Every time we stay in the White Mountains of New Hampshire we try to explore a new town. This trip it was Littleton….
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A charming place with a delightfully quirky downtown area.
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They’ve been voted Best American Main Street numerous times and once you stroll around… it’s easy to see why.
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Of course when you’re strolling with my husband that means ducking into every antique store you see.
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Clearly this fellow takes his wine selection seriously.
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But wait… what’s that on the floor in the back?
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Weeee! Another vintage alcohol related crate for my vinyl collection. I paid more for this one than any of the others, but we haggled 20% off and there’s no sales tax in New Hampshire so I’m calling it a win.
Husband doing the dishes in our resort condo as well? Score!!!
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Heading to the riverfront area we discovered a pedestrian covered bridge.
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Which afforded some great views..
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And that old red building with the waterwheel on the left?
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Turned out to be Schilling brewery which made yours truly very happy.
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They kept the feel of the old mill with a rustic interior…
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And served a fabulous wood fired artisan pizza with chicken, bacon, cheese, spinach, tart apples and maple syrup. Sound weird? Yes… but it was heavenly.
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As was their beer, which they take very seriously. The bartender was extremely knowledgeable and quizzed you before you chose. It wasn’t pass or fail, but it definitely resulted in him pouring you the perfect beer suited to your tastes.
My liquid ambrosia this visit? Schlaumeier – a Hefeweizen (wheat beer) with delicate notes of banana and clove. It sounds bizarre was positively grand.
Yes, it’s true. We took another mini trip and I’m about to flood you with more travel photos.
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This time we just jumped across the border and headed to the White Mountains of north western New Hampshire.
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It’s one of my favorite areas… filled with scenic beauty and wondrous natural places to explore.
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These photos are from the famous Kancamagus highway. A 30 odd mile stretch of road cut right through the mountains.
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In peak foliage season it’s divine and while we were two weeks late for that, there was still some residual color.
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Until you reached the top.
But back down the other side it brightened up again.
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The resort we chose this time around was literally right off this road at the end of the National Forest.
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And for us, you can’t get much better than that.
Since check in wasn’t until 4:00pm, we headed to Woodstock.
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A quaint New England village…
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With a big brewery/restaurant/inn.
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You knew that was coming, right? The autumn beer on the far right was my pick. A rich, creamy amber with notes of pumpkin and nutmeg. Perfect!
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And right above my head, teasing me with every glance? A vintage ale crate, damn it. The husband was determined to purchase it for me but the manager didn’t care how much beer we drank, the answer was always no.
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And though our lunches didn’t appear appetizing?
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They were both delicious. Baked haddock, garlic smashed red potatoes and squash for me. Charbroiled mushroom Swiss burger for the hubs.
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A good start to the vacation… except for this uber creepy spare parts facsimile of a doll hovering alongside the bar.
I think we’ve previously established I love the newly discovered Blind Pig.
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Their cocktail list can not be beat and I’m trying my damnedest to work my way through it before the fall rewrite.
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Pear mojito? Sorry… I drank it too quickly to get a photo.
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Candy apple margarita? Yes please.
But then it happened.
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My spinach artichoke dip? Dry and tasteless.
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The husband’s riblet appetizer? Tough, fatty and bland.
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Even the comical shirt worn by this waitress couldn’t take the sting out of bad food.
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My lemon pepper baked haddock was nice, though the addition of squash chunks in the risotto left a lot to be desired.
But my husband has never been thrilled with this establishment’s menu, and I fear the era of his making do because I love the cocktails has reached its conclusion .
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This tomato bisque was the last straw. It had smokey bacon and some weird spice mixture that totally turned my other half off. I knew it was coming, but when he said he wasn’t in any hurry to return?
Oh! The horror!
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I slowly savored one last blackberry bramble and silently prayed I could change his mind.
Yes, the beer and atmosphere at Ebenezer’s were fun… as witnessed by this quirky piece of art hanging over our table.
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But clearly that poor creature never sampled the menu. No one could go away hungry here.
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Second green Belgian beer on board, we ordered appetizers .
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I didn’t go with the real R.I. shit, but the coconut shrimp were divine.
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The husband’s usual French onion soup was anything but with a plethora of cheesy bread and rich deep broth.
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Second beer gone, I switched over to a frozen strawberry margarita bursting with fresh fruit.
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And eyed the probably quite appropriate ladies room sign.
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Our meal? It was spectacular.
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Two perfectly cooked juicy herb marinated chicken breasts with roasted vegetables made my mouth sing. And the small bowl on the top left? Not a roll, but a potato croquette with gravy. Weird, but delightful.
The large salad came with my husband’s choice…
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Pan seared scallops and lobster over sherried buttered cream corn. In a word? Fabulous.
No, you don’t want to know what the bill totaled. Suffice it to say my wallet screamed… and as much as I loved our experience, I have to admit it’s a good thing we don’t live closer. Temptation could bankrupt us quickly.
One of our favorite restaurants has been letting us down lately.
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And while the cocktails and atmosphere are still wonderful ( fresh blueberry mojito, yum!) the quality of the food has been going downhill. Garlic Parmesan wings? Dry and tasteless.
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Pricey pan seared scallops on risotto? Over cooked seafood on a soggy bed of mush.
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Burgundy braised short ribs? Chewy shoe leather. It all looked good, but wasn’t. So we’ve decided one of our favorite dinner restaurants will now just be one of our favorite watering holes.
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Cucumber and elderflower cooler? Yeah, I’m not giving that up.
And the regular bar crowd is a hoot.
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Mr. I Drink My Jameson With A Cover and A Straw In Case I Spill was back, and you have to appreciate a man who knows his limitations.
I didn’t see much of the lakes when we visited the lakes region the other day.
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But I did see every single antique store in the town of Bridgeton. Some even had their very own Name That Crap pieces.
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Seriously, this thing had a question mark on the price tag. Anyone want to hazard a guess? I can’t answer because I have no clue.. so no judgement if you get it wrong.
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It was approaching 1:00pm when we hit this store and my stomach was grumbling it’s protest of a lunchless noon. I believe the store was also sending me subtle hints it was time for a cocktail.
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Because if a bottle hugging lobster isn’t clear enough… there’s martini Jesus. And who am I to argue with the Lord?
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I’d been hearing about this place for years but never tried it. The atmosphere was fun, very horsey.
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The rosemary pear Cosmo? Meh. Nothing to write home about. My Rachel sandwich was much the same, and while the husband’s French onion soup was tasty.. his fish and chips was a solid chunk of heavy batter encircling the skinniest, most anorexic haddock ever to float the sea. Seriously, the saddles hanging on the wall would have been more appetizing.
Stomachs full but not overly satisfied, we kept shopping.
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At Grandma’s Front Porch we found another Name That Crap mystery item. Seems to me if you’re going to price and sell something… you should know what the heck it is first.
River's world..... 