A Wednesday Adventure

I waken to blue skies and shining sun. It has been a while since I have seen such a morning. I grab a quick cup of coffee then return upstairs to dress for breakfast—in the mountains. We haven’t done breakfast yet, and I found a place in Windham—The Catskill Mountain Country Store and Restaurant—that is open, at least I hope they are. Their website promises they are. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays in October in the Hudson River Valley and the Catskills have been unreliable in adventure and restaurant access.

Breakfast is an hour away, and we are warmed by sunshine as we wind our way up out of the valley and into the Catskills.  I’m excited, the mountains are popping with the colors of autumn, and the sun makes them shimmer in their gold and fire-red glow—for just about ten minutes. We soon begin to play tag with low-lying clouds and pockets of extensive thin fog.

Breakfast at the Catskill Mountain Country Store

Michael loves it. Me, I’m ready for continuous blue skies. By the time we get to the restaurant, I get both my wishes—blue skies and an open restaurant, too cute to boot. There are temptations galore:  jams, jellies, dishes, maple syrup, maple cream, dishes, flowers, dishes, pumpkins, dishes, pickles… I could load up the car.  I seriously consider buying a trio of faux pumpkins, and I want the maple cream, remembering the first time I tasted it on warm popovers in Hanover, New Hampshire—too many years ago to count. This is the first time I have seen it since then. I can’t believe I am turning and walking away.

Instead of looking for my credit card, I sit down to breakfast. Everything is supersized—they must be trying to emulate McDonald’s. I eat only a third of my three-egg omelet, but I manage to stuff down all three pieces of country bacon. The raw potatoes (I had to ask and try) are a rendition of a giant potato pancake. The toast is thick and crisp, and the coffee dark and strong. A woman at the next table tries to order something light. Her light breakfast arrives in a tall old fashioned ice cream soda glass with a swirl of cream on top. I can’t figure out what it is, but she eats the entire thing.

Exploring

Having never been to this side of the mountains, we do some exploring. Michael ultimately guides the car to Hunter Mountain, hoping for a ski lift ride to the top.  While he looks for a warm body to ask about tickets, I take the opportunity to Google the hours and prices—CLOSED MONDAY THRU THURSDAY IN OCTOBER. He comes back to the car, suggesting we drive to the Rams Horn-Livingston Sanctuary nature preserve in Catskill and hike the trails in search of the bald eagles that nest there.

In Search of Bald Eagles

It has been cool all morning, but as we walk down the wide path toward the swamp, the sun penetrates my double layers of clothing. I don’t remove the top layer because underneath is a black turtleneck—a heat magnate. The walk is easy. I walk fast while the sun beats down, stopping in areas of shade while I wait for Michael to catch up.  The eagles remain elusive.

With less than a day and a half left before we begin our journey back to our real home, I start washing clothes as soon as I walk through the back door. I have about three hours before we leave for dinner in Saugerties. Michael is in a festive mood.  I’m overwhelmed. There are still a few items on my list of things to see, only open Thursday – Sunday. Tomorrow is it. I know the clothes will dry, and I will get packed sometime. Somehow.

Dinner at Diamond Mills

This foodie lifestyle, with a plethora of restaurants within arms reach, will end too soon, so we make proverbial hay while the sun shines and head to Diamond Mills for dinner. The first thing I order is French champagne.  It’s getting to be a habit. I begin the meal with frisée salad atop salt-roasted beets, studded with pistachios, dried cherries, and grapefruit yogurt dressing. For the entrée, I move on to salmon sitting on a medley of pancetta, clams, leeks, oyster mushrooms, asparagus, sweet potatoes, with a chianti reduction pulling it all together.

I decide to indulge in dessert for the promise of caramel, but only a drizzle arrives on my plate. Since chocolate is not my thing, I am saved from myself. But I’m sure someone would love this slice of chocolate olive oil cake with sweet crème fraiche in the middle of the golden crisscross pattern.

Michael is seduced by the memory of delicious fried artichokes in Rome and can’t think beyond that memory’s promise. His fried baby artichokes with lemon, mint, caper, and anchovy aioli almost does the trick. Still not being able to leave the memory of that 2012 trip behind, a Tuscan braised boneless short rib and potato gnocchi coated with Fontina cheese sauce does take him back a teeny tiny bit. To make up for his disastrous birthday dinner, he orders port and chocolate for dessert.

I’m not sure what happened to our one thing a day rule. Climbing the stairs, we fall into bed and collapse for the night.