Celebrate with me ladies and gentlemen, labias and janglemen. One ninth of the book has passed us by and we haven’t even started whaling! Whooo, what a journey we’ve undertaken! But first, a little nugget we skipped over in last chapters rant. Of the people of Nantucket, Hermano Melville has to say this.
“For years he knows not the land; so when he comes to it at last, it smells like another world, more strangely than the moon would to an Earthsman. With the landless gull, that at sunset folds her wings and is rocked to sleep between the billows; so at nightfall, the Nantucketer, out of sight of land, furls his sails, and lays him to his rest, while under his very pillow rush herds of walruses and whales.”
Write me something better and I’ll write an equally profound homage to your works.
Because we are in New England, it makes perfect sense that chowder would come up. Upon arriving on Nantucket, Ishmael and Queequeg seek food and shelter at the recommendation of their last host, the one from the Spouter Inn who’s name escapes me. This place they seek is called Try Pots, and is owned by one Hosea Hussey.
One time my friends grandmother told me to be careful around girls who’s shirts had zippers down the front, for they were hussies. Duly noted.
There is minor confusion in ordering, but finally some chowder is brought. “It was made with small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt.”
What the fuck is pounded ship biscuit? I bet this lady knows. Next.