The Press Gang Restaurant, Halifax, Nova Scotia

06 October 2012

Story #583

R. Linda:

I was told not to miss dinner at the Press Gang Restaurant on Prince Street in one of the city's oldest historic stone buildings, dating back to 1759. I was told that if there are celebs in town, this is where they hang out. We didn't see any.

A little history, the establishment has been around for a long time, and it was named after the roving gangs that prowled the city recruiting unsuspecting young men for the British Navy. They would drop a coin into the bottom of the drinker's beer when they weren't looking and witness the coin of the crown touch the lips of the drinker. This action was just enough to get the drinker enlisted. A note here, this is also why many pewter beer steins have clear bottoms.

The Press Gang Restaurant

The only inconvenience was that there were no parking spaces available. Restaurant Row is on the next street up, so parking nearby was not an option. So, what to do? I dropped Tonya off and went looking for a parking garage.

I ended up six long blocks away down by the waterfront. Me only problem was that I was on the seedy side of town dressed in a suit and tie. I encountered not one, not two, but three homeless men who were rather aggressive. I made it past all of them without harm, but I will tell ya, two of them were really sketchy characters.

As I was making me way up (literally uphill), Tonya was seated in the private dining room in the back of the restaurant. It's a panelled room with a fireplace and brick-walled niche, and to her surprise, a party of six was also seated back there. I told her we had the room to ourselves, but surprise for me, uh huh. Anyway, the waiter was very friendly and asked if he could bring her a drink while she waited for me. She ordered an Irish drink, which turned out they no longer serve, so she decided to order wine. Meanwhile, the volume was turned way up at the table behind her. A rowdy bunch of three older couples was having a grand old time.

That would have been fine with Tonya until they decided to include her in their chat. One of the ladies mentioned that Tonya was probably annoyed at their rowdiness, and Tonya tried the polite thing to do—ignore them—until one woman said, "She must be deaf, and for us, that's probably a good thing." That was not very nice.

Surprisingly, the put-out Tonya turned around and told them she was not deaf, but if they were enjoying themselves more, the better, she didn't mind. But she did mind the remark, only she didn't say that. I was surprised she didn't come out with some Angela Davis rebuttal, but she was mellowed from our day, and I suppose not in the mood for combative dialogue.

Finally, I got to the place and was escorted to our table. We began with the oysters, a combination of two types from St. Edwards Isle.

Malpeque and Rocky Bay Oysters, YUM, these were to die for

When we finished our appetiser, we were sitting talking quietly, and as there was a lull in the conversation, we couldn't help overhearing from the other table:

"She had newly decorated the entire downstairs, so we were invited over to have a look. We were standing in the living room, and I noticed the entire back wall had a mural on it, but I couldn't quite make out what it was because it was so large. I took it all in to the opposite wall and realised she had a mural of a giant cow painted across it."

I immediately wanted to call over and ask if she had been to Weasil's house, but I behaved. It was hard not to laugh. But this conversation continued until they got to the "spiritual" experience that two of them had by visiting an African country for a charity they worked with. Then the chat got very philosophical, and we tried our best not to listen, but they were loud enough that you couldn't ignore them. Meanwhile, our next course came.

                                                                                 

Salmon for me

                                                                                     

Lamb for her

We were impressed with the food. Both dishes were superb, even Tonya's. She had ordered medium-well lamb. I told her the chef was probably having a cat when he saw the order. In the UK, the rarer the better, but not me, Tonya. If it looks raw or bloody, it's still alive, and she will poke her fork into the meat and bleat at me her discontent if there is even a hint of red. Then, for some unknown reason, I am always the one to have it sent back. Sigh.

Of course, my ordering salmon made her slightly nauseated since salmon had caused her indigestion on the aeroplane. After a few remarks about the inconsideration of "some people," she was too busy enjoying her dinner to give me any grief about mine.

Meanwhile, they were on desserts at the other table, and the conversation had turned to a low, church-like tone. Yes, we were being "spiritual", but the conversation was not about the people or land, but the elephants and giraffes. I swear they were ageing hippies who couldn't shake their hippiness for yuppiness, or for ageing gracefully oldsters. How one can get "spiritual" over a giraffe walking by, I can't fathom.

"The tall creature's limpid eyes just captivated us. It looked at us like it knew who we were—it was so very profound!"

I bet it was.

Finally, as we ordered coffee and dessert, they left.

I must say this would be a favourite dining place for me. The wait staff were attentive and friendly, and the atmosphere was old-world, especially if you like stoned walls, fireplaces, polished wood, candlelight, and excellent food. I can't think of a more romantic setting, though it is pricey. I found it worth it; Tonya, not so much. However, I believe the six diners spoiled it for her when they included her in their conversation by calling her a deaf-mute.

Once we had the peace and quiet and the entire small room to ourselves, we were getting into a romantic after-dinner glow when the owner (assuming owner) came in with a complimentary glass of Glen Breton whiskey (it was Whiskey Tuesday). Well, I forgot meself and got into a discussion (much to the wife's disgust) on single malt whiskeys, Irish vs. Scottish blends, and while he and I found this all very stimulating, the wife was bored. Yes, she was. She sat there first, sipping her wine and ignoring the whiskey, then it was face in hand, looking around, then it was shifting in her chair several times as if suddenly uncomfortable, and she ended it with a swift kick to me shins to end it NOW. Which I did.

Glenora Whiskey - Yes, I drank it, but there was a bit left

Tonya had the grilled pineapple and found it sadly lacking, but my apple cake was delicious.

Grilled Pineapple Marinated in Peach Schnapps

Spiced Apple Cake in Spiced Rum Brown Sugar Caramel Sauce

As we lingered over our drinks, I told Tonya of me little adventure down on the waterfront. I was going to give her my money and wallet, as I told her, to call the authorities if she did not hear from me within twenty minutes. She was all for coming with me to beat the crap out of anyone who would accost her husband. We got into a heated discussion as to why she was to stay put. I left her in the bar and took meself down the hill.

I saw not one of the three men, so I lucked out. I got the motor and drove to the restaurant to pick up a relieved wife. I never did give her me money or wallet, as we got into a discussion on my safety, and well . . . I forgot. So much for that, but I did hear I had left the wife alone with no money, no nothing, and if something had happened, just what was she to do? Yup. Are we a married couple or what?

Here are a few more shots of the inside of the place. Tonya took them with her mobile, so the clarity isn't great. The blurry first shot is my chair, where I sat for dinner. The second is the back wall niche, and the last is a portion of the front dining area.

 

                                                                                         

Gabe
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