T's Travels

Inn on Negley, Pittsburgh

Imagine you’ve traveled with your spouse to his or her business meeting in another city. You’re staying in the chain hotel that has been booked for the meeting. And you don’t have to get up as early as your spouse.

Those microwave eggs down the hall in the little breakfast area don’t sound too appetizing, do they? Neither does drinking coffee from little Styrofoam cups when you know a real mug always makes it taste better. So what do you do?

Why not look around for a better breakfast? Mary the Photographer and I were working on the book and spending the night in Pittsburgh’s wonderful Shadyside neighborhood (read this for someone else’s take on it). Our hotel did not serve breakfast and so we had to find something on our own. I had a couple of recommendations for Pamela’s (raves about the pancakes) but because of my book research I knew that the Inn on Negley, a local bed-and-breakfast, serves breakfast, brunch, and high tea for anyone, not just their overnight guests. I decided to go for that and leave Pamela’s for another trip.

In the morning we took an easy stroll to the Inn, admiring the diverse architecture and gardens on the way.  We walked in the front door of the Inn and waited in the large Victorian parlor before being seated in the breakfast room. We chose the table and overstuffed chairs by the windows—a little sunlight, a little garden view.

Dorothy, our server, presented us with a menu and the options of a breakfast or a brunch (the latter is served until 1). We chose breakfast. I ordered the French toast and Mary eggs with herbed potatoes, bacon, and toast. The Inn’s website says, “not an ordinary breakfast,” and that’s very accurate. We were first presented with a fruit cup—fresh chopped mango and strawberries with banana, blueberries, and blackberries. (Not a cantaloupe in sight!) And smooth, rich coffee in white china. Lovely.

My French toast was light and moist, infused with orange. I added a little syrup but it wasn’t necessary and I ate most of it plain. Mary enjoyed her breakfast as well (I was almost sorry I didn’t order what she did) and she had me sample the bacon as particularly good. As we were finishing our meal, the classically trained chef, Albert Cappuccio, came out to ask how everything was. We raved.

Something else people don’t know about local inns is that innkeepers are often more than willing to show potential guests a room or two. Some may even do formal tours. Knowing we were not overnight guests, Dorothy asked if we wanted to see a room and of course we did.  She took us first to the handicapped-accessible suite on the first floor, the Braeburn, and then upstairs to the Arkansas Black (yes, they’re all named for apples). The rooms are beautifully decorated but not fussy, very comfortable and definitely more than just a bed.  

As Mary and I walked back to our hotel to check out, we did what we always do after a good visit: answer the questions “who do we know who wants to stay here?” “Which friends do we make sure to tell about this place?” The list this time was pretty long. And now I’ve told you.

 

Hotels of the Past (#27)

This one--the Willard Hotel--is actually in business (again; it was closed in 1968) in Washington, DC. I came across it while searching for the origins of the mint julep (it being Kentucky Derby Day   . . .). Turns out Henry Clay is said to be the one to introduce the mint julep to Washington.

The Willard Hotel's website has a fascinating history, all available on its website timeline history. Many notables stayed there, including Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, and "almost every president since Franklin Pierce in 1853."

I chose this particular postcard because the writer says "$10 a day and up." I'm guessing the recipient, Mrs. S. E. Tipton of Williamsport, PA, was horrified at the expense.

 

My mother

Everyone knows people bond over food. My mother lived that. Some of my best memories of her involve the preparation and/or consumption of foods. I learned at her elbow how to bake a cake, make the best mashed potatoes, and stuff a turkey. I also learned what to do when you don’t have cake flour, not to measure salt right over a bowl (because you’ll never dig all of it out if you dump in too much), and that a little burning on the pie crust is not the end of the world. In other words, everything I needed to know to survive in the kitchen.

She passed that on to her granddaughter Annie, too. When the police were searching Boston for the bombers and the city was on lockdown, Annie was housebound in the company of a six-year-old who was itching to get out. To distract him, Annie asked if he wanted to make cupcakes. She put those baking skills learned from her grandmother to use keeping a small child entertained. Grandmom would be proud.

We (Husb, Sister, Annie, and I) attended a Celebration of Life service for my mother yesterday at the University of Pennsylvania. Mom was a donor for Humanity Gifts Registry so that medical students could learn from her. When we had talked about it she had said to me, “As long as I can help someone.” That was Mom.

Before the service we met for lunch at one of Mom’s favorite restaurants, the White Dog Café, in Mom’s favorite city, Philadelphia. Five of Mom’s former coworkers at the Office of Vocational Rehabilitation in Reading made the trip to join us. Another, who became a good friend of mine because of Mom, stopped in just to let me know she was thinking of us.

Lunch was wonderful. Usually I write about the food, but I can’t say much about that other than it was good. The nine of us sat around a large table and talked and laughed and remembered Mom.  Her coworkers told us how Mom was known at the office for finding the good restaurants wherever they went and that she was always up for a road trip. Eileen said, “We’d all pile into her big boat of a car and go!” We all remembered Landis Store Hotel, which made me think of their crabcakes. (I haven’t been there in years but I may have to go back soon!) We asked about a restaurant Mom took Husb and me to once (back when he was Boyfriend) that served French food somewhere in Berks County, but no one could come up with the name.

I told everyone not to be shy about getting dessert because it was Mom’s favorite part of the meal. Then the server said the dessert of the day was bread pudding. Had to have it—that was one recipe my mother perfected over the years. She always said, “Butter and brown sugar, what’s not to like?” The bread pudding at the White Dog was muffin-like, sitting in a dark pool of blueberry, sweet and delicious. Not at all like my mother’s, but she would have enjoyed it.

On that wave of sugar and love we headed to the ceremony at Penn. Through music and poetry and eulogies, the medical students told us how much they appreciated the families’ gift and that those donors would forever be the “first patients” for the new doctors.  The program ended with an incredible a cappella rendition of Sweet Honey in the Rock’s “Wanting Memories,” sung by Perelman first-year medical students.

After the ceremony we all parted ways. Annie headed into the city, eager to walk those streets her grandmother loved (something else she had passed on). Mom’s coworkers headed home. Sister dropped Husb and me off at the train station before her drive to the suburbs. But we all carried my mother with us. And we’ll continue to—every time we have a good meal, find a new restaurant, take a road trip.

Music and pasta

I have often told my college freshman students that—no matter what they thought or how much they planned—they didn’t know what life was going to bring and every experience has something to be learned. As I sat in the Calvary Episcopal Church in Summit, NJ, a few nights ago, those words came to me as well.

 

I met Reinhilde a long time ago—both young, in publishing, and about to be married. We have stayed in touch over the years, talking husbands and books and trains and bears. Recently she told me she and Georg would be coming from Germany with Cäcilien-Chor Frankfurt (which began in 1818) to perform in the Voices Unite program with the Masterwork Chorus of Morristown, NJ, and she hoped I could come to one of the shows.

 

So a few days ago I drove east to meet Reinhilde and Georg for lunch (you knew there had to be food in here somewhere) and then attend their evening performance at the Calvary Episcopal Church in Summit.  We met at a little restaurant, La Foccacia, that had become a favorite for them in their short time in New Jersey.

 

I had looked at the menu on-line and thought I’d be ordering the grilled shrimp salad—shrimp over baby greens, asparagus, avocado and apples (as Reinhilde said, “Is there such a thing as too much shrimp?”)—but when I saw the lunch specials I ordered the spinach and ricotta ravioli instead, with a spinach, almond, and mandarin orange salad to start. Georg’s appetizer was a gorgeous plate of burrata (with asparagus, tomato and extra virgin olive oil).

 

My entrée was different from any I’ve had before. Ravioli done badly is heavy, chewy lumps of dough with watery, bland filling (we’ve all seen that). But at La Foccacia the pasta was so delicate that I could see the spinach and ricotta inside. The sauce was nearly transparent as well. There was nothing heavy or bland about this dish—it was savory and delicious.

 

And left room for dessert! I had the tiramisu but when I saw Georg’s lemon sorbet in its cute little lemon, I wished for that. Reinhilde had the tartufo (which I know better as a bombe) and generously shared the vanilla part with George (spousal privileges).

 

We had to part—they had other responsibilities, including a rehearsal—but that evening found me sitting in a pew in a very full church, listening to American and German voices unite to sing Mendelssohn, Brahms, Bruckner, and more. We didn’t have church music when I was growing up so it was all new to me. As I watched and listened to them sing, I thought we really do just never know where we’re going to go, what we’re going to experience. The choirs received a standing ovation, as they should have, at the end. It was a very impressive night. I’m so glad I went.

 

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Yellow Bird Cafe, Harrisburg

I don’t usually write reviews so quickly but this one just has to be done (plus I have a lot of work to do and I’m afraid if I don’t do it immediately, it’ll slip off the list!).  Today I learned about a little place in midtown Harrisburg called the Yellow Bird Café. And today Mary the Photographer and I had lunch there.

Let me just say Wow. The Yellow Bird is a little breakfast/sandwich/salad place on Third Street, right down the street from the Midtown Scholar, Harrisburg’s proudly independent and thriving bookstore. The place was entirely full when we walked in but by the time we had ordered our lunch a few tables had cleared out.

I had the veggie wrap. There was no description on the blackboard menu for it so I was gambling, but this is one gamble I won; the print menu describes it as “tomato, cucumber slices, roasted red peppers, banana peppers, guacamole, spinach and provolone on a wheat wrap.” The spinach was tender and bright green, the tomatoes fresh, the banana peppers a wonderful surprise. What this wrap didn’t have was an overabundance of cheese or a dressing, which made it all the more wonderful. (Not much I hate more than biting into a wrap and getting a mouthful of salad dressing.) 

Mary had the chicken and bacon sandwich: “chicken, bacon and cheddar served hot on ciabatta.” When I asked how her sandwich was, she tore off a corner for me and said, “It’s all about the bread.” She hadn’t seen the Yellow Bird’s website yet or she would have known “Life is better when it’s filled with fresh cookies and bread.” She liked her lunch so much she ordered a veggie wrap and a salad for her and her husband’s dinner tonight! 

We didn’t order any sweets but headed down to the bookstore (which has its own pastries but we didn’t get any there either). The Yellow Bird will now be on our list (with Arepa and Mangia Qui) for great places for lunch in Harrisburg.

 

 

Hotels of the Past (#26)

This postcard (from CardCow.com, in case you want it) caught my eye because it not only advertises Haag's Hotel but gives equal weight to its food, in this case Pennsylvania Dutch cuisine. And much to my surprise, when I Googled Haag's, I found it is still in the same family business in Shartlesville, "10 minutes from Cabela's"!  Here's a view of their PA Dutch food:


These days it appears they only serve breakfast and have a bakery, but they do cater events. There's a Mother's Day buffet coming up. Twice monthly is a country western dance. And a room for the night is only $50 for a double. It's practically right under our noses so I think I'm going to have to get Mary the Photographer moving early one of these days so we can try out that all-you-can-eat Pennsylvania Dutch breakfast.

UPDATE: I drove past Haag's yesterday and the sign outside says they're serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner! Gotta try it out!

Sips Bistro, Phoenixville, PA

How often do you have French food? Husb and I were in another city and were going to have lunch with another couple. When the husband in that couple balked terribly at the thought of a French restaurant, my husb and I had a little “huh?” moment. What is it about the thought of “French food” that would bring that reaction?

We have no clue. Modern French food is simple, yet complex. Full of flavor but not overwhelming. When we lived in York County the Blue Moon (in its previous incarnation) was our favorite place to eat.

So when cousin Carolyn was visiting, my sister suggested we have lunch at Sips, a beautiful French bistro in Phoenixville. Yes! Although Sips is a few blocks off the crowded downtown, it has its own parking lot and is actually very convenient.

The building had been the Hotel Chester, another of Phoenixville’s classic Victorian hotels. As Sips, it is a mix of Victorian grandeur (with the original bar) and modern comfort. We chose a table in the indoor brick courtyard because it was sunny and bright.

The owner, Fabien Chaigneau, has quite a background in French dining, including time as general manager of Georges Perrier’s Brasserie Perrier in Philadelphia. Once I started asking questions, our server, Michael, asked Fabien to come talk to us about the building. When he decided to open Sips, Fabien visited the Phoenixville Area Historical Society to get the full history. We learned we were sitting in what had been an outdoor space; my bench seat was actually an outdoor wall and hooks on the pillars in our courtyard were used at one time to tie horses.

All this and I haven’t even mentioned the food yet. The menu gave me many choices. I was considering the flammkuchen (skirt steak, spinach, blue cheese on flatbread) or maybe the Sips’ Salad (mesclun, apple, blue cheese, cranberry, walnut, balsamic vinaigrette) until I heard the daily frittata was crab and asparagus (Spanish-style omelet, gruyère, mixed greens). Sounds not too heavy, non? Oui. I knew I wanted to try a dessert so I wasn’t taking any chances with getting stuffed. And Sips didn’t disappoint. The apple tart was magnifique.

As we left, we made sure to look at the worn spot in the stone at the front door—a relic of the building’s days as the Hotel Chester—which Fabien had mentioned. This visit did was make me yearn for a French restaurant closer to home, which I know won’t happen. So I’ll be back to Sips--husband in tow--to try the dinner menu just as soon as I can.

The Hotel Chester (photo from Phoenixville Area Historical Society)

 

Hotels of the Past (#25)

This was the Circular Dining Room at the Hotel Hershey, which opened in 1933. It has recently undergone a renovation (including the words "Dining Room"--it is now "the Circular") and is due to open on April 23.I'm eager to see the finished product. In the meantime, this picture is on their Facebook page:

 

 

To Third-Party Book or Not Third-Party Book?

Right now I’m torn about that. I’ve just had two experiences, one bad and one good, with third-party bookings for overnight stays.

In case 1 I needed a room for Husb and me, just one night, west of here. I tried Airbnb, which my editor had mentioned to me. At Airbnb people can rent out their spare rooms to folks for a little cash. Bed-and-breakfasts also list on the site.

Actually, Airbnb has a number of benefits: it can be cheaper than a hotel or established bed-and-breakfast.  But on the other hand you won’t be really sure of what you’re getting until you get there.

The registration process is an experience in itself. First I had to sign up to be an Airbnb member. Then I went to the website and specified where I wanted a room.

One of the options presented to me was a farm—sounded absolutely lovely and a really good price. If this had been registration for a chain establishment, my credit card (and billing info), number of people, date of arrival would have been sufficient. But Airbnb works on a personal angle. The site wanted me to explain the reason for my visit and tell our host a little about ourselves. I did not write “retired axe murderers” as Husb joked, but instead explained why we were going to be in the area and what I did for a living (not mentioning the book).

When I first hit the “book this” button, I received the red-letter box you get when you haven’t completely filled out an on-line form.  I had forgotten to verify my phone number. Once you type in your phone number, you can verify by SMS or phone call. Almost as soon as I chose “phone call,” the phone rang. An electronic voice identified itself as Airbnb and gave me a verification number to type on my form to verify my phone number. Done. Phwew.

So now my form was submitted. The host would call within 24 hours to let me know if I had the reservation. Actually he didn’t call, he wrote. We exchanged a few emails, got the details straight. We even communicated again this morning.

Then—oddly—an hour after our last communication I got a notification from Airbnb that my reservation had been rejected. Then they told me my money was refunded and I should look for another place. So I did. I sent a note to the original host, asking if this cancellation was correct, but he didn’t respond all day. I needed a place so I booked somewhere else. And tonight I got a nice note from him saying that they were expecting us.

I am hugely disappointed. I had to tell him what happened. I’m sure the second place will be just fine (it also sounds very nice) but I was looking forward to that first one. I’m going to go back there another time, but there will be no third-party arrangement, that’s for sure.

Case 2, the good third-party booking (at least I think so), was for another bed-and-breakfast. The reason I went with them was the 10% discount. As long as I get the room I booked when I get there, I’ll have no complaints. I’ve gone through a third party to get a discount before and it worked out very well.

So traveler beware! Too much automation is not a good thing. I had no way to contact the original host except through Airbnb and I think that’s where communication became impossible. What a shame.

(If readers have had similar experiences—good or bad—with third-party booking, I’d like to hear from you!)

Hotels of the Past (#24)

This hotel attracted me for two reasons: (1) It's a chain! This was the last of the R. T. Ford & Company's dynasty.

The second reason I liked it was the rates, as advertised on the reverse ("none higher"!):