Well, I’m torn.  I can’t decide if I should do it or not. Finally, I give in, pick up the toothpick and stab the small chip of German White, placing it in my mouth. I’ve never done a raw garlic tasting before—I may never do it again, but when in Rome, etc. The Hudson River Valley Garlic Festival is in full swing, and it is virtually right down the street from us in the cute town of Saugerties. Even on this damp, cloudy day, the grounds are full of people. One garlic farmer tells me they were expecting more.

We wander through makeshift streets of booths lined with fifty-five garlic farmers, seventy-four business vendors selling everything from specialty canned food items to kitchen knives to pasta to cheese to garlic graters to… This doesn’t even include the eighty craft vendors tucked in everywhere in between. No wonder everyone came with shopping bags over their arms.

A Garlic World

Until now, I thought garlic was garlic was garlic, but today I discover you can be a garlic connoisseur. At least the farmers that grow it and sell it seem to think so.  There are myriad varieties: Turkish Red and Italian Red Softneck and Vietnamese Purple and French White and German White and Music and Yugoslavian Softneck and Italian Softneck and Polish Softneck and Elephant—this I have heard of—and Russian Red. And I think there are more, but I can’t keep track.

I buy an assortment of eight different types and hand over $10 for eight bulbs. Compared to my purchases at HEB and Central Market, all of the garlic heads look small and undernourished—except for the large head of Russian Red, which cost $3. Some are mild. Some are strong. Some store well. Some are quick to rot. Some have excellent vigor. Vietnamese Purple is a culinary must—I should have bought more.

Mike samples some garlic kimchi—he sticks it under my nose and instructs me to try some—it is an acquired taste for sure. I need water, but there is none to be had. We see Vinnie’s booth—it is very popular—when we bought tomatoes a few days ago he told Michael he was making garlic jam for the festival.  It lines the shelves.

All the vendor food is garlic-themed—a garlic potato pancake which we love. Michael purchases garlic ice cream, which he discreetly places in the nearest garbage can. There is coconut shrimp on a stick with garlic-orange marmalade and corn on the cob soaked in garlic butter. It is very hot and extremely hard to hold. Our lunch is good. Nutritious? Not quite.

Finally, when we’ve had enough fun, we head back home to naps and books and wine and cheese, waiting for our 6:30 p.m. reservation at The Bear.

The Bear Restaurant

A stone’s throw from where we are staying, and the food always amazingly good, the Bear is a constant lure. Tonight is no exception. Michael orders French onion soup, which I covet, while I take the healthy route and have a salad—endive, watercress, pear, a sprinkle of Gorgonzola, shredded beets, and polenta croutons which I love. Michael loved his chicken from the first weekend we were here, so he does a rerun. I opt for simple ingredients with no fuss, no frills—scallops, corn, sweet red peppers, fava beans with a bow knot of fried shoestring potatoes for crunch. I think the chef has a well-used spiralizer in his kitchen.