Dave Wood

Praise the Lord and all the ships at sea, let’s go – in words of my idol Walter Winchell – to press! That’s because B.W. and I have finally arrived back in balmy Sarasota after a two-winter hiatus visited upon us by the dreaded Covid virus.    

For years we’ve wintered at a place called Village des Pins, a retreat near downtown Sarasota which made it possible for this old cripple to enjoy all 12 months of the year. Happily, nothing much happens in this super toddling town. Except that it’s restaurants keep tripling like rabbits. Prices keep going up. Traffic gets more congested. The size of its airport has DOUBLED in two years. Our landlord has figured out how to increase his profits twofold by:

1. Offering NO premium channels, and
2. Saving on electricity because we no longer turn on our TV, sickened by yet another ancient Randolph Scott cowboy rerun.

So far, not so great, right? But happily that’s not the whole story: We leave our villa and head for the newly remodeled pool, a patented azure marvel, and what to our wondering eyes should appear? Karen and Jerry of Chicago, our pals for many a year, plus mouthy old Howard with a heart as big as the Apple from which he hails, and Maggie and Frank, whose political views soothe our trembling hearts. So we knew all’s well that ends well and thus headed for downtown to see what’s going on there.

Not much as it turned out because this was New Year’s Day and most joints were closed after the eve that was jolly. Alas we found one of our least favorites open, where Phillipi Street intersects with the main drag, where we hadn’t dined in years, having written it off as a palm-frond covered tourist trap, always wide open, noisy, cheesy and steep, with its jumbo hot dog going for 11.95!

Nevertheless, it was a port in the storm with free parking to boot. Informed that there were no tables available in the vast dining room of Phillipi Creek Village, we had to settle for a seat at the bar, which was long and empty, tended by a lovely barmaid who gave us each a giant four-page menu chockful of everything from that hotdog to a “Titanic Raw Bar” for $109.95. The menu also provided the history of the Phillipi: “About 1569 A.D. Fernando D. Phillipi sailed his ship, the Philly P, to this island and immediately began a land fill on which to build condominiums.” Fernando was a shrewd investor.

Ruth zeroed in on sides of fried oysters, fried clams and coleslaw, and I opted for a giant flounder sandwich that compared with the fabulous fried walleye served by Beldenville’s Shady Grove. Having partaken of edibles more delicious than we remembered from past experiences, we motored back to Village des Pins sure in the knowledge that folks like us should give the palm-fronded bistros at least one second chance.