Craig T.
Yelp
"I have always been more interested in experiment, than in accomplishment." - to quote Orson Welles - may be considered the guidance of the muse that fueled his visions. Orson's muse led him to great heights with "Citizen Kane". We should remind ourselves that it also drove him to "Don Quixote."
Perhaps the kitchen at Spindlers is taking Orson's words to heart. To be fair, I'm not exactly sure that we technically "ate" at Spindlers. After our time there we considered that it may be some grand social experiment or simply a hidden-camera dark comedy. We didn't ask, and we certainly didn't sign any releases, so the intentions here shall remain a mystery.
Should we have taken the fact that reservations were wide open for the entire night as a warning? It was a Sunday after all, so give us some latitude on that one, ok? Was it a little weird that in the middle of high season the entire downstairs dining area and patio were empty and unused? Sure. Did we find some pitch-black humor in the fact that they seated us at a table where one seat was literally against the ice machine so that one of our party would have had to move their head each time a bar back needed to fill a bucket of ice? We did. (We also moved to another table in the very empty room.) Nonetheless, much like Don Quixote, we soldiered on.
There are exactly four entrees on the menu at Spindlers, which bills itself at a Mexican restaurant. One of these entrees is Steak Frites, so lets call it MexiFrench cuisine, or simply the easy cop-out, fusion. Screw it, why not, follow the muse. There's some tacos and taquitos as well. They're ok I guess? Cocktails are ok too, although you'll need a lot more alcohol that what they're providing to tamp your temper down as the minutes tick by.
There's Chips and Salsa as a starter, but there were no chips. The waiter cheerfully explained that Bear Week had just ended, and that they ate all of the chips, and there were simply no more chips in Provincetown (honestly, the best laugh we had all night). As tempted as we were to drive to the local market to gaze upon the eerily empty snack aisle, we continued our quest. Porridge is not on the menu, so missed opportunity there I suppose. There's also a Shrimp Cocktail ($19) that states there will be six shrimp, but you will only get four. After intense negotiations we were able to procure exactly one more shrimp. A minor win. Shishito peppers come with a small dish of aioli, and if you should require more, it'll be $5 for maybe 1/10th of a cup of spicy mayo. The number five seems to be a recurring theme at Spindlers, as it's also the exact amount of dollars that they up-charge you for the tequila or mezcal that they list when you order a cocktail. They do not let you know at the time or ordering that it's extra. Embrace the experiment.
There were, fortunately, 6 oysters in the half-dozen ($19), but they were so small and wan that they were consumed in approximately 25 seconds. The only evidence of guacamole that we could find was a tiny dollop that was helpfully provided with the tacquitos. I tried to ask the waiter if the now-departed bears had also consumed all of the avocados in the northeastern United States and thus all Provincetown restaurants were sharing and rationing the one remaining avocado on the Cape, but he had long since disappeared, perhaps out of shame, or perhaps in fear for his well-being.
Finally, the Shrimp Ceviche arrived. I really should put Ceviche in quotes, because it's unlike any ceviche - Mexican, Honduran, Peruvian, etc. that humankind has ever experienced. It's a bowl, filled with liquid, with four whole shrimp hidden in the depths. That's it. I will never know exactly what that liquid those poor shrimp were bathing in was, as my attention was jolted away by one of our party loudly asking "WHAT EXACTLY THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?" Surely a sentence that the great scientists and experimenters like Einstein or Oppenheimer had uttered during their highly esteemed careers. Certainly something that Mr. Welles would exclaim every morning upon being awoken by the dawn's light peeking through his shutters.
I departed at this point, as I became aware that I was tightly gripping a fork and the watered-down cocktails ($who knows +$5) thankfully allowed me to soberly realize that I should not trust my baser instincts toward exacting revenge. I like to think that Orson himself would have followed my lead as I trudged my hungry bones down to the Old Colony Tap Room for a double scotch ($24), in an attempt to calm my nerves. The great man certainly liked his drink.
Finally had dinner down the street at The Canteen where a grilled cheese, fries and lager set me back $25. A fine deal, although a raw potato would have satiated me by that point.
Don't eat(?) here. It's likely a moot point, as Spindlers is currently operating under the grace of God's will, and even omni-present beings have limited patience.
