Bannerman’s Island is a rugged, tree-covered rock topped with a crumbling castle and flanked by sunken towers that appear to belong to a drowned fortress. Adrift in the Hudson River a few miles south of Beacon, the castle is only viewable if you ride the Metro North train to Poughkeepsie. Even then you’re barely treated to a glimpse through infuriating trees as you’re whisked by at 60mph. Read more…
Storm King is one of my favorite arty-zen places in upstate New York, and it’s as good a place as any to chill out and search for one’s photography mojo. Located an hour’s drive north of Manhattan, Storm King is an outdoor museum featuring mammoth sculptures scattered over 500 acres of fields, woods, hill, and ponds. Read more…
Rhinebeck, my adopted hometown and weekend destination of choice, is located about 90 miles due north of Manhattan. It’s idyllic in the summer, but it’s not exactly a beer-lover’s paradise. Supermarkets and gas stations carry your standard six-packs, but for something special, you gotta burn about 12.1 miles of petroleum on a journey to Discount Beverage Center in Hyde Park. As someone who regularly browses the “single and fancy” section of Whole Foods Beer Store for the novel odd bottle, this means finding a car, or spending a few days of relatively-uninspired beer quaffing. Enter Grand Cru Beer and Cheese Market. Read more…
I didn’t have the slightest interest in going to farmer’s markets when I lived in the country. Since I moved to the city, I can’t resist them. I’ll wader around squeezing peaches, plucking tomatoes, staring at piles of waxy red peppers, and day-dreaming about all the things I can slather with jewel-toned jam. Lately when I visit upstate I’ll usually stop at a farmers market, hunting for something I can’t find in the city, because it’s closer to the source. Read more…
As country roadside burrito stands go, they don’t make ‘em better than Bubby’s. This teeny trailer with its green, hand-drawn “Burritos” sign appears sometime in May, near a farm stand at the intersection of Route 199 and 9G in Red Hook, NY (upstate, not Brooklyn). The vegetarian menu boasts just four items, all made-to-order: burrito with guacamole ($6.50), burrito without guacamole ($5.50), cheese quesadilla ($4.00), and auguas de frutas ($1.00). The guac burrito is a satisfyingly fat bundle of rice, beans, lettuce, tomato salsa, cheese, sour cream and guacamole wrapped in a toasted tortilla. Everything tastes fresh, and just a bit of chipotle hot sauce, available at the counter, adds some welcome heat. Read more…
I’ve been a hell-or-high-water morning coffee drinker every day for eight years. I drank it from deli-carts, from Starbucks, from the best coffee joints in the city, and from freeze-dried Flavia packs at work. I drank it black, no sugar, while working, from paper cups I wouldn’t chip my teeth on in buzzed distraction. Lately I noticed I’d been sipping less, but I still wanted that daily cup, like a bitter benediction for another ordinary day.
This week, when I walked past my usual morning coffee spot three days in a row without stopping, my abstention wasn’t planned. I’d long suspected that maybe I didn’t really love coffee, but this new realization–maybe I don’t have to drink this today–was surprising. Read more…
The road to Krumville might be the longest few miles you ever drive. County Route 2 unwinds past redundant woods, ponds, and abandoned barns, the Catskill mountains bobbing ever-closer in the near distance. You know you’re getting close to The Country Inn when your usually-intrepid companion says with a hint of irritation, “So WHERE is this place?” and you say “I think it’s just up ahead,” but there is doubt in your voice.
Just hang in there because it’s worth the trip. The Country Inn sits on a hillside overlooking an algae-coated pond, and inside is all lodged-out, wood-lined and adorned with objects like a giant mounted fish and hanging mottled softballs. Read more…
On holidays I scuttle out of the city into the woods of upstate New York like a cranky hermit crab seeking a quiet, once-disposed-of but always-dependable mollusk house. Sometime during this long drive toward the unchanging hometown a familiar snack craving awakens, one that will only be silenced by grits and cheese.
In those parts, as far as I know, this decadently melty, creamy, cheesy, sticks-to-your-ribs, better-than-potatos dish can only be found at Max’s Memphis BBQ. Max’s, which resembles a glowing modern temple of worship that bathes in fragrant drafts of hickory-smoked meat, stands on the outskirts of Red Hook NY (about 90 miles up the Hudson – not to be confused with its Brooklyn counterpart). Read more…
