T's Travels

The Millworks, Harrisburg, PA

Who doesn’t love a good brunch? Mixing breakfast foods with lunch foods, a little cocktail, a little coffee—genius! And if you add in a little shopping and a visit to a museum, it’s perfection. No, I was not in Philadelphia or New York or even Baltimore. I was in Harrisburg, yes, the capital city of Pennsylvania, the quiet little place (at least when there are no elections and the Farm Show is over) in the middle of the state.

Miss C wanted to come to the ’Burg to see the Ansel Adams exhibit at the Susquehanna Art Museum (hurry, it ends January 21) and of course we wanted a meal. She is my “I’m going to ___ city, what are the good restaurants?” friend because she always knows the best. But she left this choice up to me. Harrisburg is full of good brunch possibilities and I was having trouble choosing until I talked to another friend, who said, “The Millworks.” She and others had been recommending the Millworks to me for a few years, it was just a couple of blocks from the museum, it was a great suggestion. “Best Bloody Marys,” she also said but that fell on deaf ears (not my thing—give me a mimosa anytime).

Easy to find (actually, almost anything in Harrisburg is easy to find), the Millworks is next to the Broad Street Market (oldest farmers market in the country!). Free parking (yea!). Industrial interior with a lot of recycled materials (read the “About Us” for the full story).  Even with the high ceiling it didn’t seem terribly loud (but this was brunch, I know, not a Friday night after-work crowd—I would assume it’s hopping then). Mimosas, anyone?

The menu made it hard to choose—numerous options out of the ordinary--but in the end I went with the scallops and grits (New Jersey Day Boat scallops, stone ground grits, arugula, poached egg). Miss C had the country fried chicken and sausage gravy biscuit (house made buttermilk biscuits, cream sausage gravy, Green Ridge Acres free-range chicken, bourbon-maple syrup). Next time I’m going for the smoked brisket tacos . . . Servings were generous but not enormous (kudos for that!). And I had apple cobbler for dessert.

Usually my reviews end here, right? Well, not this time! The Millworks is not only a restaurant and brewery, it’s also an artists’ community. Want pottery, jewelry, paintings, silkscreened clothing? They’ve got it all. What is not restaurant in the building is divided up into small studios for artists to work and sell their works. Not every artist was in while we were there but we did get to watch a potter at the wheel and talk to a jewelry designer.

When we had seen everything we could, we moved a few blocks down the street to the Susquehanna Art Museum for the Ansel Adams exhibit. His early works are on display in this former bank building; you can see the beginning of what became his iconic photographic style.

One last stop before we said our goodbyes—down Third Street to the Midtown Scholar, Harrisburg’s large, independent bookstore, where Miss C picked up a copy of Madeleine L'Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time and we both admired Lair of the Lion: A History of Beaver Stadium, written by Lee Stout and Harry H. West  (which I had the pleasure to edit last year but hadn’t yet seen in print).

And all of this in Harrisburg, PA! There are many other businesses in Midtown (e.g., see my Yellow Bird Café review) but you need to explore to find them. You can always get a good sampling by going to Third in the Burg. And  a great way to stay informed is to subscribe to The Burg, a real local newspaper—they will let you know what’s going on . . .

Colorado, Day 3: A lost railroad found

We checked out of the hotel and headed west on 285. Our goal was Gunnison by nightfall but otherwise we had no plans beyond following the dotted (scenic) line on the map. Route 149 ran right through Creede and so did we—it just felt too early to stop. Passed through some great views (I’ll let the photos speak for themselves):

At Mount Baldy Cinco we stopped to look a little while.

At the bottom of the mountain was Lake City, clearly a very popular summer vacation spot and the headwaters of the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River. It looks like a place I’d enjoy staying for a few days . . .

It was getting near lunchtime and so we started to look for a good picnic spot. Shade was essential, seating by the water would be a bonus. Just as we rounded one curve on 149 I saw a little sign that said “Campground,” so we turned in. Drove down a gravel road, past a number of tents next to the Lake Fork. Further on, at a stop sign was another sign, pretty much warning us not to go any further if we had trailers, were nervous about landslides, or basically didn’t know how to drive. To my husband “Not safe to drive here” means “Welcome!” So of course we kept driving.

But it didn’t seem treacherous. There were plenty of pullover places if a car was coming in the other direction. The Lake Fork was on our left and the mountain on our right kept getting steeper and rockier. Some of the rocks seemed to have been cut, which we thought was odd. Finally we found a group of trees on the riverbank, some large rocks perfect for picnicking. Watched the water flow, wondered if people whitewater around there. Even though there were people here and there along the way, I felt we were really in our own little world. That’s one of the nice things about picnicking.

After lunch we continued driving because Husb. The canyon (it was now a canyon) became narrower and we noticed historical markers on the mountainside (I told you Colorado is good about labeling things). Turns out the road we were driving on was formerly the railroad bed for the Lake Fork Spur of the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad between Sapinero and Lake City. A number of markers tell the story of the railroad. We walked a small trail that led us past the rocky foundations of housing used by railroad management during the building of the railroad; they didn’t look like all that much but they beat where the workers slept—they often huddled under trees at night, not having structures in which to sleep, even through the winter. The existence of the railroad explains why some of the rocks looked hand-cut; they were!

Eventually the driving stops in a parking lot. We walked beyond that just to see how far the trail goes. The water slowed down and then nearly stopped, full of tree debris. We couldn’t see much farther but the last 20 miles of the 35-mile railroad bed are now underwater. When I came home and looked it up, I found out this is called the “Lake Fork Spur Scenic Drive.” It’s the scenic drive equivalent of a small museum—you may think it’s not much from the outside but once you do it, you will be so glad you did.

If you do this drive, and you come back out to the stop sign, and you see a sign that says “Route 50 15 miles” if you turn right, and you think, “Oh, I want Route 50, I’ll take this,” think about this first. It’s 15 miles on top of the mesa. That may be what you want, but then again . . . it goes on and on. At the end we found ourselves on the west side of the Curecanti National Recreation Area, with Gunnison (still our destination) to the east. A little highway driving, witnessing a dump truck lay a lot of rubber to avoid hitting a line of cars stopped for construction (the car at the end of the line actually moved because the driver thought he might get hit, which was a smart move—the same truck had passed us doing at least 80 mph), and coming into Gunnison.

As we drove down the main street of Gunnison we saw a sign on a roadside stand: HATCH CHILES. Yes indeed it was chile season. People in Colorado (at least the section we were in) set up stands and roast chiles by the side of the road. Husb had brought me a large bag a few years before from a trip west (yes, I know, some wives get nice jewelry when their husbands travel, but I couldn’t have been happier to get the chiles). We were hoping to score again on this trip. In Alamosa we saw a TAKING ORDERS FOR POBLANOS sign but we weren’t going to be in town when they roasted. So we stopped at the sign in Gunnison and told the woman we’d be back the next afternoon for a half-bushel of roasted hatch chiles.

Then we went in search of a hotel room. Trip Advisor #1 was the Inn at Tomichi Village, an independent establishment just outside town. Clean, quiet, reasonably priced. Done. And we had no regrets. Dinner at the High Alpine Brewing Company—very creative pizzas and nice brews. We wandered around town a little, looking at the artsy little shops and restaurants. Gunnison is a nice place to find yourself (not as in “find yourself,” but as in “hey, I’m in Gunnison, Colorado! Nice little town!”).

We slept that night dreaming of chiles and mountains. One more day to go . . .

Next . . . once again off the track . . .

Colorado, Day 1: Somewhat Rocky, somewhat high (but not "high")

Some people plan their vacations down to the minute—they create an itinerary, make reservations for every night, choose their restaurants in advance—and then don’t deviate from that plan. Other people are more freewheeling, maybe knowing their route in advance but not knowing where they’ll spend a night or even if they’ll stay on the road they thought they might take. Neither group is wrong in their approach.

I, my dear fellow travelers, fall somewhere in the middle. I will choose a destination, know (pretty much) how I am going to get there and what I might like to do, and definitely have a pretty good idea of where I’m spending the night. Activities are separated into “want to,” “have to,” and “if there’s time . . .” I just finished a vacation based on “have to (but want to),” a family wedding in Colorado. Because it was the end of the summer, I could convince Husb to take the entire week and we could vacay a little before the big event.

For our trip Husb had decided (his “want to”) we should go see the Great Sand Dunes in southeastern Colorado. I had never even heard of the place but what the heck. I made reservations for us in Alamosa, at a chain hotel (this will be important later). We started out in our rental car (a little “yow!” for the price of a 4WD car in Denver) heading south down 285 toward the vast San Luis Valley (which is about the size of Connecticut!).

Scanning the radio dial (because of course we listen to local radio when we travel) we found 97.5 “Hippie Radio.” And then we found the hippies. Colorado is very helpful in showing what is along the road, or off the road, with signs and arrows. We saw a sign for Crestone Brewing Company and so we turned left. Went past a marijuana place (my first!) and kept driving toward the mountain in front of us. It seemed like forever (especially when the police car, lights flashing, came up behind us, but then he passed us by). Finally we came to a tiny hamlet named Crestone. Brightly colored buildings, a few shops, a motel. A vibe that made me turn to Joe and say, “So this is where all the hippies went.” Turns out I was kinda right. For the uninitiated, Crestone is considered “the Shambala of the Rockies.”

Never did find that brewery but Alamosa was not much farther down the road. We checked into our hotel and went in search of dinner. San Luis Valley Brewing Company sounded good. Typical bar menu, typical local beers EXCEPT for Valle Caliente—a beer with a chile kick. I had to try it and loved it: a lighter beer with a warmth to it, went very nicely with my Portobello wrap. We chatted with our server (also bar manager), Evan Roberts, a bit and somehow got around to “where are you from?” Turns out he grew up about 30 minutes from where we live. Alamosa, Colorado, is a long way from central Pennsylvania.

After dinner we wandered through the downtown—despite the Walmart on the edge of town, there is a JC Penney’s on the main street, as well as a number of local businesses. Train tracks run right through town; we saw some very cool old train cars from the San Luis and Rio Grande Railroad.

The next day, unfortunately, I had to get some work done before we could go out on the dunes, so we didn’t get there until nearly noon. FYI to people who want to experience climbing the Great Sand Dunes, it is best not to start out just as the sun is getting hotter. While the sand is cool morning and evening, daytime can be blistering (150 degrees, they say).

So we did the visitor center, complete with video, and then decided to go to Zapata Falls, a much cooler experience. Three miles of rough road and a quarter-mile hike uphill. (If that sounds awful, go no further.) But it wasn’t awful and we were shortly looking at the creek. Falls, you say? They actually inhabit the cave upstream. To see the falls, you have to get your feet wet! I said brrr, no thank you. Husb walked as far as he could without getting wet and then, figuring he was so close, went all in. I watched him disappear into the cave. A few minutes later he came out and motioned me up. He said, “It’s worth it. Come on.” So I did. Yes, worth it!

Afterwards, in dry shoes, we stopped at the Oasis (little restaurant outside the park), where I had a chile burger. (I didn’t mention—it’s chile season in Colorado!)

After that we took another trail, nicely shaded and all uphill so Husb went on out ahead of me. I had some trouble adjusting to the altitude and just couldn’t keep up. We hydrated conscientiously the entire trip but there were times when I just couldn’t catch my breath. So we hiked up Mosca Pass separately, which gave me some nice time to rest and watch nature around me. No snakes, no wildlife beyond a squirrel or two, but what concerned me was the dark gray clouds sneaking into my sky.

By the time I heard the first crack of thunder, Husb was back by my side and we headed down the trail. Storms in that area, they say, can come up quickly. They can also be misleading in direction and intensity. We got a little rained on before we reached the car but nothing serious. The entire week was like that—storms came and went, some wetter than others, but nothing to ruin our plans.

Next . . . the Great Sand Dunes . . .

The Streets of Baltimore

“. . . the prettiest place on earth is Baltimore at night” —Bobby Bare

I fell in love with that city just after I got married and found a job at Hopkins. I have always loved Philadelphia and so Baltimore, another Federal-era town, was a natural fit, but it’s Philly-more-funky.  I don’t get to Charm City near as much as I would like but last night I had the pleasure of dinner and a show—with my Husb, no less!

We met up with Marion Winik and her friend, Doug Preston, and headed for Brew House No. 16 at the corner of Read and Calvert streets. Not one to stick to convention (and that would be putting it mildly), writer and writing professor Marion became involved with the creation (specifically, the liquor license) at the Brew House and is now its most enthusiastic supporter. After we sat down, she introduced us to owner Harry Hummel and told the story of how they bonded as neighbors in Glen Rock, PA, when their sons became friends (there’s even a hayfield fire in the story). So when Harry and brewmaster son Ian needed a liquor license in the name of a Baltimore resident, now-relocated Marion stepped in. Thus was born Brew House No. 16, housed in an old firehouse building (yes, complete with the poles).

Dinner menu . . . what to eat on a hot, hot day. For starters the three-hummus plate (roasted garlic and lemon, cilantro lime, roasted bell pepper) and a basket of soft pretzels (homage to PA, of course). Note: Be sure to order the housemade mustard with the pretzels and you’ll never have Herlocher’s commercial version again! (I say “commercial version” because I don’t believe what they’re selling in the grocery stores is the same as what we used to have at the Train Station . . . but I digress.)

And drink choices? Husb went with the excellent Brew House Coffee Porter (“flavors and aromas of coffee, roasted chocolate malt”)—very memorable. I had the lighter Strawberry Fields, “an American wheat ale brewed with 20 lbs of strawberries from Calvert's Gift Farm. Mild in bitterness and body.” In fact, I had two.

This may be a brew pub but it’s not all bleu-cheese burgers and sweet-potato fries! We had a cornucopia of entrée choices, from pan-roasted rockfish to duck confit poutine. Husb did order traditional, the Firehouse burger (“Roseda angus beef, double-smoked maple bacon, roasted garlic aioli, hand-cut fries”), and Marion went with the chili-glazed mussel bowl (“roasted garlic, preserved lemon, sweet chili glaze, toasted baguette”) and a salad. Doug and I were of a like mind: we both ordered the crispy split-pea cake (“yellow split pea polenta, grilled mushrooms, roasted sunchokes, red pepper hummus, pea shoots”), which came with some red-pepper hummus on the side. It was perfect for the hot day, light and delicious, perched on a bed of greens. I love it when a restaurant dares to be a little different with the vegetarian entrée and goes beyond a “veggie burger.”

We could not linger, regrettably, because we had a show to go to. So we headed down to Creative Alliance, housed in the Patterson Theater on Eastern Avenue. Their mission statement spells out exactly why I love Baltimore so much: “The Creative Alliance builds communities by bringing together artists and audiences from diverse backgrounds to experience spectacular arts and education programs and engage in the creative process. We provide support to area artists, promote Baltimore as a center for creative production, act as a positive force in our community, and advocate for cultural expression rooted in a sense of place.” C’est tout.

I paused before we went inside because the sun and clouds were conspiring to do spectacular things.

Then I had to admire the exterior of the Patterson, itself a beauty.

Inside, on the first floor is an art gallery (check out their website for everything Creative Alliance offers—they do a lot) and a music venue (with a bar!). While we had auditorium-type seating for the show, Marion said that sometimes they do a club layout with tables and chairs. The performer—Steve Forbert (you who know me are right now not surprised). When Marion found out that Doug was a long-time fan, of course she got in touch with us about joining them . . . Steve, with Mark Stuart accompanying, did not disappoint the full room of loyal fans—btw, look for his autobiography to be published at the end of the year.

The end of the night, we walked across the street to the car, which was parked in front of Matthew’s Pizza, “Baltimore’s First Pizzeria” (someone at the show told me that a neighborhood date in the 1960s meant a movie at the Patterson and pizza at Matthew’s). The colored milk jugs strung high above Eastern Avenue were lit, giving a festival atmosphere to the evening—yes, “the prettiest place on earth.”

Linglestown's 250th anniversary

This is what “local” is all about. Linglestown (outside Harrisburg, PA) is celebrating its 250th anniversary in 2015 and the main event is happening this weekend. I’ve seen volunteers put their hearts and souls into the effort, working for over a year to raise money for the festivities. Some of Thomas Lingle's direct descendants even came to take part in the events.

So far they’ve had a church service, a flower show, a very large parade, a craft fair, Native American performances and Revolutionary War re-enactors, kids’ activities, and a festival. I have heard more than one person say, “This should happen more than once every 250 years!” (Actually, Linglestown used to have an annual event.) Last night there was a beer garden and live music in town (wish that one would continue!). There are more events today—including softball games—and everything caps off tonight with fireworks. Pretty impressive for our little town.

Yesterday I walked down the mountain and into town because Notes with Nature in Mind (aka Mary the Photographer and her business partner Linda) had a booth at the craft fair at Koons Park. I couldn't believe how many people were still in town hours after the parade. The restaurants in town--St. Thomas Roasters, the Eagle Hotel, St. Thomas Restaurant, Packer's Pizza, and (the newest addition) Mellow-Minded Cafe--were packed with visitors. As I reached the park, there were more crowds at the kids' events and the craft fair.

The main street of Linglestown (Route 39), post parade . . .

Kids participating in the Native American dances at Koons Park:

While I was walking, I had time to reminisce. Although I was a child (no, really, I was) I very clearly remember when Pottstown had its sesquicentennial (that’s 150 years) in 1965. That, too, had a parade and a fair, some re-enactors. They also had a beard-growing contest among the men. I found some pictures of that week on Pottstown Parks and Rec’s Facebook page; here are a few examples.  

Linglestown is a lot smaller than Pottstown, and it's 50 years later, but events like this remind us that people still care deeply about the place they live. Congratulations, Linglestown 250!

 

St. Boniface, Ephrata, PA

Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t go see Pope Francis in Philadelphia, so I settled for St. Boniface in Ephrata. Well, maybe “settled” isn’t quite the right word. I would have loved to see Francis in person (not on a Jumbotron), but logistically it wasn’t going to happen. So instead I sought solace—in St. Boniface Craft Brewing Company.

Unique idea: You have a building (it’s a former creamery on Route 322 just west of downtown Ephrata) with a brewery where you serve libations, no food. Parked outside the building is one of a number of food trucks, so the menu rotates. People can buy their food from the truck, get their beer from the brewery, and wah-la! And ahh!   

I stopped by there just this afternoon with two empty growlers. After a little sampling, I left with both full: Hegemony Stout in one and some hard cider in the other (fyi, the latter they don’t make in house). The stout was as good as any I have ever had—and, remember, I’ve been in the homeland for Guinness! The cider is crisp and clean, none of that musty taste (from using bruised and dirty apples) some other ciders have. I’m not an IPA drinker but they have enough to satisfy that contingent as well.

I’m going to keep an eye on their schedule (Fridays and Saturdays only) for what food truck is showing up when so Mary the Photographer and I can hit the road. St. Boniface Craft Brewing is also appearing at numerous local events across Central PA—check out their website. And now that I have this written, I’m going back to my cold mug of Hegemony Stout and some football.

Atlanta, GA

I don’t like traveling without doing some research ahead of time—where am I going? What is there that is interesting to see? Where can I find local food? This time I was headed to a conference in Atlanta, GA, a place I have only previously seen from the airport. But I had had no time to read up on anything so I was flying blind. As we were getting close to landing, I asked my seatmate, who has lived in Atlanta for 26 years, where she would recommend I go to eat. She suggested The Varsity, “a landmark, a greasy spoon,” she said, “near your hotel.” Is that an endorsement or not? I couldn’t say.

I rode the shuttle with two women who were very excited to be in Atlanta. As we passed a restaurant, one said to the other, “Oh that’s Pitty Patty’s. Gloria told us about it, remember?” Then it hit me. Of course Atlanta would have references to Gone with the Wind! What she was referring to was Pittypat’s Porch, a restaurant specializing in Southern food since 1967. I was hoping to have a Southern meal before I left town at the end of the week; maybe I would go there. . . .

But not that first night. My hotel was right on the Georgia Tech campus and so I ended up at the Cypress Street Pint & Plate for dinner. It was hot and we ate on the patio. The sweet potato nachos sounded interesting, as did the smoked brisket mac and cheese (in cooler weather perhaps), but I wound up with the house-smoked brisket melt (cheddar, caramelized onions, pickles, mustard bbq). It came very large and already stabbed; the mustard bbq sauce was very different from the red sauces I usually see, and it went very well with the beef. What went very well with the meal was my Illusive Traveler Shandy—perfect on a hot day.

Day 2 brought a trip to the Georgia Aquarium, where I watched whale sharks being fed, and the Center for Civil and Human Rights, which focuses on the civil rights movement between 1954 and the late 1960s. Watching newscasts about Martin Luther King Jr’s assassination brought back many memories of 1968 for me. I asked the docent if they had anything about Daisy Myers and Levittown, but he said the focus was on what was happening in the South. So, with Charleston never far from our thoughts, we saw displays on the four little girls from the Birmingham church, the lunchcounter sit-ins, the March on Washington, and so much more.  

For dinner that evening someone suggested a restaurant just across the street from our hotel: The Spence. As a friend would say, what’s not to like? Unique appetizers? Got ‘em! Small plates? Yay! Varied enough menu that I considered going back for my final night? Absolutely! (and I still regret that didn’t happen!) Drinks? Why of course! The wines are listed as either “Tried and True” (meaning they serve it regularly) or “Leap of Faith” (they thought it might be good but can’t say for sure that you will like it). I started with a Pancho Villa cocktail, for which there are many many recipes online; this one had pisco, whiskey, and baked cherries. It was heavenly.

For food I ordered the house ricotta with local tomatoes, pea shoots, mint, and chili flakes (pictured above--it’s under “snacks” on the menu) and the Georgia shrimp with passion fruit, melon, fennel, radish & jalapeno lime vinaigrette “small plate.” Servings were perfectly portioned so we all went for dessert—in my case the old-fashioned semifreddo, with orange cake and bourbon anglaise (very light, very pleasant). Favorite meal from my visit by far.

The next two days were all meetings and conference food. Not complaining—learned a lot from speakers and colleagues. I never did get my Southern meal, but I did hear photographer Dan Winters speak and see some of his work; I recommend his new book, Road to Seeing. We were in the historic Academy of Medicine for Dan's talk--above our heads as we walked in was the chandelier featured in Gone with the Wind. I'll admit I'm not a big fan, but my sister and a friend are so I sent them a picture of it!

On my last evening, I vowed to get a little tourist-ing done. My hotel was not far from the Fox Theatre where I thought Gone with the Wind had premiered (turns out it was closed by then!). It is, however, a gorgeously restored theater and I wish I had been there on a day they give tours.

From the Fox, I walked a few blocks to The Varsity, that “greasy spoon” that had been recommended to me on the plane. The “world’s largest drive-in,” The Varsity has been in business since 1928 and Georgia Tech fans pack the place before games. I was there at about 7:30 on a weekday evening and the place was teeming with customers. I stopped at the gift shop for a t-shirt and a free paper hat like they wear behind the counter.

Just as I thought my tourist-ing was over and I headed back toward the hotel, I saw rising up in front of me a large Olympic-like torch, right in the middle of a parking lot next to the interstate. Seems it’s a local boondoggle, left over from the 1996 Olympics. Would have been cool to climb it, but these days it’s all closed up.

The next morning I decided to take a little walk before our breakfast and meetings. This time I headed north, through business and residential neighborhoods that melted into one another, to the home of Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone with the Wind. Of course it was not open (after all, I was there at 8 a.m.) but I took a picture anyway. It looked out of place among the other, more modern buildings.

If I had had the time to research all this before coming to Atlanta, I might have planned better. I might have had that Southern food. I might have even rented a car to see this. But alas. However, some excellent food, a new t-shirt, a lot of great professional contacts, and more ideas to improve my research magazine than I can possibly accomplish . . . I really can’t ask for more than that.  

 

 

Penguin Hotel and Bar, Stevens, PA

Just how “out of the way” are you willing to go? Sister and I were meeting for lunch to celebrate my birthday a little late and needed a place somewhere between our homes (Harrisburg and Valley Forge). Because she is a heavy Yelp-er, she found the Penguin Hotel and Bar in Stevens.

I’ve been to many small towns in PA, but this was a new one for me. It’s right off the turnpike, just not right off a turnpike exit. Stevens sits just south of the turnpike between the Reading/Lancaster and Lancaster/Lebanon exits. Easy drive if you’re coming out of Adamstown through Shoeneck. A little more circuitous if you’re coming through Clay or Durlach. (Admit it—only one of those names might be familiar to you.) According to what I’ve read, even Garmin doesn’t know where it is.

But once you’ve found Stevens, you’ve found the Penguin Hotel, right next to the feed mill. Sister took a little longer than I did (backed-up turnpike) but eventually we met up and went in. It’s a nice little Pennsylvania tavern, bar entrance, dining room to the side. Very comfortable. I'd love to know more about the history of the place.

When our waitress presented us with menus, I wasn’t prepared for the variety of options. Asian salad? Black and Tan onion rings? Dutch-style cheesesteak? Or Penguin fries: Old Bay, bacon, and melted cheese. Wicked!

And then Sister reminded me that the burgers get raves on-line, so I flipped the menu over to read the list.  And then I was speechless. Really, there is no adequate way to describe the choices for how to have a burger so I scanned it for my readers (see below--their website is not yet working but their Facebook page is). This is no ketchup/mustard/mayo/lettuce/tomato joint, or even a let’s-have-fancy-cheeses-to-appear-gourmet place. This is a what-would-people-like-to-try or what-would-I-like-to-put-together menu. I’m never getting the Amish burger or the Flying Dutchman burger (my dad would have loved that one) but I’m sure many have!

The guests at the next table were leaving as we were discussing the menu. A woman with a very Lancaster County accent said in my ear, “The Shepherd’s Pie is wonderful here. They’ve got the meat and the vegetables and then a scoop of mashed potatoes and all covered in gravy. I love the gravy!” Sister told her we were celebrating my birthday and she said, “It’s your birthday? Mine was Saturday. I’m 88.” We said, “Happy birthday!” and she said, “Well, are you going to share?” (meaning tell my age). When I said what it was, she said, “Oh, you’re just a baby. Enjoy your years!”

When our server returned, I asked her what the most popular burgers were. I was considering the B.O.M.B. (cheddar, bacon, tomato, and cole slaw) or the Round-Up (onion rings, barbeque, ranch, cheese). The server said the Cowboy (sautéed mushrooms, onions, bacon, and Colby jack) and the Round-Up were the most popular, so I chose the latter. Sister got the basic burger.

When they arrived, mine was so pretty I had to take a picture. And they were huge. I had asked for mine to be medium-well to well done because I don’t like pink hamburger meat and it was most certainly well done. And yet very flavorful and not dry. Sister took half of hers home.

Since it was lunchtime and I needed to go back to work, I didn’t try any of the beers. But Untappd gives an idea of what they serve. Of course we were too full for dessert but I know I’ll have to plan that one of these times so I can compare their shoofly pie to mine. And we have already made plans to come back for a holiday lunch. The Penguin Hotel and Bar is yet another little place in PA that’s both unique and familiar. Find it—it’s worth it.

The Shebeen, Charlottesville, VA

I thought I’d hit most of the “cuisines” by now—Mexican, French, American, Cuban, Italian, you name it. But then Husb and I went to Charlottesville, VA, to visit friend Martha and she proposed something new: South African.

Hmm. What could that be? Husb is famous for being one of the most (shall we say) particular people on the planet. Don’t give him anything with mayonnaise, or mustard, or horseradish (thanks to my m-i-l for that last one). This is not a complete list, either. He has good taste but he just can’t abide condiments.

And so we approached The Shebeen with trepidation. Would Husb be pleased? Martha was confident in the restaurant’s quality—she’s been there a number of times—but neither of us knew what himself would think.

It was Saturday night. UVa was playing and so we had to wonder if it would be crowded. Mother Nature stepped in and gave the game a two-hour thunderstorm delay, so we had no problem getting seated.

So what exactly is South African food? I still can’t say. Read the menu (I’ll wait). You’ll see beef and pork and lamb and fish and chicken, and even vegetarian. But not prepared in ways that you’ve seen before.

Partly because we knew it would take us a little while to decide on entrees, we ordered draft beers (from a nice selection) and shared the Camps Bay calamari appetizer: “Squid pro quo! Spicy chili-marinated calamari in a tempura flour crust, fried and served with our crispy capers, lemon aioli and caramelized onions.” Nice way to start a meal.  

I had the list narrowed down to five selections by the time the server took our entrée order. And I even decided my final choice was going to be Peri-peri shrimp skewers (“nine large grilled shrimp marinated in spicy peri-peri, garlic and oil, skewered on bamboo and served with mango chutney and lemon”). But then Martha ordered it. So of course I had to change my mind. I went with the Durban spiced chicken (“chicken breasts skewered on sugar cane, spiced with annatto, coriander and cumin, served over mealie pap [South African grits], voodoo sauce [very spicy!] and mango chutney”). Husb surprised me by ordering Sosatie (“cubed local Retreat Farm lamb top round, skewered on sugar cane with dried apricots, marinated for at least twenty-four hours in mango chutney, tamarind & turmeric, grilled and served with samp and beans, yellow rice, mango chutney and a cucumber mint yogurt”).

Reviews: raves all around. I found Martha’s shrimp too spicy-hot for my tastes, but my chicken was perfectly seasoned (I wouldn’t call it “very spicy” at all). The sugar-cane skewers flavored the meat but did not make it overly sweet at all. Martha loved her shrimp, Husb loved the lamb (which I also sampled—it was excellent). The mealie pap was creamy and a perfect complement to the chicken. There was so much food that I had to get a box to go.

After all that we did not have room for dessert but no one cared. The Shebeen is a restaurant Husb and I will talk about for years, I know, and it may even have been good enough to get him back to Charlottesville before too long. That says something.

Photo of Sosaties from Shebeen website

 

American Ale House & Grill, State College, PA

I’m really particular when it comes to red meat, but then I’m spoiled. At home our beef and pork come from a family farm—it’s very good and we know exactly what we’re getting. So when I’m in a restaurant I usually order fish or chicken.

 

I stepped outside my “usual” zone recently when I met my friend Patty at the American Ale House for dinner in State College. We were in the “stinkin’ hot” days of July, the AC in my car was acting up, and there was no way I was ordering anything that wasn’t cold.

 

So we started with beer, of course. I can’t remember the name (not now on the website) but it was light and cold and kind of tart and did I say cold? That was followed by the Scottish salmon crudo appetizer (blood oranges, scallions, mache, citrus dressing), something Patty has gotten before at the Ale House (fyi, “crudo” means raw, which I didn’t know). But it was cold.

 

For an entrée I never even looked at the sandwiches or the Ale House Specialties but instead zeroed in on the large list of salads. Grilled chicken on greens with fries on top?  Thai salad (Patty’s choice)? Seared scallop salad? The American Ale House Summer Salad (kale, pomegranate, feta, pine nuts, oranges, cider vinaigrette)? No. All possibilities for another day but just not what I wanted.

 

I went with the filet mignon salad because of the description: gourmet greens, gorgonzola, roasted pine nuts, red onions, with a red wine vinaigrette. It was the vinaigrette that sold me. I don’t eat much creamy salad dressing anymore—if the greens are good, a vinaigrette dressing allows you taste them. Creamy dressing is just a disguise. I expected the “filet mignon” to be okay but not great. I was wrong—it was very good. Probably some of the best-tasting beef I have ever had in a restaurant. I wouldn’t hesitate to get it again.

 

Even though it’s not downtown (it’s located in Toftrees), the American Ale House has a lively bar, especially during the school year, and live music. But we were there for an early dinner in the summer so it was pretty quiet. If it hadn’t been so hot, we would have eaten on the patio under the trees. Maybe next time.

Photo from American Ale House website