What is CShore Kitchen and Bar?
CShore Kitchen and Bar is a year-round restaurant in Wellfleet, MA, offering casual New American cuisine with a focus on fresh, local seafood and seasonal ingredients.
Where is CShore Kitchen and Bar located?
The restaurant is located at 554 Route 6, Wellfleet, MA, providing a comfortable beachside dining experience.
What are the menu highlights at CShore Kitchen and Bar?
Signature dishes include the Lobster Roll, Fish Sandwich, and Impossible Burger, alongside a variety of pizzas, burgers, and other American favorites.
What unique features does CShore Kitchen and Bar offer?
CShore features patio dining, happy hour and early bird specials (Sunday–Thursday, 4:00 PM–5:30 PM), and a relaxed, contemporary atmosphere perfect for any occasion.
When is CShore Kitchen and Bar open?
The restaurant operates year-round, seven days a week, from 4:00 PM to 8:30 PM.
C•Shore Off-Season Hours (Feb/Mar 2025):4-830p, 7 days
On the Menu Tonight:
- Chef’s Whim
- Fried Chicken
- Meatloaf
A proud disciple of Mike Brady, she couldn’t take her eyes off the staircase that cut through the middle of C•Shore like that brace that bisected embattled Joe Gideon in between Fellini-ripped numbers and Paula Abdul dream fuel. But she’d also worked in restaurants when she was putting herself through school (Tufts Architecture, thank you very much), so she fully understood the tightrope walk required by the servers , bussers, even diners when navigated the room at the end of June. Even now she saw two folks do-si-do’ing on a bit of square footage that would have Philippe Petit break a sweat. Bless up, the moment passed without incident.
Of course, she’d now been distracted enough to miss the full thrust of her conversation partner’s parry. Client, really. Or, exactly. This was her second client meeting (first dinner) to discuss his restaurant and that unbuild Chatham restaurant’s design.
Now, he’d stopped talking and the ball was bounding, high and slowly, to her … she entered her backswing … “I’m sorry I was distracted. Have you noticed this incredible staircase behind you?” His eyes squinted at her, his pupils bought in completely.
“Would you consider something like that for the exterior of the property?”
Forehand winner. Passing shot up the line, he didn’t even lunge for it. She practically heard him whimper “too good” in that Lleyton Hewitt Aussie accent.
He snapped his head around and took in the beautiful structure, obviously a design iceberg, and was appropriately impressed. The Client got up and walked to the staircase, passing the bartender just as the appetizers were dropped in front of her. He investigated; she eyed the sweet and sour meatballs. He peered down into the lower dining floor then jogged up the half set of stairs to the first landing; she strategized how she should cut the scallion pancake (topped with tender chunks of chicken on top of an Asian slaw) in half before digging into the dela cotta squash filled with creme fraiche and topped a maple walnut drizzle. Good god where was this atheist off to, now was her time to dine!
CHEF’S WHIM
She dug into the two items that needed her help (the meatballs, as was their wont, made things easy) and served them both on to their respective small plates.
When he returned, she was debating if she, as the lady of the table, could begin. He saved her from the conundrum and for that she was grateful. As a show of unspoken thanks she rewarded him with the plate holding the larger of the two portions.
They dug into the apps and devised several plans for a similar staircase that would never come to fruition. She was making him comfortable but the truth was she knew exactly what was right for his new establishment and would simply walk him through the paces, him now knowing she strolled through an Esher image, always circling her foregone design - which not only had he not seen but which she had not yet sketched. Formalities, details, annoyances. Soon, Neuralink!
This was a familiar dance. She knew what the place and the space demanded. It spoke to her in a very plain, unremarkable way, like reading Ariel font off the wall - it gave her the instructions and she was there to simply follow them. Admittedly it was like stealing but to reject such a gift would be to beg Sysiphus for his rock. She had no such intentions. She would simply circle the inevitability, challenging herself only to make The Client feel like the decisions were his and not the location and the soon-to-be building itself.
This dance gave her pleasure so she’d look forward to not only it but to the billing of these dance lessons by the hour over these next 8-18 months. Not everyone is blessed with an ‘aint life grand’ deck of cards but it certainly seemed like she was so she was all too happy to shuffle up and deal over and over again.
She ordered another spicy margarita, The Client another mezcal paloma, They’d spoken at their first meeting in her office, when her managing partner has decided to pour them celebratory drinks from the bar in the conference room (a beautiful two story glass … nevermind), about their respective liquors of choice. When it came up that she was a tequila woman and he a mezcal guy, they’d decided that after some visit to the site they would have dinner and imbibe. And now here they sat, imbibing.
Cue the entrees.
FRIED CHICKEN
His dinner looked very good - had to be at least half of a chicken fried and served with broccoli rabe, mashed potatoes, and cole slaw. Truth be told he did seem to be a little deflated when the bartender told him (too late, he maintained) that the gravy wasn’t on hand tonight but she washed his blues away with a shot of Vida he seemed at least to carry his cross with a cooler countenance.
MEATLOAF
Anchored by the mashed potato, a foundation of broccoli flourets, broccoli rabe, and green beans platform the meatloaf, itself served with a gravy and finished with some onion rings circling like a widow’s walk. I ordered red wine - a heavy California Pinot and ate the last quarter of the main attraction exceedingly slowly. I silently raised my glass to the stairs and to Mike Brady and, most importantly, to Sherwood Schwartz for knowing the right stairs, where stairs are needed, are the best and most impactful decisions one can make.
•••••
The Client left in a swirl of gratitude and half-promises, pockets stuffed with leftovers, still chewing on the idea of the external staircase—though she knew he’d let it die on the drafting table. She remained.
The bartender slid her the check with a “on your time” nod. They both knew she wasn’t ready to leave the hum of the place just yet. Her glass still wore a thin halo of condensation, a single lime wedge sagging in its afterlife.
She stood, napkin in hand, and wandered to the base of the staircase. Up close, it was all sharp angles and quiet bravado, the kind of structure that demanded you notice it without asking you to like it. She ran her fingers along the bannister, cool from the winter and the touch of so few hands.
Halfway up, she paused—caught in the landing’s nowhere space. A non-place. Between levels. Between decisions. The same place she danced in with every new project before the lines hit paper.
Looking down onto the dining room, she could see it all differently now—the patterns of movement, the energy flows, the negative spaces. Her future design for his restaurant crystallized, not as the staircase he wanted, but the one the building needed. Of course.
She smiled, the kind that barely twitched the corners of her mouth, and pulled the napkin from her hand. On the back of the receipt, she drew a single curve—a sweep of motion, clean and simple. No steps. A series of ramps and plateaus. Inevitable.
She left it on the table, an offering to no one, and walked out into Wellfleet’s night.
•••••
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