Archives for category: Vermont

My train pulled into the Castleton station last night at 11:15, only a half hour behind schedule, which, for Amtrak, and this particular line, is not bad. My dad pulled up in his rustic—ok, dirty—Volkswagen right on time and we made the hour-long drive to Ferrisburgh, getting in just after midnight, with everyone else in the house already fast asleep.

I awoke to a glorious morning of sunshine, chirping, and the distant sound of a riding mower. Saturday! Time for the Middlebury Farmers’ Market. I loaded up on squash, carrots, and eggs before heading over to the Co-op for the rest of my shopping list: olives, honey, feta, mozzarella, capers, and cherry tomatoes.


As I write this, Taj Mahal is blues’ing away in the background, the sun is beginning to set, and I’m sipping a shiso sour. Shiso is a marvelous Japanese herb that tastes like mint and sometimes fennel, earthy, bold, and refreshing all at once. You may know it as perilla, and it can be green or purple. My stepmom, Bonnie, has managed to grow it each year since first planting it four summers ago.

I muddled a few of the small purple shiso leaves in a tall glass then added ice, a splash of cranberry juice, seltzer, and fresh lime juice, with a sour cherry from the tree outside as garnish. It’s sour and cold and not at all sweet and just the thing I wanted to drink right now.

Other adventures today included a stop at the Lincoln Peak Winery to buy growlers for tomorrow’s party, stocking up on Aqua Vitae Kombucha on tap from the Co-op, and checking out what else Bonnie had growing in the backyard – the arugula, mustard greens, and Romaine have almost started bolting but not quite, and the Swiss Chard looks ready for the taking. Fred the cat made a late afternoon appearance.


Outside Cafe Grumpy, 22 May 2011

A glance at some great reads from the past week:

Strange Fruit: The rise and fall of açai, by John Colapinto in this week’s New Yorker. Colapinto chronicles the origins behind the marketing of this Brazilian “super food.”

Profile of a Tastemaker: Rozanne Gold, by Nancy Matsumoto in the latest issue of Edible Manhattan, on one of New York City’s original locavores.

Artichoke Basics, a video on the New York Times website of Melissa Clark preparing artichokes. So useful!

(Not) Ducking a Legacy, by Francis Lam for Gilt Taste on whether, in the age of seasonality, a restaurant can still have signature dishes.

Filling the New York-style Pizza Vacuum by Jonathan Gold of the LA Weekly, on where to get a good slice in LA.

Snack Attack 2011 by Alice Levitt and Corin Hirsch for Vermont’s Seven Days newspaper, chronicles the state’s best summer roadside eats.

I woke up early on Saturday to the sound of my dad grinding coffee beans in the kitchen, somewhere around 7:30, maybe 8 am. The sun was shining despite a forecast for showers, and I was eager to hop out of bed.

The night before, my dad, Bonnie, and I made a plan to have breakfast at Vergennes Laundry. I’d heard about this place back in the fall or early winter. Julianne Jones, a Middlebury College grad, and her partner, Didier Murat, opened this French brick-oven bakery on Main Street in Vergennes in late 2010. With a wink to both Thomas Keller’s beloved French Laundry in Yountville, CA, and the space’s previous tenant (a laundromat), Vergennes Laundry serves classic French pastry (gougères, pain aux raisin, pain au chocolat, plain croissants, savory tarts), Intelligentsia coffee, and local Kombucha on tap. They also have homemade granola, and at 4 pm, bread that’s made in their wood oven.

The interiors are spare, clean, with long wooden communal tables, and white-painted walls. Something about this place reminded me a little of Blue Bottle back in Williamsburg. I told Didier that if they were in my neighborhood there’d be a line out the door. He nodded in agreement but they’re optimistic that they can make it in this small town—and I hope they do—thanks to their regular customers and soon, an influx of tourists during the summer months. The quality of ingredients, attention to detail, and plain ol’ deliciousness of the offerings will keep people coming back.

When the three of us arrived for breakfast at 9:30, we had the place to ourselves. But, just a few minutes later, a line of customers came in to sample the buttery, crusty, croissants and sip the strong, almost tangy coffee. We lingered at our table for nearly an hour, and I debated a second, third pastry. But I was headed to the Farmer’s Market in Middlebury where I knew I was in for some more good noshing.


Didier at the counter