Gastro-culinary highlights of the long weekend. 23 September 2009 3:33 pm
Posted by Tracy in : breakfast,consumerism,cookies,dessert,eating,events,fish,food snobbery,not even vegetarian,nyc,restaurants,seasonality,summer,sundance,travel,vegetarian , trackbackFor the purposes of this post, the long weekend ended about fifteen minutes ago, because I’m a big slacker. Peter and I got up unholy early on Friday morning for a visit to the not-yet-frozen north, by which I mean his parents’ cabin on Osgood Pond, which is in Paul Smiths, NY, outside Saranac Lake, not far past Lake Placid — and if you haven’t heard of any of those places, that’s okay: the whole point of this expedition was to hang out with friends on a nice mini-vacation in the middle of nowhere.
In my opinion, we succeeded mightily. There was paddling — both canoe and Adirondack guide boat — and relaxing in front of a wood-burning stove, both with and without games. Also there was tasty food.
That Friday, Peter and I left without attempting to make breakfast between 5 and 6 in the morning (too hard!), and we lased almost two hours on the road before finally giving in to our desperate need for food. Our needs were met by Peewee’s Diner of Leeds, NY, Exit 21 off the NYS Thruway (I-87). The full address is 1122 Main St., but really, exit and turn right at the first intersection, then drive until you start to wonder if everything’s closed at 8 in the morning, then keep going. When Peewee’s appears on your right, the OPEN sign is the most beautiful thing you’ve seen all day. (In case you’re a real early bird, they open at 7 AM.) I had the French toast special (something absurdly cheap, like $4) and Peter had a sandwich involving eggs, English muffins, corned beef hash, and cheese, with home fries on the side). We both had coffee, which was what Ani DiFranco calls “just water dressed in brown” but utterly necessary nonetheless. Sitting at the counter meant front-row seats to the “seriously hardworking server” show, and my love of diners and diner food continues unabated, thank you very much.
Friday night’s dinner plan involved grilling, so I took the opportunity to finally try the Italian-style Tofurkey sausages I used to sell at Sundance (they consistently outsold the tofu kielbasa and beer brats, plus, sundried tomato and basil = nom). I am happy to report they grill up quite tastily, and are an excellent vehicle for roasted peppers and onions. I think Isa Chandra’s vegan seitan sausages are still my favorite, but these were pretty good for store-bought instant food with a few more ingredients than I’m entirely comfortable with. Anyway.
Homemade food with entirely too many ingredients is a different story. The only rule for staying at Peter’s parents’ cabin (besides “make sure no one else has already claimed the place for when you want to come”) is that there has to be a family dinner one night, and since I’ve been doing food party tricks for the Boothes for about as long as we’ve known each other, that is just fine by me. On Saturday night I broke out the Madhur Jaffrey (regular readers know the one
On Sunday we brought the leftover Indian food and other perishables over to Peter’s parents’ house in Saranac Lake, then hit the road. In my parents’ candy-apple-red Miata, with the top down. Oh yes. We’d resolved to eat at the Noon Mark Diner in Keene Valley on our way south, and also to stop at one of the farms selling maple syrup which had tempted us on the way up.
Again, I am happy to report mighty success.
We zoomed along the beautiful High Peaks Scenic Highway, Peter enjoying the winding drive, me trying to ogle the scenery enough for the both of us. Still, it was Peter who spotted the sign for maple syrup from South Meadow Farm (the more syrup-focused site is this one) and expertly swerved us onto barely-paved Sugarworks Way. Just as we’d started to doubt after Exit 21 on Friday, we were starting to listen for banjos as the road worsened right before we found the farm’s Maple Sugar House.
I went a little joy-crazy, wanting to buy one of each item in the store before settling on a quart of Grade A dark amber maple syrup, a pint each of sour dill pickles, pickled garlic, apple butter, and what might be my new favorite sweet condiment in the whole entire world: sweet potato butter. We finally broke those butters open for breakfast today, and I am happy to report that they are awesome. Especially the sweet potato butter, which is just barely sweet enough to stop me from eating it with a spoon. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
After leaving South Meadow Farm with our purchases (no one was minding the store when we were there, just a cash box for making change, plus a box for checks and credit card forms as needed — I love the honor system) we drove to Keene Valley for our next, more scheduled stop. The Noon Mark was hopping, with outdoor seating that I’d never noticed before, and almost no pies left in the take-away pastry case. But we sat at the counter (I love sitting at the counter) and were in and out in less than an hour, with full bellies to spare. If there is any food more comforting than a fried-egg sandwich, I don’t want to know about it.
If I weren’t such a lazy beast, the story of the long weekend would end there. But because I waited too long with writing up those adventures, I’ve extended the long weekend to include last night’s fabulous dinner at Back Forty (thanks again for the recommendation, Ansley!) I am still debating which part of the meal was my favorite: my gorgeous Catskill trout, or the fresh donuts with peach glaze. Third place is a photo finish between Peter’s mighty tasty grass-fed beef burger, rosemary-sea salt fries, and the restaurant’s eponymous drink, the best whiskey sour ever, sweetened with maple syrup. So brilliant. Back Forty’s summer Tuesday crab boil was in full swing, and we had front-row seats for it at our table in the garden. Fan-tastic. I will have to check that out some time after a stressful day when nothing would be more delicious than smashing my dinner with a little wooden mallet.
So that’s what I did — but especially what I ate — on my end-of-the-summer vacation.
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Betty
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Ansley
