A Prize!

Best comment on a Vermont post.

"Your blog is having an impact on my psyche. Last night I dreamed that you and I went out to eat at a little restaurant in Manhattan. Strangely, all we had to eat was a some kind of green soup (asparagus?) and a brownie alongside glasses of red wine. It was terribly expensive. Glad that Vermont sounds so much better. Can't wait to hear more about your adventures!"

- Sarah Shaughnessy*


*Sarah wins a cute little jar of Vermont Apple Butter from Champlain Orchards.

Vermont III - See It

Vermont III

Sunday and Monday in Vermont.

More low-key local food. Notably, we made a point to eat lunch at The Farmer's Diner in Quechee where the slogan is 'Think Local, Eat Neighbourly.' The menu consists of items like slow-cooked maple pulled pork, fresh-cut French fries, 'tanned cows' (grilled cheese sandwiches), and fat mason jars brimming with ice cold milkshakes.

There was also time spent outdoors at the Quechee Gorge and Lake Champlain.

And little else.

A lovely, lovely trip, suggested by my very best friend.

Vermont II

Saturday. Brattleboro.

The parking area at the Brattleboro Farmer's Market is an orderly line-up of Subarus (the vehicle of choices for bohemian Vermonters), rusty Mercedes Benzes, and boxy old Volvos. Imagine, then, the patrons themselves, sporting naturally-silver hair, neatly plaited in single braids down to their bums, with weathered faces, tanned calves (effortlessly toned by hilly bike commutes), and baggy cotton shorts. And then guess at what might be on offer at such a market. Brown bottles of homemade root beer, hot sugared doughnut holes, delicate date-filled ma'mool, iced soy lattes, steamed spicy pork buns, pretty pottery berry bowls, chair massages, bright red strawberries, and soft black sheep skins.

And then take your mind across town to the Brattleboro Food Co-op, where you'll run into several of the same people you saw at the market (and all of them will say hello). And where you'll pick up picnic foods: black beans with corn and cilantro, slippery mushroom dumplings, crispy tofu tenders in a smooth ginger glaze, French onion potato chips, broccoli spears with miso and toasty sesame seeds, unsweetened ice tea (the American way!), and Lake Champlain chocolate.

Stroll, afterward, to Sam's Outfitters (of course, they have free popcorn! don't all stores do things like that for their customers?) and Twice Upon a Time (just across the street) to poke through a few thousand square feet of teak deer sculptures, framed needlepoint, mismatched cuff links, go-go dresses, and turquoise-coloured salt and pepper shakers.

You'll be tired after all this, of course, so ask your friend to drive you back to The Putney Inn, which is stuck in a Victorian time warp, a phenomenon that will lull you, finally, into the small town mindset that you remember from your Maritime childhood.

Of course, your friend might not be tired. Send him to the first-annual Brattleboro Brewer's Fest, so you can be lazy, just for a little while.

While he's gone, you may wish to scuff down the road to the Putney Food Co-op, marveling on your way there at the warm sky, gently quilted with clouds. You'll pass Curtis' BBQ on your right, a hang-out for bikers and people who drive old convertibles painted in unappealing colors. Giant puffs of sweet-smelling smoke rise from the BBQ shack, and an old cowboy sings 'Hallelujah' from a picnic table near the back.

At the co-op, you'll fill a basket with all kinds of delicious things. Woodchuck draft cider, tiny tomatoes, Vermont Smoke and Cure beef sticks, peanut butter cookies, oatmeal soap and apple butter, a chocolate truffle, raspberry fig bars, and Vermont Common Cheddar Crackers.

On the way back to the inn, you will realize, thoughtfully, that everything else can wait.

Vermont I - See It

Vermont I

First stop, Burlington's pretty university neighborhood, bordering the unoffensive, but bland, outdoor shopping district of Church Street. Our destination was Penny Cluse Cafe, a restaurant I had sussed out online, and which turned out to be a going concern among students, bohos, bobos, locals, and other uncommonly relaxed people. PCC serves healthy, interesting breakfasts and lunches until 3 pm daily. But what massive, American-sized portions! Less than nine dollars, for instance, netted a platter of pollock tacos with nuggets of tender pan-fried fish, a big scoop of soft turtle beans, cubes of ripe mango, generous spoonfuls of guacamole and pico de gallo, fresh corn nibblets, delicate red cabbage saurkraut, micro-matchsticks of radish, and shredded lettuce all atop three crunchy homebaked tortillas. Was I ever full!

Next we booted on to Putney, where we're staying for the next two nights. We relaxed on the bed for, oh, about twenty minutes before we were back in the car looking for our dinner spot. We'd booked a table at T.J. Buckley's, Brattleboro's hottest dining...car. The resto is made up of about six tables, tucked into into an old train car with a bricked-on piece built for a kitchen, and a shed stuck onto that for storage. It's all fine dining, with a verbal menu, and a hand-written bill. We ate too much (at least, I did; my stomach's not cut out for multi-course affairs). But too much of what we ate can never be a bad thing. Manchego and local feta tart with tiny snippets of thyme and dots of wildflower honey. Slow-roasted onion bread with butter and black pepper. Warm smoked trout with a spoonful of creme fraiche. Braised turnip, buttermilk mashed potatoes, fried, frizzled onions, sesame lentils with red cabbage coleslaw, paper-thin cucumbers sliced into a little pile. All very reasonable and low-key. Very laid-back and very Vermont.

Got to leave this city!

Our People

Liz, Ziad, and Ella dropped by to say good-bye last night, and what a sad good-bye it was. I cried as they pulled out of the driveway, I cried riding the elevator back upstairs, and I was still sobbing while we opened the lovely, elegant wedding gifts they brought for us.

We have never had a friendship characterized by so much positive reciprocity as the one we have with them. The last year has been a steady give and take of baked goods, dinner leftovers, impromptu meals, clothes, tools, time, embraces, emails, texts, evening phone calls, walks along Wellington, and random items like lemons and wine and matches. We've often joked that a horizontal dumb waiter between our units would be useful. But using the door works even better, I suppose, because we get to see each other that way. Liz never fails to ask about my day. And Ziad rarely cooks a new dish without bringing over a heaping helping.

When you come from a family, as I do, whose histories have been wiped out by diaspora, fire, and abandonment, you may find yourself making home with an incredible voracity. You may have a sense, deep in your belly, that you should find a tribe of your own. That you should claim the extended family that isn't yours by birthright.

This is how Adam and I see Liz and Ziad and Ella. As part of our tribe. As our people.

The wind is whipping through the treetops this morning. A cold rain is coming down sideways. And the sky is a watery white with a confusing wash of blue in the background.