Antiquing in Crystal River

Crystal River Day One

We were greeted by a sign reading, “Your husband called and said you could buy anything you want.”

Not this time, antique store. There wouldn’t be any ludicrous spending on my—was that a treasure chest? I had never needed anything like I needed that treasure chest. It was coming home with me for sure. My wife and I decided it wasn’t the right move for us. I decided it was too big to get into the car without her noticing.

We were antiquing. My wife got away with that being our first stop because there was a brewery conveniently placed between the two antique stores.

The brewery was inside a classic Irish pub. It was traditional, from the signage to the proper Guinness pouring—which, to my Guinness-brewery-trained wife’s delight, met her exacting standards. The brewery only made one barrel of each beer. I ordered something called Squirrel Chaser to my wife’s disdain. She wanted it but refused to copy me. She settled for a Manatee Milk Stout. My chocolate peanut butter beer tasted exactly like a Reese’s Cup. A gentleman at the bar called out, “Are you two in town for the beer festival?”

“We are now.”

The second antique store was not as interesting. Lacking treasure chests and funny signs, we moved on to lunch.

We checked in at The Plantation on Crystal River. The lively front desk staff welcomed us and explained the grounds. Many sporting options awaited: tennis, horseshoes, giant chess, giant checkers, air hockey, foosball, croquet—stop. Of course, I was playing croquet. “I’ll take the sticks, please.”

“They’re called mallets.”

The balls were random colors, one inexplicably larger than the others. “Do you know what you’re doing?” my wife asked.

“Obviously,” I said while rummaging through the bag.

The bag included instructions—which I immediately discarded—and I consulted a YouTube video instead. Using the mallet, you hit the balls through the hoops. Simple enough. One hoop wasn’t fully in the ground. Luckily, I had a mallet and hammered it back into place. Blue and black balls were one team; red and yellow, the other. Whatever you say, Croquet. We discovered my wife is awful at croquet. We played twice, and she only beat me twice. I took my beating like a true gentleman and went to the bar.

The hotel bar offered a mixed drink special: 32 ounces of coconut rum, mango rum, light rum, pineapple rum, orange rum, a splash of orange and pineapple juice—all topped with a float of dark rum. They asked if I was interested. I explained it would ruin my plans to stay alive later that evening. I settled for a beer and bumped into a couple of friends. Friends? We were far from home. What were they doing here?

“I had a work thing in the area.” That story checked out, so they joined us. We had dinner plans at 9 p.m. They were changed to 7 p.m. the next evening when fate called.

“Hello, this is fate. There’s a beer festival in town.”

We rescheduled dinner and needed to kill some time. I ordered a $6 beer. My friend got a $6 flight. Could I cancel my beer? I switched to a $6 flight. My wife had a wine flight, and her friend—who was on a cleanse—settled for water. Ugh. My wife regretted trusting this place’s wine selections. The beers, however, were solid.

At dinner, my wife couldn’t decide which white wine to order. The server brought her a taste test of two anonymous varieties. I wanted red; she wanted white. We compromised and got white. She preferred the Sauvignon Blanc. Using my best wine snob voice, I ordered the “sobinnnibngion baaaalanccckkk.” I chose the roast half duckling, which came with a recommended Pinot Noir pairing. The eccentric server sold me on it. My wife ordered a 16-ounce steak with zero regard for wine pairings.

After dinner, we discovered they offered a Guinness Draft Beer Float. Why wasn’t that already on my table? My wife opted for a 4-dimensional chocolate cake—or, as it’s known in less sci-fi circles, flourless chocolate cake. It even came with a candle for her recent birthday.

Back at the hotel, I grabbed a bottle of wine from the downstairs bar. A glass was poured but went untouched. Someone had a long day. Tomorrow, we’d face nature’s most ferocious predator: the manatee—the animal, not the milk stout.