The short window between Halloween and Thanksgiving when that sickeningly sweet, multi colored, triangular abomination is everywhere. My mother used to have jars of it scattered around the house when I was growing up. Why? I don’t know… nobody who lived there ate it.
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Global distaste for the product is right up there with kale, and yet it persists.
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In all my years I’ve only met a few people who truly enjoy the stuff. Take a bow Mark, I’m talking about you and your Spam addled taste buds.
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Okay, I admit that last picture is kind of fun… but I’m still not eating it.
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.
I love bread and have been known to devour my weight in it on more than one occasion, thankfully I never found Harrison Ford in the middle of a loaf.
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This begs the question why.
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As does this.
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A free vibration session in what looks like some very targeted areas. Hmm…
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This blew my mind. I know the Levi Strauss company has a denim museum with some very old pieces but these were bought by a private collector. Further research found they bore a label stating they were made with American labor, as opposed to the Chinese workers being used in the 1880’s. Either way, that’s a lot of cash for a pair of dirty jeans.
I heard the rat is now drinking Bud Light and filing for unemployment while living in his mother’s basement. His podcast is scheduled to go live next Saturday.
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Because everything needs an update, even Jesus.
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I’m on the fence with this one. Please try it for me and report back.
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Is it a shoe? Is it a bag? What’s going on here….
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Cheese in individual plastic wrappers is not cheese. It’s orange dyed rubber and should be banned from kitchens everywhere. Do yourself a favor and make your grilled sandwich from a nice Gruyère or Vermont cheddar. Your taste buds will thank me.
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 have a shelf full of cookbooks I never use. Some are low calorie, some are comfort food, some are Italian, some are French. None of them however, are from Sing Sing.
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With all due respect to Goose, I think I’ll pass.
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Do I need to play Bingo with various shaped feces?
I do not. Nope. Not ever.
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If someone gave me this? I would probably do just the opposite and lob it at their head.
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Now where was this when I was young? Talk about missed opportunities. Damn.
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And finally, something for Mark, aka Swinged Cat, aka Madtown Migrant, aka Mark My Words…. who, for some unfathomable reason likes to eat this canned abomination. Throw them with abandon my friend. Personally, I’d rather eat the dice.
When the universe speaks, you have to listen. And the other day? It was screaming clams.
It started when the husband and I dropped by our local pub and had clam chowder for lunch. This was an oddity because they rarely make it.
The clam-athon continued when this story popped up in my news feed.
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I never even knew a purple pearl was possible.
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Good thing he didn’t trade them in on French onion soup. Offers have been made but the man is going to give the pearl to his daughter.
The third clammy thing that happened was a friend of ours showing up with a bucket. Her son had dug too many and she was willing to share. After a dinner of fried clams?
I heard about this:
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Yes, this time it’s real.
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Last year the crazy people behind Cards Against Humanity spoofed an old jar of Hellmans in a Black Friday ad campaign, but now? It really exists.
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You can’t say this company takes themselves too seriously.
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Or even the least bit seriously. Nope.
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I feel like I’m going to have buy a jar at some point, just because.
On a beautiful fall day in Maine, we drove up the coast to Stonington.
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A picturesque village… quaint and quite pretty.
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With the feeling you’ve stepped back in time.
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Stonington is a fishing town and known for being the largest lobster port in the state, if not the world.
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Last year they hauled in $43.26 million dollars worth of the glorious crustacean.
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And though I can’t eat it anymore… cue the random sobbing noises… I was still hungry after the two and a half trip.
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Enter the Harbor Cafe, one of only two restaurants in town.
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It sits right across the street from the harbor and at first glance seemed like a good choice.
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There were cocktails and my Pimms cup was delightful.
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The clam chowder was thinner than I like, but had a wonderful flavor as well as being loaded with clams.
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$23 seemed a bit steep for my crab roll but it was delicious, not the overly dressed crap that passes for crabmeat elsewhere. Husband was less than thrilled with his fried haddock as it was extremely thin and arrived in a plastic basket. Want to piss off my spouse? Charge him a high price and serve him a meal without a plate. The mashed potatoes that accompanied the fish were truly inedible. Real, but so over whipped as to be nearly liquid with an overpowering taste of margarine. Epic fail for what turned out to be a $102 bill with tip.
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But back to Stonington. Tourism has tried but thankfully failed to change the flavor of the town.
When we’re in the Jefferson New Hampshire area we always make a point of stopping at an excellent little family run restaurant called the Waterwheel.
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There’s an actual wheel that was turned by water back in the day and every meal we’ve ever had there was delicious.
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It’s a down home country place only open for breakfast and lunch, but since Covid they’ve had reduced hours and are closed a few days a week. Naturally every time we’ve stopped in the last two years they were shut up tight.
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So we were thrilled to find them open on our trip home and stopped for lunch. Though there were a lot of empty tables, they were short handed for staff and we had time to browse the gift shop before we were seated.
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I really should have bought some of these for gifts.
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Or at least a few of those. But our name was called and we quickly sat down to order, mouth watering at the memory of homemade chicken pot pies, fresh roasted hot turkey sandwiches and creamy chowders. And then I opened the menu.
Gone were all the previously delicious selections… and what was left wasn’t even worth considering . Hot dog, hamburger, grilled cheese. I was beyond disappointed and though we weren’t really in the mood, we ordered breakfast instead.
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Ugh. Biscuits and gravy that looked (and tasted) like Alpo with home fries that looked and tasted like cubed frozen french fries. Husband ordered poached eggs with Hollandaise and didn’t fare much better. Tiny eggs, tiny portion of Hollandaise.
They say you can’t go home again, and it’s a shame but I doubt we’ll going back here either.
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
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