Hey Amish, I'm in Your Country. Now What's to Eat?

Food resources are not lacking out here. The Amish know how to eat (if I had access to this much comfort food, I’d give up electricity too). Which food to eat - that was the question. We pulled off the scenic highway into the village of Bird in Hand, just west of Intercourse (Yes - even the Amish take advantage of the play on words – at the general store they offered t-shirts boasting such antics as Philadelphia has Cheese Steak, but we have Intercourse). At the general store, nice people offered samples of shoo-fly pie, cupcakes, and fresh baked sugar cookies. Chris bought a gallon jug of home-made root beer that came with a warning to properly cool the bottle lest it explode when opened. Back outside we watched people pouring into a restaurant across the parking lot. We followed them inside – Diener’s Family Cupboard. The serene yet bustling place smelled of roast chicken and baked bread, reminding me of someplace my grandparents would’ve taken us on Sundays. Waitresses wore long dresses and bonnets. Sitting near our table, two ladies with highly satisfied looks on their faces suggested we chose the buffet. One raised a heaping fork from her plate and rolled her eyes upward, assuring me: “It’s the best.” She was right. Never before have I enjoyed such flavor from lima beans or stewed tomatoes. The candy-red beets were out of this world as were the soft rolls with chicken gravy. The buttered noodles made me look around for a stool (why go back to the table every time?) It was all outstanding, triggering memories of church basement potlucks and holiday feasts. Parents: those foods you can’t get your kids to eat? Easy solution – fly them out to the Amish country.

Very First Pizzeria in America

“Just walk back there, Jeff.” Beth insisted. She and husband Barry are New York natives (now our neighbors) who’d joined us on this part of our vacation and recommended we go down to Little Italy for pizza at Lombardi’s. Beth was responding to my desire to see the coal-fired oven that makes – what everybody seems to agree is - America’s best pizza. “They will be happy to show you…I’m sure of it” I bravely rose from my seat and walk toward the back of our country’s first pizzeria. At the end of the hall, a group of young ladies in white shirts stood waiting to deliver pies. I caught the eye of their boss. “May I help you?” he asked. I cleared my throat and stammered: “Uh…just wanted to see your oven?” He smiled and waved me in. The kitchen looked like everything I’d hoped for in an authentic New York pizzeria – brick, steel, tiles that looked a hundred years old. I was consumed by the pungent aroma of tomato sauce, fresh dough, and burning coal. Half a dozen young men busily, carefully, and proudly prepared lucious-looking pies. I raised my camera as one opened the heavy door to the famous oven. He stopped and posed for me after inserting his long-handled flat shovel. “He’s got a Face book, you know.” one of the waitresses giggled. “Yes, I’m quite famous.” He added, flexing his bicep for another photo. For a moment my focus of envy changed – from wishing I could spend my days making great pizza, to wishing I could work in this happy environment. Back at our table, our Margarita pizza arrived. It was perfect – the way peasant Napoleon women first prepared it – all about the crust, with simple toppings. Ours had garlic-intense tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella slices – that’s it. One bite and I appreciated its simplicity. These minimal (yet flavorful) toppings don’t compete with the crust, rather complement it. My taste buds delighted in the perfect balance of chewy-ness and crunchy-ness. Good food, good friends, and good atmosphere. This experience was truly once-in-a lifetime.

Times Square Street Fair

Broadway was recently blocked off to cars, leaving Times Square free for thousands of pedestrians to roam around. This is the perfect environment for a street fair. Chris and Donna followed the aroma of grilled pork to a booth where a vendor pulled a giant coiled sausage from hot coals onto his cutting board. He stuffed two into buns then buried them in golden fried onions. My eyes wandered further down the sidewalk, where several varieties of meats were piled high. The middle eastern vendor dipped his tongs into a vat of freshly roasted lamb shavings and placed them onto a thick pita. “Not so much juice” the woman in line ahead of my says. I can’t resist a reply: “That’s where all the flavor is.” The man looks at me, then her. “Yeah!” he replies, then piles my pita twice as high as hers. We meet up with the rest of our group and enjoy our food as crowds walk by. The sun drenches our faces as we look upward at towering video screens – colorful and clear at mid day.

Mussels and Clams in Marinara sauce and more...

How often do you get a tour of upstate New York by with a local? (Kind of local anyhow). Heidi grew up in Poughkeepsie and knows the Hudson Valley, AND she appreciates good seafood, so knows where to eat. In pouring rain, we pulled into the parking lot of Greenbaum and Gilhooley’s. The windows blazed with neon adverts for the best ales west of Dublin. Her friend Joette owns the place with chef husband Leonard. They offered the traditional Lobster Bake (a “bake” doesn’t mean the crustacean did oven time, rather you’ll get a variety of items with your lobster - clams, mussels, shrimp, or whatever happens to be fresh at the moment. They should actually call it a Lobster orgy). Since I’d had my fill of lobster, Joette suggested an off menu “sampler” of seasonal fair. Clearly her definition of “sample” varies from mine. I got a standard helping of both steamer clams and mussels (both drenched in perfectly spiced marinara sauce), a soft-shelled crab, shrimp sautéed in garlic, and broiled scallops. (Yes I ate every bite – did I mention the heavenly crab cakes I wolfed down as an appetizer?) It was a beautiful meal to accompany a beautiful state. Greenbaum and Gilhooley’s Steak and Seafood House. Route 9; Wappingers Falls, NY (845) 297-9700.