T's Travels

On-line reviews

I've been a lot of places recently, both restaurants and overnight stays, while doing research for my next book. I've reviewed a number of the restaurants here. I would like to post reviews for some of the overnight stays on recognized sites such as TripAdvisor and Yelp and Google reviews. However, I've found that if the place is not already on their lists, I cannot add them and if I request that they be added, that doesn't necessarily happen (I was told that they didn't have enough information about a place to list it).

I will be giving full-length reviews of places I have stayed overnight, but that's going to take more time (and some will appear in my book), so I want to give them a quick mention now just so they show up on Google searches. These are not places with big Web presences but I am happy to share my experiences.

The Noon-Collins Inn in Ebensburg, PA, has a number of reviews on-line but not many recent ones. We were there in November 2011. Very comfortable stay, wonderful innkeepers, best breakfast (so far!) of any B&B we've been to.

The Old Parsonage B&B in Leechburg, PA, is an old Episcopalian rectory that innkeeper John Truett is renovating. He knows so much about the area history (and more about his place to come . . .).

Finally, we stayed at the Old Shot Factory on Route 30 between Bedford and Somerset (just down the mountain from where the Ship of the Alleghenies was) last weekend. Very restful night, wonderful breakfast, fascinating history, just the right amount of attention from Mary Lou the innkeeper, and as close as you can get to the Flight 93 Memorial.

If you have questions about any of these places (or others), send me a note. While sometimes staying at a chain establishment is all we need, there are times when we want "More Than Just a Bed."

The Green Harvest Company, Bedford, PA

Familiar scenario—driving through a town we’ve been to a number of times and sort of know, it’s past lunchtime (2:30) on a Saturday, and we haven’t eaten yet. If this was the DBG (days before Google) we would either park the car and walk around until we found something or skip town and grab fast food on the highway. Smart phones, however, make neither of those necessary.

Downtown Bedford has grown quite a bit in the 10+ years since we came antiquing here with my sister. My search showed a large selection of places to eat. I let husband pick our lunch place from the list and he chose the Green Harvest Company for their description: “Cafe offering breakfast, lunch, snacks and a full service coffee/tea bar featuring Green Mountain Coffees, Stash Teas, Oregon Chai and Jet Tea products as well as our fresh in-house bakery case.”

By then it was 3:00 and we were nearly the only ones in the place. The menu is very long and very creative. We both had the spring special drink—coconut mango iced tea. As good as it was, Joe thought it would be even better with some seltzer in it, but he thinks of putting seltzer in everything.

He then ordered what is called an “individual flatbread pizza”—and typical for him it was more individual than they anticipated. He chose the spinach and mushroom with mozzarella cheese. Except he didn’t want the mushrooms, he asked for fresh tomato instead. The waitress’s response: “No problem, we make everything from scratch”— words dear to his heart. I saw a lot of salads and sandwiches on the menu that I wanted to try, and finally settled on the vegetarian reuben (hummus, sauerkraut, and Swiss cheese grilled in a pita), with no changes. It was loaded with sauerkraut and hummus!

Although the restaurant was going to close at 4, people kept coming in to order food. The bakery case was practically empty, but that’s a good thing (for them). After we finished eating we walked a little in Bedford, but it was about to rain and so we headed on down the highway. When we next come to Bedford, I know husband is going to suggest eating at Green Harvest again, even though there are so many other choices to try. It's the "individual" in him.

Mangia Qui, Harrisburg, PA

Some restaurants become friends. I don’t mean the servers or the owners or even the bartenders. I’m talking about the restaurant itself. Mangia Qui in Harrisburg is that kind of restaurant to me. My husband and I have been there for lunch or dinner a number of times since it opened and we have never been disappointed.

With life responsibilities as they are, we haven’t been there in a while but we were fortunate to be downtown at lunchtime the other day and grabbed the opportunity. Although the day was cool, people were seated at the little tables on the sidewalk. We went indoors instead. Same place—warm colors, small tables, paintings (for sale) on the walls.

The server presented our menus: printed paper clipped to hammered-copper sheets. Again the warmly familiar. Drinks: blueberry-mango limeade for me and peach tea for my husband. Some of the menu items we recognized, some were new to us. I like that—suits both the adventurous and the comfortable-with-what-I-know crowd.

As is often the case for me, I had a lot of trouble deciding but in the end went with something I haven’t had before, the grilled tuna steak served over sauteed julienned zucchini, carrots, and cabbage with a ginger vinaigrette (as in no carbs, maybe I’ll have dessert?).  My husband chose the chicken Diablo (grilled chicken tossed in a sweet hot chili sauce, wheatberry salad with cucumber, oregano, pecans, field greens), something he’s had many times.

And yes, we had dessert. This time I was the one to go to the familiar, a lemon-almond cake I just love that goes very nicely with a cup of their very good coffee. Husband had something new (at least to him)—the coconut flan. I considered ordering the flan, but I rarely order the same thing as my companions when I go out. I am not a “eat off your plate” type but I like to see a variety of items from the kitchen. I think it allows a better perspective of the entire restaurant.

Great news just came to my in-box: right now DoubleTakeDeals.com has a $40 for $20 gift card offer for Mangia Qui. I will be taking advantage of that deal so we can see this “old friend” again before long!

1844 Restaurant, Leechburg, PA

The eternal question: Where to dine before the theatre? Only we’re not talking Broadway here, or even the Walnut Street Theatre in Philadelphia. No, this was a Friday night and the show in question was the Kiski High School’s rendition of The Drowsy Chaperone (in which Nephew-in-law had a major role).

I searched restaurants in Apollo, Vandergrift, and surrounding areas before settling on Leechburg. The 1844 Restaurant caught my eye with its description of fine dining in a renovated farmhouse. Then John Truett of the Old Parsonage Bed and Breakfast in Leechburg recommended it as well. And so that’s where we went. (More on the Old Parsonage to come . . .)

The 1844 is indeed an old farmhouse right on Route 66 just outside Leechburg. Dinner is served downstairs in the old root cellar, now called the Keeping Room. The walls are fieldstone, the ceiling is low. The room is gorgeous, with just the right amount of light (not so dark you can’t read the menu, not so bright you think you’re at McDonald’s). I wished we could linger, going from wine to appetizer to entrée to dessert at a leisurely pace with plenty of good conversation. However, the curtain would rise at 7:30 and we didn’t want to miss the play.

We informed our server of our time constraints and he did a great job of keeping the meal moving. Everyone had seafood. My companions ordered the salmon and the tuna. I chose the grilled scallops with pasta in a vodka cream sauce. To my delight it was not heavy or overly sauced, and it was large enough that I took some to go. We even had time for dessert; the cheesecake and crème brulee were both excellent.

We arrived for the show in plenty of time. (Turns out the curtain didn’t go up, but that’s the nature of the play.) It was a great night—good food and wonderful entertainment. I wouldn’t mind going back to the 1844 when I have time to savor it. Maybe I’ll get the chance.

Owen's Family Restaurant, Somerset, PA

From a quick Internet search I’d say I’m one of the first to write a review of Owen’s Family Restaurant, a new establishment just south of Somerset, PA, on Route 219, which has been open less than two months. I’m happy to do it!

Before I say anything else: get the French fries.

Mary the Photographer and I were headed to Meyersdale for the Pennsylvania Maple Festival. We stopped at the Flight 93 Memorial and by the time we got to Somerset it was 1:00 and we were pretty hungry. On top of that, Mary has recently had knee surgery and has this little vacuum device that needs to be plugged in. So we needed an outlet (an electrical one).

Usually I eat lunch at Rey Azteca in Somerset but I wasn’t in the mood for Mexican food. So we were headed down 219 when I saw the “NOW OPEN” sign in front of Owen’s. I pulled into the parking lot on a mission. I went inside and asked the hostess if they had somewhere Mary could recharge and they said, “No problem!” Lunch place decided.

We sat down, opened our menus, and started laughing. Onion rings are called “Rings of Gold,” calamari is “Squidwards,” the shrimp nachos are “Bubba Gump Nachos.” And that’s just the appetizers. Sandwiches, salads, soups for lunch (and entrees, which are served after 4, of course). I decided on the Gunner, which is “shaved roasted ribeye, topped with fresh cabbage slaw, fresh-cut fries, and melted Provolone” on a white roll (their own rolls).

Did I say get the French fries?

Mary’s choice continues to make us laugh. She had the ”slow-roasted pulled pork smothered in our own strawberry BBQ sauce and topped with homemade cabbage slaw” on a wheat roll, aka “The Big O.” She said she was ordering it because she is a Baltimore Orioles fan. Really. That came with fries as well.

Our sandwiches were very good (get the “small” unless you’re really, really hungry). My beef was savory, Mary loved the lightness of the strawberry BBQ sauce. But the fries . . . oh, the fries. I could tell they had been potatoes when we walked in the door, they were that fresh. I like a fry that embraces its potato roots (tubers?), one that tastes like a potato. Crisp, fried but not greasy, just perfect.

We chatted a bit with Dan Semanski, the owner and cook, while we ate. No room for dessert so we just unplugged and left. Owen’s is a bright, clean, cheerful place with great food made with care. We wish them the best!

Photograph (c) 2012 Mary Brenner

 

Tapas on Main, Bethlehem, PA

I had never been to what is called “Historic Bethlehem” until recently. My cousin Carolyn and I were passing through the area and the description of downtown—specifically the restaurants—caught my eye. So after a quick stop at Shangy’s, The Beer Authority in Emmaus to pick up my husband’s favorite Polish beer, I set my GPS for Main Street in Bethlehem.

Lesson learned: once you set your GPS, you should really read all the directions before setting out, just to see if they make sense. I knew full well that the highway was only a mile away and if we went that way, it wouldn’t take long at all. However, the GPS didn’t send me that way. It sent me through neighborhood after neighborhood, stop sign, stop light, stop sign. My GPS said 7 miles, Carolyn’s said 11 miles. I’m guessing hers took the highway. But I was in my car and she was in hers and so we couldn’t compare.

All those neighborhoods—and stop signs—later we crossed the river and entered downtown. Parking was a breeze (it was a chilly, drizzly day, which definitely helped). We walked up the street looking at menus and restaurants, passing unique little shops along the way. Some places bustled, others were quiet. Italian, Spanish, Chinese, American . . . even Kenyan. It’s never a bad thing when you have that kind of selection and our final choice in no way reflects on the other restaurants we didn’t go into.

We chose Tapas on Main. I like small plates because you can sample more than one item. When Carolyn—who lives in a very small town—travels, she tries to get food she can’t get at home so this worked for her, too.

Once we were seated, we quickly decided on the Bandeja Mixta, a cheese and meat plate—manchego, queso, and chorizo. I don’t usually order wine at lunch, but this meal called for it and so I had a Malbec and Carolyn a Cabernet. We also selected the Ensalada de Pollo (spinach, tomato, red onion, Milanese-style chicken with a spicy charred tomato vinaigrette) to share. I will confess, I played it safe--I did not order the octopus or the salmon tartare!

I have had the cheeses and chorizo in other places but at Tapas they were a new experience, thinly sliced and accompanied with a fig spread, an apple spread, and some small breads. I enjoyed them enough that I wondered if I would still want the salad. But it was so beautiful I could not turn it away. The dressing turned out to be sweet chili pepper instead of tomato vinaigrette; the sweet and hot went together very nicely.

I would like to return to Bethlehem and spend more time in the little shops on Main Street. I know that even as I was thinking I should try a different restaurant, I would want to come back to Tapas on Main. On-line reviews recommend the sangria, which is always a temptation as long as someone else is driving. (For me, however, octopus is not.) But I would not hesitate to try nearly anything else on the varied, out-of-the-ordinary menu.

In somnia

Insomnia runs in my family. Actually, it walks, paces, tosses and turns. It channel-surfs late-night TV. (It used to smoke cigarettes but gave that up after a quintuple bypass.) And it has passed from generation to generation. In my own case, getting to sleep at night is sometimes very difficult. I especially have trouble in hotels. It's not the hotel, it's me. But now hotels have "sleep concierges" to help, as Henry Alford recently described in the New York Times.

The Only Time I've Needed a Passport (so far)

It being St. Patrick's Day I'm nostalgic for my trip to Ireland. It's been almost three years since I saw my "Irish sister" Carol in her home. I'd go back in a heartbeat (and the next trip will include time in Germany with my dear friend Reinhilde as well!), but life won't allow it for a while. So for now I look at my pictures . . .

We drove from Carrickfergus to the Giant's Causeway. This is on the coastline road north of Belfast:

 Port Braddock:

The Giant's Causeway:

This year (2012) is the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. Not everyone knows that this most infamous of ships was built in Belfast by Harland & Wolff shipbuilders. We took a double-decker bus tour of Belfast that included a pass by the Titanic's slipway. These days the entire area around the slipway has been built up and a new museum has opened.  Many events are planned to note the anniversary.  

I spent the majority of my time in Northern Ireland because that's where Carol lives, but we did go to Dublin to see Steve Forbert perform. We crossed the River Liffey more than once.

We returned to Belfast the next day and I flew home a few days later. And today most people will wear green and think this is Ireland:

. . . but it's so much more.

 

Davy Jones Memorial, Beavertown, PA

I’m a Monkees fan by osmosis. My older sister loved them, I shared a bedroom with her, she controlled the record player, therefore I heard every one of their albums over and over and over again. It was understood that Davy would one day be my brother-in-law (although I was young enough that I thought that was really weird). Eventually--as it almost always happens--my sister moved on to more “suitable” boyfriend material and we both forgot about that mad crush of hers.

When I reached adulthood, I knew I loved ‘60s pop, and specifically the music that came out of the Brill Building. That’s a natural path (back) to the Monkees. Over time I bought all the CDs, including the “missing links” (i.e., outtakes) CDs. When they reunited (well, almost) for the 20th anniversary tour I insisted my sister go with me. We stood on our seats and screamed like we were 12. It was one of the most fun concerts I’ve ever attended.

When they toured again (10 years later?) we went again, this time with my friend Iris. Again we screamed, and laughed, and sang along. The shows didn’t make us feel young so much as carefree. The Monkees had started before we (as kids) were even aware of the Vietnam War. The year they ended, antiwar protests had become common. It was a totally different world.

Last week the world changed again. A friend emailed me with the subject line “Davey Jones” (yes, she spelled it wrong). I thought she was going to tell me he was scheduled to make another appearance at Bland Park (outside Altoona) this summer, where her sister-in-law and nieces had once had lunch with him. Instead she broke the news that he had died. I took it harder than my sister did. I’m sure everyone else thought the same things my sister and I said: he was the youngest, he just did a rock-n-roll cruise, he couldn’t have gone before we met him, how could it be?

Usually when a celebrity dies, thoughts of attending the funeral or memorial service pass with a “I wish I could be there.” I knew that Davy’s home was in Beavertown, just an hour north of me. But he had a home in Florida as well, where he was when he died, and his wife was not from Pennsylvania. Then Altoona-area DJ Michael Shoenfelt got this idea in his head to host a memorial for Davy—for Davy’s fans—in Beavertown. With help from the mayor and the town’s fire and police, some volunteer musicians, and a whole lot of good vibes, the Davy Jones Memorial was held.

I may have missed a chance to meet Davy, but I didn’t miss the memorial. Iris and I drove up for a day that was sunny and cold, funny and sad. The musicians were great—playing both Monkees’ and Davy’s solo songs, riffing quite well on “Gonna Buy Me a Dog” and bringing a tear with “I Wanna Be Free.” Two adorable teens in mod clothes wandered through the crowd. One of them, Alexandra, brought the biggest laugh of the day when she said that she discovered the Monkees when a teacher said, “If you like the Beatles, you’ll really like the Monkees.”

Notes from Peter and Micky and Alan Green (Davy’s collaborator on his autobiography) were read. Some of the best stories came from the locals—Davy riding his horse to the recording studio, needing a truck to haul furniture, or getting his house rewired. Over and over again they said what a regular guy he was, except that he had strangers coming to his door just to meet him.

After the program was over, the crowd walked through town to the church Davy had planned to convert into a museum. When I had first heard about his plans, I was writing my first book on small museums. I tried to contact him about it, but didn’t hear anything. Then he stopped mentioning it in interviews and I thought that like so many others he had come to realize the commitment a small museum takes. Turns out it was just taking a while. He had the church renovated, he was collecting items. I don’t know what will happen now, but I hope someone else can carry it through.

Iris and I walked back to the fairgrounds, put our chairs in the car, and followed the crowd to Davy’s house. The front yard was in the midst of getting landscaped. We saw Christmas lights hanging in a tree at the end of the driveway. Someone behind me said to his companions, “You know how he put up Christmas lights? He took them out of the package and threw them up in the tree and said, ‘Plug 'em in.’” That's exactly what it looked like.

Again and again I heard people say that the area around Beavertown reminded Davy of England, but what I saw yesterday was the embrace of a Central Pennsylvania community. This was the kind of memorial celebrities should hope is given for them. It was funny, tearful, loving, full of thanks for the gifts shared and good wishes for the journey he is now on.

Note: People who want the commemorative candy bar (partial proceeds to the Beavertown Historical Society) should email candy70@ptd.net and put “Davy Jones” in the subject line for order details. Davy’s family requested donations be made to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.

Selin's Grove Brewing

If you're at all like me, you have a list of places people told you about that you'll "have to stop at" if you're "ever in that place." Selin's Grove Brewing in Selinsgrove, PA, has been on my list for at least 10 years. Someone at work told my husband about it and we've said so many times, Oh, we should try that.

Well, we finally did. I've been there for lunch twice in the past six months, first with Mary the Photographer and then with my husband. Located on the ground floor of an old house on the main street, it's easy to miss (look for the sign on the east side of the road). The house has its own history, being built by PA's third governor, Simon Snyder, in 1816 (website has a longer history and directions to the governor's gravesite!).

I didn't even realize it on my first visit but the menu says "no fryer or grill here" so it's sandwiches, wraps, soups. (Mary and I had had soup and split a wrap.) On my recent visit Joe had the Santa Fe wrap and asked for some changes: no problem! I had the Pubstrami (that's not a typo) with a wonderful horseradish dressing.

Since it's a microbrewery, of course we ordered beer. He had the Triple, I had Scottish ale. I noticed on both my visits that Selin's Grove beer is distinctive--in a good way. I've now sampled five different brews and these beers are not the least bit shy; this is beer meant to be experienced, not guzzled. The menu even specifies which brews will not be sold as growlers because their quality will diminish on the trip home.

Selinsgrove has some nice little shops. On both visits we walked around town and stopped at the artists' co-op and the bookstore. We even talked to one business owner about where to eat and our preference for local (non-chain) establishments. After telling us about all these little places in town the proprietor then sheepishly admitted she was headed out to Applebee's on the Selinsgrove Strip for lunch. There are some other restaurants on the main street that look interesting, but Selin's Grove is now permanently on my "I'll have to stop there next time I'm in town" list.