🐚 Breakfast ran long. We stopped counting takeoffs

Planes came and went while breakfast took its time

Author

Arthur Radtke
January 22, 2026

with

Waiting Was the Theme This Week
Planes, votes, wildlife, and a few rooms that filled slowly.

This week doesn’t line up neatly.

It waits. It lingers. It doubles back. Breakfast takes longer than planned. Conversations pick up mid-sentence. The vote ends but the talking doesn’t. Winter looks empty until you realize everything’s just waiting.

Somewhere in there: doughnuts worth defending, art doing quiet infrastructure work, a corner of Route 28 calming down, a boat still here because someone kept showing up, and a lot of rooms where people stayed longer than they meant to.

Start anywhere. Come back to it later.
That’s usually how weeks like this work around here.

✈️ Hangar B, Explained by Someone Who Waited on Purpose

You don’t just go to Hangar B.

You commit to it.

You park.
You cross what feels like a working tarmac.
You spot the seal in goggles (still on duty).
You follow the green line like it knows something you don’t.

Then you climb the stairs and join a loose cluster of parents, couples, grandparents, pilots, and locals who all understand the deal:

This will take a while.
And that’s okay.

The Part Where You’re Waiting — and Realize You Don’t Mind

While you wait, little planes do little plane things.
Engines hum. Fingers point. Kids forget their screens.
Grown adults stop pretending they’re not delighted.

Coffee appears downstairs if you need it.
Donuts appear if you’re smart.

The Donuts Everyone Tells You About (They’re Not Exaggerating)

Let’s pause here.

Potato buttermilk donuts sound polite.
These are not.

Dense. Tender. Just sweet enough. Built to be dragged through lemon curd and house-made jams—raspberry with red wine vinegar, strawberry with thyme and balsamic. The kind of bite that makes conversation stop for a second.

Order them for the table.
This is not optional behavior.

Upstairs, Where Everything Finally Makes Sense

The room is small—intimate in that intentional-or-not way.
Kitchen close. Servers close. Windows close.
Runway right there.

You’re not removed from the action.
You’re in it.

Plates land looking like someone actually cared.
Because someone did.

The Plates You’ll Bring Up Again, Unprompted

The home fries
Big, rough-edged chunks. Crisp outside, soft inside. Properly seasoned. The potatoes people compare all other potatoes to for years afterward.

Eggs Benedict (plural, in spirit)
Short rib. Vegetarian with roasted tomato, avocado, and arugula that doesn’t feel like a compromise. Hollandaise with a little personality—enough to wake you up, not enough to start a fight.

The sweet side
Lemon ricotta pancakes arrive glossy with berries and maple syrup, fluffy enough to forgive anything else that happened that morning.

The Specials Board Is Where They Have Fun

This is where Hangar B Eatery quietly flexes.

Breakfast fish and chips.
Artichoke and fingerling potato hash.
Huevos rancheros that somehow feel both Cape and Southwest.

Dinner ideas sneaking into breakfast plates like they belong there.
Because here, they do.

A Quick Reality Check Before You Bring Visitors

Is it perfect? No.
Is it fast? Absolutely not.

The wait stretches.
The sun can be rude.
The wind has opinions.
There are stairs.
There are rules about substitutions that will test your patience on bacon-heavy days.

On peak mornings, the place hums right at the edge of capacity—and you can feel it.

Why Locals Keep Defending This Place

Hangar B isn’t trying to be efficient.
It’s trying to be worth it.

This is a plan-your-morning-around-it place.
A return-every-summer place.
A someone-once-proposed-here place.

The kind of breakfast that makes you forget the clock and remember where you are.

A Few Things You’ll Be Glad You Knew

  • Go earlier than you think.

  • Order the doughnuts first.

  • Expect a wait—and plan for it.

  • Let the kids watch planes. Let yourself do the same.

  • Don’t rush it. That’s not how this place works.

Why This Only Works Here

Hangar B doesn’t feel like a restaurant someone dreamed up.
It feels like a place that happened—and stuck—because enough people decided it mattered.

And honestly?

That’s a very Cape thing.

The Quiet Thread Running Through Chatham’s Art Scene

Some galleries feel like destinations.
Others feel like infrastructure.

Gallery Antonia is the second kind.

It’s not chasing trends or volume. Instead, it quietly does something harder: it keeps the art scene stitched together. Artists overlap. Relationships last. Institutions collaborate. New galleries open and the town doesn’t fracture—it deepens.

That kind of steadiness doesn’t come from what’s on the walls. It comes from someone thinking long-term about people, partnerships, and place. Dominic Boreffi has spent years doing exactly that, mostly out of sight.

The result is a gallery that feels bigger than its square footage. Less a stop on Main Street, more a thread you keep running into as you move through town.

It’s subtle work. But once you notice it, you start seeing Chatham a little differently.

❄️ When the Cape Falls Silent, the Real Story Begins

January shows up on Cape Cod and everything seems to disappear.
No birds arguing. No leaves crunching. No obvious signs of life.

Which is exactly the point.

While we’re bundling up and counting the days to spring, the Cape’s wildlife has quietly switched modes. Woodchucks ghost the surface for months. Bears pull off near–five-month shutdowns without snacks or small talk. Skunks become unlikely roommates. Turtles slow their heartbeats. Even ticks cut back — slightly.

Nothing has left.
Everything is waiting for its cue.

Winter turns the Cape into a paused stage — quiet, tense, and full of life just off-scene.

When the Vote Ends but the Conversation Doesn’t

This one still feels unfinished, even after the vote.

Dropping the residential exemption didn’t resolve much — it just moved the pressure point. Trust language. Deadlines. Who technically qualifies versus who assumed they would. You can feel the town trying to offer relief without reopening old divides, and realizing a little late that paperwork has a way of deciding things people thought were already settled.

What stands out isn’t the 20 percent. It’s how quickly a procedural tweak turned personal. Once the math hit kitchen tables, the conversation stopped being abstract — and that’s where this really lives.

That Corner on Route 28 Finally Exhaled

Everyone knew it wasn’t going to stay the same forever.

What changed the tone wasn’t replacing cones with apartments — it was dialing the project back until it stopped trying to prove something. Smaller footprint. Lower height. Fewer people moving through. A building that looks like it plans to belong rather than announce itself.

The most telling moment wasn’t the approval. It was how quiet the room was. Sometimes something lands not because people love it — but because they no longer feel the need to fight it.

The Sewers Are In. The Reality Is Slower.

On paper, everything checks out.

Cleaner water. Long-term payoff. The right investment made early. But on the ground, it’s hard-to-find contractors, creeping costs, and homeowners juggling timelines that don’t line up with real life. Progress is happening — just not evenly, and not on the schedule the planning documents imagined.

This isn’t resistance. It’s drag. And it highlights the gap that often opens when big infrastructure meets individual households.

A Safety Fix That’s Meant to Disappear

Most people won’t notice the new walkway. That’s intentional.

It’s built for a place where work and wandering overlap — fishermen unloading, visitors drifting, kids stopping too close to the edge. The solution isn’t flashy. It’s a clean separation that lets everyone do what they came to do without constant correction.

Why the Boat Is Still Here

There’s a difference between preserving something and sticking with it.

For decades, one volunteer kept showing up — sanding, fixing, paying attention, learning how a heavy wooden boat behaves when it’s treated properly. The CG36500 didn’t make it this far because of ceremonies or anniversaries. It made it because someone took responsibility for the unglamorous middle years.

Now that role has quietly passed on. What remains isn’t sentimentality — just the reminder that history lasts longest when someone decides it’s worth tending, even when no one’s watching.

Where the Week Slows Down — and Fills Up

This is where the week gets texture. Candlelight and old rooms. Hands in clay before lunch. Stone dust on sleeves. A harp carrying the afternoon. Poetry, portrait work, and pages that slow you down on purpose.

Arts & Culture this week isn’t passive. It’s participatory. You listen closely, you make something, you stay longer than planned. From winter ritual at the meetinghouse to studios that are already humming by mid-morning, this is the stretch of the calendar that rewards attention.

If you’ve been waiting for a reason to step inside, this is it.

Classes & Workshops — Learn Together, Make Locally

Community & Social - Rooms where the Cape overlaps

Family & Kids - Built to absorb motion

Food & Drink - Meals that buy you time

Games, Hobbies & Clubs - Familiar rituals. Low pressure. No explaining

Health & Wellness - Small resets that keep you functional

Music & Live Entertainment - Early sets, late nights, and places that stay open

Nature & History - Old ground. Shifting edges

Talks, Books & Big Ideas - Conversations that carry a little weight

Theater & Film - Give the night somewhere to land

🌦️ Lower Cape Weather — Jan 22–28 (What Actually Matters)

This is the part of the year that reminds you why people stay here — not for spectacle, but for connection that doesn’t announce itself.

If there’s someone who loves the Cape for exactly that reason, send this along. They’ll recognize it immediately.

Arthur Radtke • REALTOR®, eXp Realty
MA License #9582725

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