Springs, Winding Down

Aug. 8-10

We traveled almost due south from Burlington on Sunday toward our next stop, a little below Albany.

On the way we passed near Saratoga Springs. Neither Joanna nor I had been there before, and we had heard that it is a pretty place. So we left I-87 to take a look.

It is a handsome town. No doubt about that. The business district has much the same flavor as Southampton, but on a larger scale. 

Buildings are three and four stories high. Many date from the 19th century. And there are more of them.

The sidewalks are thronged with expensively dressed people who come for the expensive shops and bistros.

Horse racing is a big theme in town, which is home to one of the country’s oldest racetracks. So there are jockey statues in front of stores, bronze horses in parks, horse heads, saddles, and other equestrian imagery all over the place.

I don’t know. We may come back some day to spend a little more time, maybe take a closer look at one or two sights. Joanna might like the museum devoted to dance. She’s a big fan.

I had been curious about the Saratoga National Historic Park, where the Continental Army defeated Burgoyne in 1777. That is some distance from Saratoga Springs—so far that it isn’t even mentioned as one of the local attractions.

I was excited about our new digs for the night. It was a Holiday Inn Express, near Rensselaer, N.Y. The Express franchises are a different world from the traditional Holiday Inn. I’ve stayed in both and it’s hard to believe they are owned by the same company. 

The Express brand hotels have always been reasonably priced and above average. 

It’s a good thing, however, that this wasn’t my first stay at a Holiday Inn Express. The people were all delightful, as they always are in this franchise.

But I couldn’t believe the room they put us in. I had trouble signing on to the wifi system, so I tried to call the desk. There was no phone in the room.

What the fuh? Last time I was in a room with no phone it was at a dive called Lee’s Motel in Edison, N.J. Actually, there was a phone, but it was broken. I had a tire slashed in the parking lot that night.

Holiday Inn moved us to a room with a phone, but in a room for two, there was only one chair. Come on. How cheap can they get? 

Most of the surrounding restaurants were closed on Sunday, so our only nearby option was Recovery Sports Grill. The menu was so uninspired that the best we could do was have sandwiches for dinner. 

The taps had lost their refrigeration, and the only bottled options were as uninspired as the food. I wound up with Stella Artois. I don’t care much for lagers, but this one is a notch above the rest.

Then things perked up a bit when we went to Walmart, where I found a six-pack of Southern Tier IPA. I’ve had it before, and it has plenty of flavor.

The hotel, sitting high up on a hillside, did indeed have a spectacular view of the valley, which included the Albany skyline.

Our last day on the road was a sentimental journey of sorts that brought us to Ossining.

One of Joanna’s friends and mentors in Hong Kong was a Maryknoll Father named William Mulcahey. Joanna told me that the Reds actually jailed him for a while before he came to Hong Kong. After his service in China was over, he returned to the Maryknoll community in Ossining.

He remained in contact with Joanna after she came to the United States and helped her adjust to the new country.

He is buried in a cemetery on the Maryknoll grounds, so we went to pay our respects.

We stayed at yet another Comfort Inn, and this one, in Hawthorne, N.Y., was among the best. Plenty of space, real chairs to sit in.

A lot of places were closed but we found the menu for Rini’s, an Italian restaurant in Elmsford. They had escargot. That’s always a win for us. Maybe not like hitting the lottery, but it could be like having two bucks on a winner at Saratoga.

The escargot preparation was similar to the classic Bourguignon, but was served on wedges of Italian bread. 

For dinner Joanna had linguine with a clear garlic sauce that included shrimp and scallops. I opted for pizza Margherita.

Joanna had half a glass of an OK Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, which I helped her finish. I had a bottle of Poggio Chianti, which was OK but not among my favorites. I finished the bottle back at the Comfort Inn.

We got back to Montclair in less than an hour on Tuesday morning. 

So that was the end of the latest road.

Stay well, everyone. Now that the world is opening up, please travel safely and, above all, enjoy.

Harry

Farmhouse and The Farmhouse

Aug. 3-7

Joanna e-mailed the gang in Coventry and said we’d be there sometime between noon and one, “unless Harry gets his sorry ass lost again.” 

We took a route that mostly followed state highways, almost all of them two-lane blacktops.

I think we were on the Interstate system for a total of five miles.

Even so, we made it on time.

We stayed at a big farmhouse, the home of Joanna’s sister and brother-in-law. It was an inn with an award-winning restaurant several years ago, so it had room for all the people who were stopping there.

Besides Joanna and me, visitors included another of her sisters with her husband, their two sons, who had flown in from Chicago and Philadelphia, and their daughter, who lives in central New Jersey and came to Vermont with her parents.

She also brought her two dogs, which travel with her just about everywhere. She had lived in the Philippines for a few years and brought the dogs with her when she moved back to the States.

We spent three relaxed days in Coventry. Meals were huge and included meat and vegetables grown on the farm.

One meal had three different species of birds—roast chicken and turkey, and a duck in a Cantonese dish that is usually made with chicken. With chicken it’s called mung gai. 

A key ingredient is a tasty form of tofu called bean curd thread in English. I don’t know the conventional transliteration of the Cantonese name, which sounds like “foo jook” (rhymes with “book”).

We also ate bok choi grown from seeds taken from the Arizona garden of one of Joanna’s daughters-in-law.

Joanna’s is a big family. There was one story about the experience of one of Joanna’s nieces, when she was called for jury duty. During jury selection, someone asked if any prospective jurors had a relative who was a teacher. The lady raised her hand. 

Later: “Anyone related to a lawyer?” Her hand went up.

Then: “Anyone related to a doctor?” Her hand rose again.

They called her into a sidebar. “This isn’t a joke.”

No, it wasn’t. The lady herself teaches elementary school. One of her uncles—the one, in fact, who owns the farm in Coventry—is a lawyer. Two of her uncles are eye doctors, and the brother of an uncle by marriage is an orthopedic surgeon.

My main exercise over the three days was to help build a chicken coop. 

Actually, I carried a few tools from the barn to the construction site and then held a few boards up till they were anchored in place. I also drank a beer or two. 

Another day I helped draw the chicken wire over the roof. I drank a beer or two.

At some point we lifted four-by-eight plywood sheets and laid them on top of the chicken wire.

The wire hangs down to cover any gap that may be left between the wall and roof. It’s not to keep the chickens in but the varmints out.

I was surprised that there might be gaps in the walls. This is Vermont. Winters are serious up here.

Then I learned that the chickens in this coop are being raised for meat, not for eggs. That means they’ll be in the freezer long before winter comes. 

It wasn’t a lot of work, so maybe it was the country air. Coventry has almost three times the elevation that I’m used to. Anyhow, after only three or four beers a day I’d be ready to conk out by 10.

It was good Vermont beer, mind. I had brought a dozen cans of Otter Creek IPA and another dozen cans of Harpoon.

We left for Burlington on Friday morning. We pulled up to the hotel, another Comfort Inn, around two. 

We didn’t expect to check in. Turning rooms around between guests isn’t as efficient now as it usually is. Most places are having trouble recruiting housekeeping crews. 

We haven’t been getting rooms cleaned every day. That’s no problem. We can pick up clean towels and anything else we need at the desk when we come back from dinner.

Oddly enough, though, this time we were on a floor that had already been treated. So we were good to stay.

I looked for places to have dinner and found Duke’s Public House, only about a quarter mile from the Comfort Inn.

We’re in South Burlington, suburban sprawl country, but we could actually walk to a restaurant with craft beer. 

Now, this is when Harry got his sorry ass lost again. I had done a quick run on Google maps to learn how to get to Duke’s. Of course, I misread the map.

I led Joanna past several malls of big-box stores and walked far longer than we were supposed to go. Then I had to admit I was lost. We walked back to the hotel.

I phoned Duke’s. Somehow, I had gotten the names of the local streets mixed up. Indeed, the pub was in walking distance. Just walking in a different direction.

Second try brought us there in a few minutes. 

It was a little disappointing. The menu I had seen online was nothing like the abbreviated lists the waiter handed us. 

We managed to find something that looked all right. Joanna found one of her fallbacks, grilled salmon. I had a burger with lots of stuff on it and a garlic mayo, which wasn’t bad.

The beer list had two craft names, Switchback and one other.

No indication of what. It turned out that they were both unfiltered IPAs. They were familiar and good.

I made the mistake of ordering a third ale at the bar and two cans to go. Joanna and I shared the third ale over a slice of cheesecake.

By the time we got back to the hotel, I was so done in, that I lay down and only got up to brush my teeth and went back to bed, sometime around 9 p.m.

Saturday we went to downtown Burlington. 

Joanna wanted to see the University of Vermont campus, where her son Brian graduated. It was about a half mile from the hotel, but we almost got lost there too because so much of it was under construction.

Then we made our way another half mile or so into town. It took a while to find a place to park.

We found a spot on Main Street near a bakery called August First, on the corner of Main and Champlain. We shared a scone there. Actually, we bought it so I’d have a chance to use the restroom.

Then we walked uphill to a colorful part of town called the Church Street Marketplace. This is a stretch of several blocks of a city street that has been turned into a pedestrian mall. 

There are shops, bars, and eateries of various kinds on both sides and kiosks set up in between. It’s not unique, of course. But this kind of thing is always fun.

We sat at the upper end for a while to watch people walk by. We’ve done that kind of thing many times in many places. Even without a beer in front of me, it was fun just to watch and relax.

We went back to the hotel for a short break and to zero in on a place to have dinner.

We had seen a lot of bars and brewery tasting rooms in Burlington, but few were serving food we wanted for dinner. Google turned up one that looked promising, The Farmhouse Tap and Grill, which describes itself as “farm-to-table gastropub and world class beer bar,” on Bank Street. 

We went back to town and parked in almost the same spot as before on Main Street. It was a walk of two blocks up Pine Street and one and a half on Bank to The Farmhouse.

Joanna had the Summer Chicken Dinner, a roasted leg and thigh served with collard greens and cheese grits. I took a little taste of all three. 

The chicken and the grits were good. But here we were, up north in true Yankee country, enjoying some of the best Confederate collard greens that either of us had ever eaten.

I stuck with a couple of standard favorites, oysters on the half shell with an IPA and steamed mussels with a Belgian style ale.

The IPA, from a Vermont brewer called Hill Farmstead, ran about 6 percent ABV. It was very fragrant, with a strong citrus aroma and flavor. It had a fine bitterness.

The Belgian, whose origin I failed to record, was also good, with that strong spicy edge (cardamom or clove, I can never decide which) that Chimay ales have.

I’m back in the hotel. It’s after 11. I’ve run out of beer and am reduced to drinking water. 

Be well, all.

We’re going to Albany tomorrow to see what’s between here and there.

Harry

Capital Gains

July 31-Aug. 2

Our next stop wasn’t far away, so we took U.S. 5 to Schenectady. Even without using the Interstate, we got there in little more than an hour. Too early to check in, I stopped at the Quality Inn & Suites anyway. At least, I confirmed that it was the right place. 

Then we drove to the Stockade Historic District to take a stroll.

An area of town full of 18th and 19th century homes, it is roughly where the original stockaded town was. Union College, founded in the late 1700s, is also there.

We parked on a side street by the college. Many of the old homes along that stretch had been converted to college offices of various kinds.  

We stopped at some kind of artisanal trading company where Joanna bought a local craft ginger ale and a mug.

We probably walked for a couple of miles. We saw a strange-looking round building that turned out to be the rotunda of city hall. We passed several places that looked promising for dinner.

One of those places, Johnny’s, turned out to be highly rated by TripAdvisor reviewers. So we went there later.

Much to our surprise, a table for two for an early dinner was almost a problem. But it’s a popular place, and besides, it was Saturday night, a detail that I had forgotten.

They were able to set us at a high-top near the bar, which was fine with us. It’s our usual choice when we go to Calandra’s Taverna, one of our favorite places back home.

Our waiter was JoJo, who treats his job like a hobby. There is one dish on the menu, a mix of various seafood that is named for him.

He said he was waiting on the boss one night and made it up on the spot, He said it was a special of the night. He called it the JoJo special, a fra diavolo dish made with shrimp, scallops, a few other things, and finally lobster tail, to jack up the price.

It caught the boss off guard. He certainly hadn’t heard about it, so he decided to order it.

It must have been one hell of a leg pull. There’s a sign on the wall now that says “the Johnny’s family proudly recommends the JoJo Special.”

Specials this night included oysters on the half shell. I had a half dozen with Matua sauvignon blanc. It was a little sharper but not as flavorful as the Rhone white the other night. 

I misidentified that one when I wrote about it. It was listed on Hutch’s menu as Chateau Turcaud sauvignon blanc—not “cabernet sauvignon.” I often blunder with my sauvignons. I apologize for the error.

The oysters were exquisite. I drank them and felt like Henry the Eighth.

The veal marsala tagliatelle was also superb. I had that with an old favorite, a glass of Gabbiano Chianti. I didn’t see the bottle, but know it has a knight on the label.

Joanna had spaghetti with sausages and meatballs. It was bigger than her head, so she couldn’t eat it all in one sitting. She ate one of the sausages with her breakfast waffle next morning.

We are tired of moving out every morning, so we pushed to Montpelier on Sunday for a two-night stay. 

The trip took four hours, but it put us in a state capital (which ups the chances for things to see)  and close to our next stop, in Coventry, Vermont. 

We’re in another Comfort Inn, among the best I’ve enjoyed. It’s outside of town, about four miles from the statehouse.

We settled in and went to dinner at Positive Pie. Joanna found it in a local-business directory that she found in the room. Craft beer. Pizza. 

I think it was an act of altruism. Joanna may take a sip or two of my beer and rarely eats pizza.

She had linguine with shrimp and dried tomatoes, and says she enjoyed it.

Positive Pie serves a terrific pizza Margherita, made with San Marzano tomatoes. I had that with an ale out of Burlington, Switchback Amber, not too strong, at 5 percent alcohol. The flavor seemed almost too watery at first, but then it grew on me.

We stopped at the Shaw’s supermarket across the Paine Turnpike from our hotel to pick up some ale. I found another Switchback, an extra pale ale, which is heavier on hops than the amber. 

Monday morning we did laundry. Unless you’re remembering how to iron a shirt, laundry is the same every time.

There’s an art collection in town, the T.W. Wood Gallery, named for a 19th century American painter, Thomas Waterman Wood, whom I hadn’t heard of before. I have since learned that Wood was born in Montpelier in 1823.

The gallery is only open a few days a week, and Monday isn’t one of them.

So we went to the statehouse. Built in 1859, it sits up on a hill and is crowned by a large golden dome. It reminded me of the capitol in Montgomery, except the one in Alabama is white only, including the dome.

The figure on top of the Vermont dome, I read somewhere, is Ceres, the Roman goddess of agriculture, of grain in particular, as well as of fertility in general.

Paintings in the lobby celebrate several outstanding native sons of Vermont, including Calvin Coolidge, Chester Arthur, and Admiral George Dewey.

We got to wander halls and peek through open doors into various chambers. Some visitors went upstairs, but we guessed that once you’ve seen one floor of a statehouse, you’ve seen them all.

We had been looking for a place to have dinner. Our top choice, J. Morgan’s Steakhouse, is closed on Mondays.

We tried a bar named Bear Naked Growler, which has dozens of craft brews on tap. It only sells small-plate bar food. Joanna and I shared a Switchbrat. 

According to the bartender, who may also be the proprietor, it’s a bratwurst made by a company called McKenzie. It is sold precooked in Switchback ale and then you take it home and brown it in the kitchen.

It was superb. The ale gave it a distinctive edge, maybe from the hops. I never had anything quite like it before.

We had to have the brat because our insides were growling. And I wanted a beer, but not on a completely empty stomach.

I chose a Lunch IPA, brewed by the Maine Beer Company in Freeport. According to the company’s website, it runs 7 percent alcohol by volume. I don’t know that I actually tasted the orange, papaya and whatever undertones that the company promised, but it was a satisfying, mouth-filling flavor, and bitter, not sweet. 

According to Maine Beer, the Lunch that the ale is named for is a whale seen sometimes off the coast of Maine. The website says, “She has what looks like a bite taken out of her fin, which adds to her unique character.”

The best option left for dinner was Sarducci’s, not far from Bear Naked. 

We’ve been eating a lot of Italian dishes in the past few days, but we’re used to that. We’re from New Jersey.

Joanna went for Penne Pugliese, which had a sauce with a variety of vegetables, including spinach, eggplant, and both dried and fresh tomatoes.

I had a seafood pasta with cod, shrimp, and mussels in a marinara sauce over linguine.

Instead of wine, I had a Fiddlehead IPA. I have had it before and liked it well enough. But this time it seemed less satisfying. It may have sat in Sarducci’s keg too long, or maybe it doesn’t hold up against the Maine Lunch. Or I just wasn’t paying attention.

Right now, I’m polishing off a quart growler I bought at Bear Naked. It’s a single-hopped ale called Mosaic from Lost Nation Brewing in Morrisville, Vermont. It’s not weak, but I think brewers get more surprising results when they play with a mix of hops.

We’re off to Coventry tomorrow morning.

I don’t know about an Internet connection there, so I may go dark for a few days.

Good night, all, and may the higher power of your choice bless.

Harry