Sometimes I’m guided by the mistaken notion of going to Joe’s Boathouse for an atmospheric meal along the waterfront. I conjure up an image of a rustic roadhouse, whose menu is the finest, freshest catch of the day. Or I’ll dream of straightforward chowders, fish stews, pasta with a lot of red sauce and maybe a gooey lemon meringue or Boston cream pie for dessert.

A better choice, ultimately, after the fact, would have been J’s Oyster Bar or the Porthole, though the views are not nearly as good as they are along Spring Point in South Portland.

Yet each time I go to Joe's the place is packed. Is it so popular for the water view, the food, the moderate prices, or all of the above?

We found it jammed for lunch the day after Thanksgiving. It was a beautiful day— bright, nicely cold and brisk. We had taken the dog for a run along Crescent Beach and worked up a nice appetite for a steaming bowl of chowder.

I wanted to try the One Fifty Ate Café on Pickett Street, near Joe’s Boathouse. It was closed and the logical second choice was Joe’s, just down the street.

Like most everyone else, I’m a sucker for waterfront dining. And Joe’s Boathouse certainly commands a pretty view to Fort Georges and beyond.

But I’m always disappointed by the reality that sets in when I enter. This place could be so much more attractive. I don’t mean that it has to be fancy. I’d rather see old, weathered bead board, pine floors and wily rafters on the ceiling. I would prefer a salty dive serving gutsy food. Instead, it is nondescript, a canvas too drab for the shimmering views outside. Perhaps that’s the point. Don’t let the interiors distract one’s view of the water. Yes, but must it be seen through such grim eyes?

I ‘m often seated in the enclosed porch, a room that reminds me of a flimsy addition at a summer camp lodge. The floor is covered in blue tweed, indoor/outdoor carpeting that can’t possibly ever look clean.

Nonetheless, I came for soup and that’s what I saw: lots of steaming bowls of chowder being served to the lively lunch crowd. The soup looked great. I was also curious about the chicken and sausage gumbo, a special that day and apparently very popular.

Yet, after studying the menu I was intrigued by the sandwich choices. I noticed enormous sandwich platters being served. Why didn’t I follow my initial instinct and order the soup?

"What is The Zook?" I asked our waitress

"Oh, the Zuk? That’s our most popular sandwich."

Odd, I thought, why z-o-o-k is pronounced z-u-k. Perhaps it’s a nautical term. I asked the waitress why it’s called a Zook and she answered, "I don’t know why. It’s The Zuk, ” she shrugged.

My companion, less inclined semantically, asked about the French Dip, another day’s special.

“Oh, you know,” the waitress said, “you dip it into the au jus.”

Truthfully, I can’t really fault the food at Joe’s too harshly. It isn’t bad. Some things come out decently, like the soups or the beautifully grilled and charred hamburgers. Good French fries, too. Is it mediocre then? No, it’s better than that. Maybe it’s just pleasantly lackluster, and that’s all anyone wants.

The Zook/Zuk, for instance, is a tortilla wrap rolled around shredded chicken, Swiss cheese, bacon and some sort of herb mayonnaise. If only it hadn’t been so dry.

And the Au Jus (the French Dip) is, in my book, straight from the consommé can, adding absolutely nothing to the shavings of beef housed in a spongy roll with melted cheese.

When we left, I remembered the Salt Water Grille down the road where I once had the most delicious lemon meringue pie.

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