Category: Out and about

Yesterday morning was gorgeous. Crisp, cool, blue skies and bright sunshine. The weather was perfect, even though I love summertime.

We had coffee and tea on our front porch and enjoyed the warm sunshine we were bathed in. It was a healing kind of gentle sunshine, without the heat and humidity that had kept me indoors since I had breathing issues in those conditions.

We were able to cook our breakfast outside. Yay! I prepped all the items we needed, and Marty was going to do the cooking. I set the outdoor table with pretty purple springtime cloth napkins with hydrangeas.

Marty is a good short-order cook and has done it for real. Breakfast was ready in a snap since the flat-top griddle was piping hot.

The menu…Fluffy gf pancakes with strawberry whipped cream, bacon, over-easy eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns finished with green onions.

It was a beautiful, relaxing setting with soft jazz playing in the background. I called Martin from across the street and asked him to join us, and he did! I quickly set another place setting before he walked over.

No Nelly! Off! Hot!

It felt like we were dining in a cute spot with good food and a great atmosphere. Our breakfast was delicious; the hashbrowns were my favorite part of the meal, like any other good Irishman.

After breakfast, I went in to get ready for Barbie, and it was cool enough to blow out my hair and straighten it! This is still a big deal since I am still a Jersey girl through and through. My scalp and hair have been damp all summer; having dry hair was delightful.

I wore pink, of course; I don’t always wear only black anymore. When I came down before I left for the movie, Marty told me I looked good in pink; it did look surprisingly good on me.

I went to see Barbie with my friends David and Arthur from next door at the Deming House. The guys are from DC and purchased their Vermont home a few short years ago.

The good news is they are now living full-time in Vermont since they have retired (well, sort of for David.) We hit it off right away; we love having them as friends and neighbors.

Weirdly enough, after the guys purchased the Deming House, Arthur did a little genealogy and found out the Demings in his lineage were related to the Demings of Arlington, VT! How can that even be, except it was meant to be?

We had to wait 30 minutes for the movie to start since the projector had an issue. While we waited, we talked about what cartoons we watched and the toys we played with when we were little.

I know when I was a kid, I watched a shit ton of tv. David and Arthur did, too; I guess everyone did back then.

I remember running to get a quick bowl of sugar-laden cereal or a Poptart and sitting “too close to the tv,” which would ruin my eyes, especially after staring at the small screen for hours in an Indian leg position or on my back.

We all loved Scobby-doo the best, with a lot of runners-up. For toys, I told them how much I loved my Barbies and played with them until I was 12 or 13.

David and Arthur both played with GI Joes; I am pretty sure David said sometimes he got to play with a friend’s sister’s Barbies. He was pretty knowledgeable about the different Barbies and their names.

Before playing with Barbies, I played with baby dolls and took one of them everywhere. I took care of it until I got tired of the baby, and it landed face down on the car floor. Good thing my mothering skills improved when I had Noah.

I loved those small bottles with the disappearing milk or orange juice. Orange juice for babies? I never second-guessed it back then.

The Barbie movie was really good. It was better than I expected, with many entertaining and funny scenes. We all liked it.

It was a great way to spend my day with people I love having in my small circle of friends, which took my mind off my pulmonary appointment the following day.

Last night, Marty spotted a vast bird way up on a branch of a black locust tree before sunset. We weren’t sure what kind of bird it was, so Marty shared a photo with a group on Facebook called “Happening in Arlington.” Everyone agreed it was an osprey.

An osprey is a type of hawk that is also called a fish hawk since fish makes up this type of hawk’s primary diet. They are found near large bodies of water such as Lake Champlain, lake memphremagog, and the Connecticut River.

The more I thought about it, even though other people have seen other osprey in our area, I knew this was a direct message from my power animal Hawk. He shows up whenever I need him. Marty and I took this as a good sign that put me at ease a bit.

I just returned from my appointment at Dartmouth Hitchcock and am happy to tell you I do not have pulmonary fibrosis. Thank God! I do have interstitial lung disease, but with a game plan in place to monitor it and accepting I will have some breathing issues for the rest of my life, I am ok with it.

Sunday night, I went out with the Martins: my Marty and friend Martin, the chef across the street. We had three tickets to see the Broadway hit “The Book of Mormon” at Proctors Theater. The third ticket was for Sam, but we had an extra since he is in Burlington. 

I never thought Sam would agree to dinner and a show with us since Broadway musicals aren’t his thing. He wanted to go because he loved the show South Park.

Sam and I have been watching South Park together for years. The two guys who are the co-creators of South Park, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, also wrote the funniest musical ever written or performed, The Book of Mormon. 

Now if you haven’t seen South Park, I must tell you it isn’t for lightweights. This comedy sitcom isn’t for everyone since they make inappropriate episodes, always making fun of someone famous or current events and offending groups of people.

The show is a cartoon, and no one is safe from becoming “an episode.” Cartoon children are the main characters with filthy little mouths talking about things no child should know about. 

Why do we like it? I don’t know because we do and find the show hysterical. Some people don’t like it, and some love it. It’s a do or doesn’t kind of thing. 

We asked Martin if he wanted to come with us, and fortunately for us, he did. We went to Maxon’s American Grill and ate dinner before the show. 

Instead of me trying to explain the show if you are interested in what the hell I’m talking about, here’s the link. The Book of Mormons.

Here’s a Youtube video of The Book of Mormon’s opening number, if you would like to see it.

Now that you have an idea of what the show is about, I must tell you Marty laughed hysterically throughout the entire show. So did Martin and me. 

The musical has clever and quick set changes, and the actors are brilliant and can sing and dance with the best of them. The lighting sets the mood of each scene wonderfully. The scenery makes you feel like the characters are there, especially in the Hell dream number.

I don’t think we have ever laughed that much for over two hours. I loved when the elders broke into a full-on tap number complete with 5,6.7,8.

If you look at reviews, many people loved it, while conservatives and religious groups hated it; no surprise. 

The Book of Mormon won 9 Tony awards for Best Musical, Best Score, Best Book, Best Direction, Best Featured Actress, Best Scenic Design, Best Lighting, Best Sound Design, and Best Orchestra. 

This morning when I did some research on the show, I was impressed to see I was right about the observations I made about the show last night. 

The audience was a completely different crowd than the other shows we have seen over the last couple of years. The audience ranged in ages from 20-60+. It was a hip crowd with very few older senior citizens like usual. 

The audience members had more relaxed outfits, and most wore black, like us. We were totally in our element, including Martin. 

The audience laughed through the show and applauded like crazy. This was the first show people stayed until the end. No one rushed out before the show was over to get to their car first, like usual.

The people who leave early are the same type who used to leave after communion and not return to their pews because they also wanted to get to their cars first.

Why? Why are people always so eager to run out of churches, movies, shows, concerts, and sporting events? Wasn’t the point of going in the first place was to see something you wanted to see or do? 

In the case of leaving before the end of mass, in my opinion, it’s a bit hypocritical to show everyone you are a good Catholic by going to church out of obligation but can’t wait to get the hell out of there. 

These are the same people who shook my hands and my children’s hands and wished us peace, then refused to let us cross the parking lot to get to our car. Or honk at people to drive, for fucks sake! 🤦🏻‍♀️

My dad was no hypocrite, he didn’t like going to church. Period. When I was in Catholic school, I was supposed to attend church every week. To ensure families went, they put all the essential school information in the bulletin.

Instead of taking me to church, my dad would pull up in the front of the church and hand me the envelope that contained the required amount of money we needed to donate each week. Donate?

This was on top of my tuition, and it was mandatory for school parents to work the church fair, held in July, for 3 nights. This was right after working all day, where my father sweated his ass off in a machine shop..🤔

Anyway, my dad would tell me to smile at the usher, hand him the donation basket envelope, and ask him for a bulletin. I went to the same guy weekly, and he winked at me. Easy as pie.

Then my dad would take me to the donut shop or out to breakfast. I loved our breakfasts together. He told me never to tell my mother our little Sunday morning trick. I would never want to ruin spending time with my dad, he was fun, and he loved to eat. I never told her, even when I was an adult. It was our little secret.

Where was my mother when we were supposed to be at church? She said she didn’t have the patience to take a baby, the other child they adopted, to mass. She would be sitting in her robe when we got home, smoking cigarettes, and talking on the phone while their other child was in front of the tv.

The funny thing was, I took both my “babies” to mass by myself since Marty isn’t Catholic. It wasn’t easy some weeks, some weeks they got yelled at on the way home for their behavior, but they did learn things and later became alter servers.

After the boys made their sacraments, I stopped attending church for several reasons. Since then, I have a very close and intimate relationship with God and love Him with all of my heart. I don’t pray; I talk to Him. I trust Him with everything and give my worries over to Him.

Ok, enough church talk. Honestly, good for the people who go because they actually want to go and find comfort in praying with their families and community.

People may not believe how spiritual I am because of the way I am. Guess what? Spiritual people say fuck and curse like sailors. They also love shows like The Book of Mormon and can see the show’s true meaning when others see only raunchiness and swearing.

To me, the show was about love, friendship, questioning faith, trusting each other, and standing up for yourself and others. To work together as a village and not against each other.

The show proved good always wins over evil. It showed you can still do a world of good but go about it differently than the traditional way. It was about trying to spread faith, ringing one doorbell at a time. 

To think, the musical and the message were co-created by two guys who are funnier than shit and aren’t afraid to offend people. The bottom line, they got their point across.

I read somewhere the Mormons took out an ad in the playbill when the show first opened on Broadway in 2011, saying something like: while the show may be entertaining to tonight’s audience, if they read the book, it would change their life, just like in the opening song.

Ding dong.

Hello! 

We were planning on traveling to my biological mom’s house on Sunday morning, then Marty had the idea to leave from the farmers market in Troy and go into the city for dinner and breakfast, then drive to her place.

It was meant to be since he quickly found a hotel room in Newark, NJ, directly across from the train station; our Hilton Honors points come to the rescue again! The ride from Troy to Newark was under two and a half hours. We were there before 5 pm.

We hopped on the Path Train and took it to the World Trade Center stop. This was the same train ride I took daily when I worked downtown. As we got closer to the WTC, I became emotional about 9/11, thinking about the poor people on their way to work or at work on the most horrible day in American history.

We noticed see-through walkways on the floors when we got off the Path. The glass showed the original foundation and columns from the Twin Towers. I had to pull it together; I wasn’t expecting to see that or the other memorial items and reminders so we never forget what happened that day or those who lost their lives.

Next, we got on the 1 subway line and got off at Christopher Street. I found a 100% gluten-free restaurant I had never heard of before and made a reservation for 8 pm. I looked up gluten-free spots in Greenwich Village the two times I was there earlier this year, but this was the first time Wild popped up.

Wild was not only gluten-free, but the owners wanted it to be a safe place for GF people to dine at. They made everything from scratch and used local and organic products. It was an Italian place, like most Greenwich Village food spots, where the staff spoke with heavy Italian accents. The place was legit and small.

We didn’t mind being crammed into the small, noisy, busy restaurant filled with excitement and great energy. We were the oldest diners in the restaurant by 25 years, but that didn’t bother us in the least bit.

It was primarily young gluten-free women out to dinner with their girlfriends. There were men there too, but the ratio of women to men tipped the scales.

The food was incredible! We had the most delicious fried calamari we ever had, even before we had to go gluten-free. We have found gluten-free fried calamari at other restaurants, but this one went above and beyond. The squid was so tender, with a crispy exterior and excellent flavor. Their marinara sauce was delicious!

Marty’s dinner of house-made rigatoni with a lamb ragu was tiny Abruzzo meatballs like I made last week. Weird. I had house-made butternut squash ravioli in a tomato cream sauce. It was so good; I ate it so fast I didn’t get a photo of it.

The only bummer was when we asked our dashing young Italian waiter about dessert, he had to break the bad news to us; everything was sold out. Waaahhhhhh! Damn!

We headed back to our hotel, went to bed, and woke up, which felt like only an hour later; it was longer, but we were living in the New York minute and got back on the Path to go out to breakfast at the best gluten-free bagel shop in the country called Modern Bread and Bagel.

We ate at Modern Bread and Bagel in the city back in March up on the upper west side. This was a new location in Chelsea. We got off the subway on 14th Street, and the bagel place was across the street! Brilliant!

Modern Bread and Bagel is 100% gluten-free and kosher. We ordered our breakfasts and sat at a cute table for two. We sipped our coffees and ate our bagels like regular New Yorkers. It felt wonderful to feel like ordinary people and order whatever we wanted without worry in my favorite part of the city.

We grabbed two black and white cookies and two chocolate chip rugelach and headed back to Newark. We got on the road at 11:00 am and headed to see my mom, an hour and a half away.

What a fun and spontaneous side trip. Marty and I learned during covid that we couldn’t keep waiting and making excuses for not doing the things we love to do. Yes, we were tired, and our legs felt like rubber after standing at the farmers market all day and then keeping up the fast pace of walking in the train stations and streets.

We both slept on the Path train in the morning on our way to Chelsea. I used to sleep on the Path every day, so this brought back some beautiful memories for me. We realized how easy traveling to the city is, and it doesn’t have to be a once-a-year thing; hell, I’ve been there three times this year!

We got home from my mom’s today, Tuesday afternoon. We had a lovely and fun visit with her. After we unloaded Skye, I made my mini pumpkin and pecan pie tarts for Thanksgiving.

Tomorrow I’ll do the rest of my Thanksgiving prep before I go to belly dance classes. Luckily, we weren’t flooded with orders like usual while we were away; it makes sense since almost every wholesale customer got their deliveries last week.

I love prepping and cooking Thanksgiving dinner. I am not doing anything fancy this year, just the basics. I will make my turkey as I saw on Youtube last week; I can’t wait to try it! I’ll let you know how it goes.

Travel safely, sharpen your knives before prepping, and don’t stress. The more things you do ahead will take a lot of stress away on Thanksgiving Day, I promise!

Back in the springtime, Marty and I got a year subscription to Proctors Theater in Schenectady, NY.

The shows are national tours of today’s Broadway shows. The cast members are excellent, and the sets are the same. It’s as good as any Broadway show when they change an original cast. 

Our first show of the year was Aladdin. We knew that the special effects would be phenomenal since it was a Disney show; we saw Frozen in 2019 and were amazed at the effects.

We decided we needed to get away for a night; we weren’t even gone for 24 hours. We got production over early, packed up, and headed out by 1 pm. We grabbed a bite to eat and checked into the hotel two buildings down from Proctors. 

Next, we went to my favorite day drinking bar, The Backstage Bar, and each had one of their killer Bloody Marys. It’s a Bloody Mary on steroids! Spicy and delicious!

The Backstage’s Bloody Mary is basically a liquid salad. You have potatoes from vodka, tomatoes, celery, horseradish, green beans, jalapeño peppers, gherkins, lime, cheese, and bacon. 

Later, we went to a  Moroccan place for dinner called Tara Kitchen. We were in a rush to make the show, so we had to hurry. We need to go back again so we can enjoy the delicious food. 

The show was excellent, with lots of dancing, which is my favorite! The special effects were fantastic, as predicted, including the magic carpet ride.

We were home by noon the next day. We planned a no-production day which was fantastic since it was belly dance day! Yip!

We learned during covid we need to do things and not talk about doing them; life is too short to miss out on something you like due to laziness or getting home too late. 

Have a great weekend!

Just as I turned the page on the calendar this morning, I took out my first flannel shirt to throw over my delivery t-shirt this afternoon. 

On Tuesday, I had to redo our chalkboard signs for the Troy Farmers Market because they had been rained on, and one had bird poop down the front. It was time to get rid of my “cool” summer kids and get ready for fall.

The four chalkboards took me about 3 hours to redo. It took so long because I am a perfectionist asshole and kept redoing things and had to correct the two words I always spell wrong; caramelized and parmesan. I never type them wrong, but I do when I print them on a sign. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Marty and Sam are always happy, almost giddy about pointing out my misspelled words. I tell them I hate them both, and they laugh. How can I do it every single time? Ugh! I know how to spell them!

I always save the best for last, the chalkboard with “artwork.” I love drawing, so working on the seasonal chalkboard is fun. I already know what my winter one will look like!

I drew the same kind of kids that I used on my summer design but dressed them in traditional German Oktoberfest clothing. I am pleased with how they came out. No, I love how they came out! God help the kid that tries to erase it or even touch it. Lol.

The chalkboards held up well all summer since I used chalkboard markers. They were tricky to figure out at first, but they were excellent once I used them. 

Is it Oktoberfest already? Believe me; I am married to a very punctual and stubborn German; that being said, leave it to the Germans to celebrate Oktoberfest in September and not October, as you would think.

I haven’t had much extra writing time this week since we foolishly took off Monday and then became inundated with orders. We are caught up for the most part but still have to make more for Saturday’s farmers market. 

Last night, instead of teaching dance classes, we had our belly dance annual dinner, which was held at Emily’s house. I was the queen of selfies and took photos everywhere but forgot to take one last night. I was exhausted and enjoyed relaxing while we chatted.

It’s nice to get together socially and enjoy some fantastic food. We make a potluck dinner; the food is always delicious because almost everyone in our group likes to cook or bake. Maria doesn’t like to cook but likes to cut things up, so she brings a beautiful, seasonal fruit salad. 

We never get to talk or socialize much during class since I am a drill sergeant and try to keep things moving along to get in the most technique drilling and dance time for everyone. 

After today’s production, we are on the road again doing our NY delivery runs to Saratoga and Albany. The carrot at the end of the stick today was getting some delicious empanadas I wrote about a few weeks ago for tomorrow night’s dinner. I told you, it’s always about food with me! 😂

It’s already 8 pm, and I just finished cleaning the dinner dishes. Even though I am super tired, it’s too early to go to bed because I would most likely lay awake for hours. After a ton of spätzle making and schlepping cases of spätzle into many store’s receiving areas, Marty and I are totally done; so done you could put a fork in us.

Good night guys. 🥱

History was my favorite subject in school, and I still love it today. We live in historical Arlington, VT, a small town with some famous residents such as Ethan Allen one of the Green Mountain Boys. 

Some others include Seth Warner, Samuel Adams, Remember Baker, Thomas Chittenden, Dorothy Canfield Fisher, Norman Rockwell, and the newest famous resident Alec Baldwin. 

I wrote about the history of Arlington, VT last year in a blog post titled “Puddle jumping through history.”  You can read the blog post by clicking on the title if you are interested.

Last May the city of Troy, NY, where we are vendors at the Troy Farmers Market, HBO turned Troy into New York City in the 1880s. HBO was filming a new series called The Gilded Age. The transformation was incredible down to the most minor details. 

I wrote about the transformation in a blog post titled “Hollywood on the Hudson.” The day I walked around the streets turned movie sets I was utterly alone except for one other person snapping photos and taking it all in like I was. It was very cool. You can read the blog post by clicking on the title.

Our vendor spot at the Troy Farmers Market is located on lower River Street. I knew there was a plaque on the building directly behind us; today I went over and read it. 

It was where the poem ‘Twas the night before Christmas was first published. I love shit like this and grabbed my phone to take a picture.

I did some research on Dr. Clement C. Moore the author. The writer’s cousin sent the famous poem to The Troy Sentinel Newspaper anonymously. Dr. Moore wrote the poem in 1822, but it was published on December 23,1823. 

The inspiration he got for the poem was while he was walking through the streets of NYC looking for gifts and a Christmas goose for charity. He saw a chubby round gentleman with both white hair and a beard. This is who prompted the poem. 

This poem led to the story of the modern-day Santa Claus we know today. Rudolph came along later. LOL. Geez, that’s two Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer references this week from me! 

Dr. Moore wrote the poem at Christmas time for his six children and had no idea it would be published, let alone become iconic. I am sure he didn’t imagine when writing the poem that would create the legend of Santa Claus.

After the poem was published, at first, Dr. Moore was embarrassed by the childish poem and felt it wasn’t something to be proud of since he was known as a highly educated man. He didn’t want people to know it was he who penned it.

However, after the publication, Dr. Clement Moore took credit for the famous poem when he saw people’s reactions and a new love for old St. Nick. The rest is history. 

Troy, NY is a city rich in history, it is known as the home of Uncle Sam. A welcome sign tells you so as you drive along route 7 headed towards Vermont. It’s been there for the 33 years I’ve lived in VT. 

I did some more research and looked up the history of Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam was a real person named Samuel Wilson who is buried at the Oakwood Cemetery in Troy. Here is a link about Uncle Sam if you want to know more about him. He was a remarkable man who eventually became the face of America.

So, on this severely windy and cold day at the farmers market which is located along the Hudson River, I became curious about the history of the building standing 20 feet behind us. It was an unexpected history lesson that I loved learning about.

I found out from the Poetry Foundation the poem was originally titled “A visit from St. Nicholas.” I never gave the poem a thought about where it came from, and now I know. “Hey, and if you don’t know now, you know.” A quote from Hamilton.

A Visit from St. Nicholas

BY CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her’ kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved orange-flavored things to eat and smell. Last year, I wrote about an Italian Ice stand in Elizabeth, NJ my father used to take me. An older Italian woman made and sold both lemon and orange Italian Ice. Here is the link to that blog post about Catherine and a photo of her Italian Ice shack.

The Italian ice stand was located in the Italian section of Elizabeth called Peterstown, where both my parents grew up. People stood in line for blocks to get some Italian ice on a hot summer night. I always picked orange, and my dad always picked lemon.

I loved that there were pits in the ice which collected at the bottom of the white paper cup, which I spit one by one seeing how far they would go. My mother would have never allowed this kind of behavior; hell, I got slapped and yelled at for blowing bubbles in my chocolate milk whenever we ate at a diner, the only place I drank chocolate milk with a straw.

I still like to blow bubbles in my chocolate milk, and it has never bubbled over. As an adult I can’t understand the big deal; neither of my boys even wanted to blow bubbles in their milk so I never got to “let” them do it.

Last week, at our farmers market in Troy, NY, I sampled a tiny bit of orangecello from a new vendor two spots down from us. I am a big fan of limoncello and used to make it often; in fact, I have a bottle in the bar fridge right now. But the orangecello? Holy moly, it was like having that Italian ice again, but even better because it has booze in it!

I didn’t even ask how much it was and bought a bottle. I, the frugal cook and shopper, was ready to pay whatever the cost. It was a little high, but this is strictly for sipping straight up and respecting the liquor.

Here is the weird part, to me anyway, the Italian ice stand in Elizabeth was owned and operated by the Di Cosmo family. The orangecello is made by a chef from Villa di Como in Italy along with a variety of sauces and oils.

Yesterday, we were on the road making deliveries, our first stop was in Clifton Park, NY. We went to 518 Donuts, a shop that sells gluten-free fried chicken and gluten-free donuts. The business owners have so much passion and are super friendly.

They have committed to the seriousness and safety making sure there is no cross-contamination occurring between their regular high-end donuts and the gluten-free ones. High-end, meaning store made with kick-ass toppings and flavors. If I could have had a regular donut I would have had a hard time choosing between the maple bacon, chocolate-covered strawberry, campfire, Samoas, or french toast.

For gluten-free local readers, all the fried chicken is boneless and gluten-free so there isn’t any confusion about what goes into the fryer. The chicken is prepared Korean style meaning they fry it twice. It’s crunchy af and not greasy.

They also have chicken fried dough with this amazing dipping sauce which is off the fucking hook. Their potato crisps and hashbrowns are also gluten-free. It’s worth the trip over to Clifton Park, just be prepared it’s a little pricey but worth every penny! They are in the midst of opening a second location in Troy, NY, how psyched are we?

Marty had a gluten-free breakfast sandwich, and he said it was the best one he has had for years since we have been gluten-free. I chose a creamsicle donut; more orange! It tasted exactly like a creamsicle and as good as any regular donut. It was pure decadence. Yum! Whenever I went to an ice cream truck as a kid, I always chose creamsicle popsicles.

The last tale of the orange happened just a little later on. We stopped at Crossgates mall looking for some sandals for me. We were both thirsty so Marty suggested getting an Orange Julius. Orange Julius is one of our favorite drinks dating way back to the 80s at a mall in NJ.

If you aren’t familiar with Orange Julius it’s a juice and smoothie shop. I didn’t remember them having so many different smoothies, but then again I never look at the menu because I know exactly what I am ordering.

With my Jersey accent, I say “are-ange” not “or-ange” which I argue about with Sam often when he corrects me. Shut up kid, I say it correctly because of this joke I learned when I was around 6 years old. This is how it goes:

Knock knock. Who’s there? Apple. Apple who?
Knock knock. Who’s there? Apple. Apple who?
Knock knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who?
“Are-ange” you glad I didn’t say apple? 😜

Happy Friday! Enjoy your holiday weekend! We are off to the farmer’s market tomorrow. We are making different kinds of grilled pizzas with drinks and a campfire with our neighbors on Sunday night. Hopefully, we can take off on Monday. We have the shortest but cutest Memorial Day parade here in Arlington that we look forward to every year.

I just pulled some Cheddar, Chive, and Maple Bacon Scones out of the oven for breakfast tomorrow morning. I may have to try one of the little ones just to make sure they are tasty. BTW…they are! Here is the recipe link I used. As a side note, I add maple syrup to the heavy cream that is painted on the scones before they go into the oven.

*** This is a gluten-free recipe.

Last Sunday, my sister Jen and me went on a 3-hour food and history walking tour of Greenwich Village, NY. It started as a sunny spring day in NYC, then the weather rapidly changed. After the second stop on the tour, it felt like the beginning of March.

I learned so much about the Village that I divided the food and history into two parts. The food tour that we took has been in business for 21 years. They took my gluten-free business very seriously; so did the restaurants. 

Our guide’s name was Bert and he had a fantastic personality. He is an actor, comedian, improviser, and tour guide for 18 years. He knows his shit. Our group had 14 of us; luckily, everyone was fun and easygoing.

We met at the famous Murray’s Cheese. Wow, was all I could say. It is a beautiful store and a cheese lover’s dream. It is not overpriced if you can believe that one. Many cheese stores here in VT are much more expensive.

The first tasting spot was Joe’s Pizza. This stop I knew would be the roughest one for me. If I had to choose a last meal, NYC pizza would be on the menu.

Before Bert went inside to get the group’s pizza, he gave us the history. Joe’s has been in business for over 100 years and is famous. Everyone who’s anyone has eaten there.

Bert also explained how NYC water really does matter when making pizza and bagels. Pizza and bagel makers from other parts of the country have been trying to change the scientific components of their water. For instance, raising or lowering the ph, phosphorus, magnesium, etc. It’s serious business.

Bert also discussed the sauce was San Marazano tomatoes with nothing added. No garlic, salt, or pepper. They used a high-quality cheese that didn’t contain oil resulting in a slice of pizza that didn’t leave a greasy puddle behind. 

Do pizzerias use cheese that contains vegetable oil? Yup! “Pizzeria” inexpensive cheese contains oil for better melting ability. That is what they use in places that serve $1 slice pies, not at good places like Joe’s. You get what you pay for.

Bert came out with a gigantic 14-cut pizza and those cheap white paper plates; pizza is always on. Before the tour, he handed me a beautiful antipasto salad; while delicious didn’t help me salivate for that pizza. 

Next on the tour was a sit-down stop at a taqueria named Tacombi. They are known for their authentic fish tacos, like the ones found on the beaches of Mexico, not anywhere in the US.

The owner started selling tacos out of a VW Kombi camper in NYC and called the place Tacombi joining the two inspirations. It is a very hip and cool spot in the west village with delicious tacos.

I couldn’t have a fish taco since it’s battered and fried, but I did have one spread with flavored sweet potato and blacks beans. It was delicious, and I didn’t feel left out here.

The next stop was a standing outside stop, Faccios Italian Specialties. The group was given an arancini or rice ball and a slice of thinly sliced soppressata. I was giving a marinated freshly pulled mozzarella knots. I make arancini, so I was fine with the cheese. The soppressata was delicious and one of the meats they specialize in.

Next, we had a sit-down stop at Pesce Trattoria, which is in another ancient building with a gorgeous, original tin ceiling. Bert told us restaurants were required back in the day to have tin ceilings in case a fire broke out in the kitchen.

This is where I was almost leary to eat my gluten-free meatball. It looked exactly like everyone else’s. The inside of the meatball looked like everyone else’s. I trusted them and tasted a soft and delicious meatball in a simple sauce. They sprinkled on a blend of romano and pecorino cheeses. 

At every “sitting stop,” Jen and I used their bathrooms since bathrooms are hard to come by in NYC if you don’t know. It was cold and super windy so sitting in a warm restaurant felt wonderful.

We walked to our next standing stop called The Donut Project, a woman-owned business with all women employees. Being gluten-free, real donuts are hard to come by; I’m this case, my gluten-free donut trumped the real thing!

The donuts at The Donut Project come in very different flavors and toppings. My donut was huge and delicious. It was fried like a donut should be, not baked in a donut pan some places try to pull off. This was the best thing on the whole tour for me.

Jen said the donuts the group got were delicious covered in a lemon glaze, but my donut was better. How do you like those apples??

We walked to our next stop, and it didn’t seem like it could get colder or windier. We were frozen to the bone. Our sit-down stop was a Rafele. Rafele opened in 2012 when the chef from Naples even had his own pizza oven sent over.

As soon as we walked into the restaurant, I was smart and got a seat at the bar near the pizza oven to warm up. The place was very nice and the kitchen was small like most restaurant kitchens. 

My eggplant parmesan was another one of those dishes I couldn’t believe was gluten-free. The chef presses the eggplant for 24 hours to get out all the water, then dips it in egg and sautés it. I am not sure if the tour’s eggplant was breaded, which it didn’t need. 

We stayed here the longest before our last standing stop at Rocco’s bakery, another west village institution. The group had mini cannolis while I was given a cup of cannoli filling and a pignoli nut cookie. 

I didn’t miss the real cannoli in the least; my cup of the filling was huge. I was happy with this substitution.

After the tour was over, Jen and I got a table in Rocco’s, and each had a cappuccino. Originally, we were going to hang around for two more hours and have dinner in the village, but since we were not hungry and were freezing, we planned to head back to Jersey. 

We had dinner later that night at an Indian restaurant called Nirvana. It was close to where she lived, and the food was warm and comforting after such a cold day. 

The experience exceeded my expectations. The Original Food Tour Company, the tour company we used, has many other food tours in the city. I can’t wait to go on more!

I hope you got an idea of what the tour was really like. I would highly recommend taking the 3-hour tour one-day yourselves. It’s a great way to experience the history behind the real deal places and not taken to tourist traps.

When I wrote “a 3-hour tour” I automatically thought of Gilligan’s Island. LOL! 😂

Look for part two of the food and history walking tour very soon!

Last Friday, we walked around Greenwich Village looking for two gluten-free places that were on my list of places to check out. 

When we got to the intersection of Bleeker Street and MacDougal, we both looked to the right and saw it! Monte’s!

Monte’s Trattoria is where Marty and I had our first date back in January of 1985. I remember the day like it was yesterday.

Marty picked me up in his little white Alfa Romero. We parked his car at Metropark Train Station and jumped on an NJ Transit train. We pulled into Penn Station and walked around midtown. Christmas decorations were still up and it was cold out.

We went to the Hard Rock Cafe for an early lunch. We were seated next to the band Wang Chung, which was pretty cool. We walked over to Rockefeller Center and while we were watching the ice skaters below he kissed me. It really was one of those magical moments that happen once in a lifetime.

We were both head over heels and knew that we were meant to be together. Can you fall in love that quickly? 

I decided right then and there that I needed to be my authentic self with him; I was tired of trying to act a certain way so guys would like me. Our personalities and upbringings were completely opposite, so if this was going to work, I had to be me. 

Before things got too far and I let myself get hurt, I told him, “Look, I drink, I smoke, and I curse, so if you don’t like it, that’s too fucking bad.” He immediately shot back, “What are you doing tomorrow night?” 😂

We made our way downtown to walk around the “Village.” We both loved the village, and both had our favorite spots. We stopped for drinks at a few different places and ended up at Monte’s. I wasn’t familiar with it, then he led me down the stairs to the restaurant. 

Monte’s is a small Italian restaurant that opened in 1918. It was and still is the real fucking deal. We sat at a table for two. There was a man sitting directly behind me, alone at a two-top as well. I looked at him before I sat down. He looked businesslike and scholarly. 

He was dressed well, although I couldn’t imagine why he was sitting with a winter trench coat on since it was hot in the restaurant. He wore glasses and seemed well-groomed.

As we were sipping our drinks and enjoying each course coming out of the kitchen the man was having a conversation. A loud and angry conversation at times. The Maître d’ went over several times pleading, “Senor, please, quiet down and stop cursing there are people right behind you.” 

The man obviously didn’t give a shit who was around him; he had an argument to win. He must be a big-time lawyer or an NYU professor, I thought. While we were having our desserts the man got up and left. The maître d’ apologized again for the man’s rudeness.

I said to Marty, “That man must be rich to spend that much money on so many cell phone minutes.” I thought he had to be loaded to afford a cellphone back in 1985; they had only been on the market for two years.

Marty started cracking up and could barely breathe, let alone tell me what was so funny. “He wasn’t on the phone; he was talking to himself.” I was shocked, “You mean he was fucking nuts?” Marty replied, “Yes.” Sad, but very funny at the same time.

Dinner at Monte’s was one of the best dinners and nights of my life. I remember the food and desserts were excellent. Everything was made in-house; it was old-world cooking on an upscale level.

That was the last time we were in Monte’s until Friday. We were both so excited when we saw it. Marty grabbed my hand and he led me down the stairs to the restaurant. 

We walked in, and the place looked just as it had 37 years ago. It wasn’t dated after all that time; it was simple elegance. The bathroom had been recently renovated, probably during the pandemic shut down.

As I recall, Monte’s bathroom could have used a renovation. It is a one-person restroom that is now gorgeous with shiny white subway tiles, a new sink, toilet, lighting, and a huge mirror. I have a thing about checking out bathrooms in places I am in; I have done it since I was a little girl. I would report back at the table what the bathroom was like. LOL!

A few diners were having a late lunch. Two guys were sitting at the corner of the small bar, and a bartender was dressed like high-end, old-school bartenders do.

We sat at the bar and told the bartender that this was where we had our first date in ’85. He asked why we waited so long to come back. Lol! The two guys at the bar laughed at that one as well. We knew we were going to like this guy.

We ordered a couple of cocktails and sat talking to everyone at the bar. We are bar people and always feel more comfortable sitting at a bar instead of a table. We have met many interesting people at bars over the years.

We felt welcomed and at home there; that’s the vibe the place gave us back then and now. We didn’t eat because it was midday since we were still stuffed from the curry wurst and fries. 

The chef, Chef Mosconi, came out of the kitchen to say hello. He spoke in English but spoke Italian back and forth to a patron leaving and the guys at the bar. When he heard we were from Vermont, he told us his wife went to college at St. Joseph’s in Rutland, VT. She was a teacher. Marty told him he had worked in Rutland for years.

We also found out he was the chef when we were last there. He started “in the business” in ’83. He was very friendly and looked like what you would imagine an Italian chef to look like. His parents ran the restaurant beforehand; a black and white photo of them standing behind the bar is hanging up.

Chef Mosconi cooks food true to his Italian roots with love; he is passionate about making different kinds of stuffed pasta.

The walls in Monte’s are full of celebrities that have dined at Monte’s over the years. There are photos of currently famous people and all the biggies like Sinatra who frequented the place.

Monte’s is a neighborhood institution. It is on a food and history walking tour of Greenwich village. A tour group came into the restaurant while we were there. Ironically, I am going on a similar walking tour with my sister Jennifer in a couple of weeks. This had been planned long before Marty and I even knew would be in the city for Hamilton. I spoke with the tour guide, who may be my tour guide.

We finished our drinks and paid the tab. We thanked everyone and said our goodbyes. The bartender told us not to wait so long to come back. We all laughed. 

I told him the one thing I learned during the pandemic is you don’t get time back and don’t know how long you have. You have to do things and live life. You can’t keep on waiting as we did. I snapped a few photos and whispered to the restaurant, “We will be back soon.” 

Besides Hamilton, this was the highlight of the trip for me. I still felt like a young girl with this funny and handsome guy. I never imagined that night we would be back 37 years later. That’s Amore! 😍