Very tiring looking. The beach was clean and relatively empty. A kind woman told me we had to eat a donair while in Halifax. This is not scallop based! We had one for dinner from Johnny’s, touting authentic donairs. Turns out they are gyros. Very salty, very good, very not seafood.

The quest continues.

I haven’t found any scallops yet. I did learn that in Nova Scotia you are immediately identified as a tourist if you say “scallop”instead of “scow lop.” I had haddock in the Boston airport, but nothing special. Maybe it was a sign that this would be a haddock vacation after all. I did speak with a young man who said he didn’t eat fish, only haddock, Eh?

When I was in third grade, the teacher went around the room asking each of us what we had eaten for breakfast. I was astonished to hear my classmates describe eggs, toast, bacon and juice. I quickly caught on that this was what the teacher wanted to hear, so I immediately revised my report. I had actually poured myself a bowl of Kix with milk. I thought that was normal. It was what my family had for breakfast, though my dad ate Grape-Nuts.

My husband likes huge breakfasts, similar to the one pictured. He loves hotels which feature full spreads. In Nova Scotia, our hotels will please him. I, on the other hand, prefer whole grain toast, from my own baked bread, spread with almond butter. And coffee. And no company. And no conversation. In my pajamas.

On vacation, he will usually slip out of the dining room with toast and coffee for me, then return for his extravagant breakfast

A perfect start to the day for both of us!

I spent many happy years in Camp Fire Girls, the west coast equivalent of Girl Scouts. Here I am plucking mussels from the rocks at low tide on the Oregon coast with a troop leader and another friend. I had never eaten mussels before this trip, but we had a feast steaming them over a fire.

On other excursions to the coast, we would buy fresh Dungeness crab and wait while it was boiled and cleaned. Then we would sit outside with a pile of napkins, pulling the crab apart and eating the delicious meat.

We are going to Nova Scotia in a week, and I am looking forward to seeing what fresh seafood is local and available. We tried dulce, dried sea weed, in New Brunswick a couple of years ago, but I can’t say we became converts. They said it was an acquired taste–one we haven’t acquired!