Wheeler's Restaurant and Taproom


Had dinner with friends at Wheeler's Restaurant and Taproom in Woodbridge the other day. Great meal, great conversation.


The place itself is indistinguishable from a hundred other "restaurants and taprooms" in the state, with a good selection of brews, music nights, wings night, etc. Except the kitchen is run by some sneaky foodies, who put all sorts of fun stuff on the menu, including many organic, local, and sustainable ingredients. It's worthwhile for the wings alone (get any style but the regular buffalo wings) but try some other stuff, like the Shakshuka (below).


October at Nomad's End

















Autumn on the Mountain
by Eric D. Lehman

Our first autumn on the mountain was the hardest.
The land had not given up its secrets, and the summer work
had nearly crushed us. Our bodies cracked and creaked
their way around the craggy traprock paths, decaying
from the inside, beginning a long decline. Winter awaits
a numbed finger, a wounded hip, a dragging foot, but more –
the logs we chopped, the books we wrote, the bonds we made.
Our hands are older now. But nuthatches thank us, and cats
curl around the thought of a stretch by the roaring fire.

There is work to be done on that mountain yet, endless
work, with small success and comfort at the end, a few
bright days, a shelf of books, and the memory
of being held tightly under flannel sheets. Love
is the truest victory, but not the only one, and those
of us who toil in the high, poetic mountains
must struggle each year, and one day build not hope
but happiness—not spring, but autumn.
 
 
 
First published at ken*again.

Bryant Park


Had coffee and read a book in Bryant Park, behind the New York Public Library, recently.


The view is spectacular, but what separates this park from others is the Ping-Pong tables, the chess boards, and the reading room, where you can check in and read newspapers or books in the actual park.


I had a relaxing afternoon in this gem of a park - a model for what Connecticut might do with its greens and parks with a little effort.


Danbury First Congregational Church


Enjoyed our book signing the other day at Danbury's First Congreational Church with David Leff for Alice at Byrd's Books, one of my favorite stores in the state. The bonus was the pulpit below, which a certain Ralph Waldo Emerson preached at, lo these many years ago. It was saved from the fire that destroyed the original church.

The Vineyards of Hamden


In the 1860s, Jonathan Dickerman, the grandson of the man whose house you have visited or seen on Mount Carmel Avenue, planted a vineyard and built a winery on the slopes of Sleeping Giant. This startling fact, mostly unknown by town historians and certainly by the rest of us, was the trigger that led my wife and I to write A History of Connecticut Wine, in which we detail many other examples of successful vineyards throughout the state before Prohibition, as well as the modern rise of today’s booming industry.

In 1872 Dickerman gave an award-winning report to the Board of Agriculture, detailing his decade of wine production in Hamden and his hope for the future of the practice in Connecticut. His rocky land had not even produced peas, but grapes thrived there. He even brought in a winemaker from Germany to help him care for the vines. Turning the grapes into wine tripled his profits in a year, and his lecture to the Agriculture Board inspired the Hartford Courant to champion the cause, encouraging farmers on rocky hillsides to grow grapes.

By the early 1900s, immigrants from southern Europe were planting vineyards all over the state, especially in the Hartford area, and some had vineyards ten times the size of Dickerman’s. However, Prohibition put an end to this in the state, until 1978 when it became legal again to produce wine for sale to the public. Our methods and technologies now allow us to grow the coveted European grapes that make superior (or at least not so sweet and grapy) wine, something Dickerman struggled with in the 1800s.

Today, wineries and vineyards are again springing up all over the state. There are two vineyards just to the north of us in Wallingford, and one on the other side of West Rock in Woodbridge. Hamden has several spots today that are even better for growing grapes, including the excellent site of Dunbar Hill. Maybe it’s time Hamden brought Jonathan Dickerman’s long-ago dreams to fruition.

Tikkaway


Finally got a chance to try the fast casual Tikkaway in New Haven, which aims to do for Indian Food what Chipotle has done for Tex-Mex, and more. It's fresh, it's simple, and it's yummy.


I expect great things from this place - maybe it will franchise across the U.S. It has great design, easy use, and tasty food.


The Lazy Lobster


In the interest of our continuing quest for the best lobster roll in Connecticut, we visited The Lazy Lobster last week. It is located near the beach in Milford, though not on a 'dock' or anything. So, the site is not very picturesque. But what matters most is the food.


And the food was good. The lobster rolls are served in a piece of French bread, which Amy loved. The only disadvantage is that it doesn't allow for enough lobster per bread bite, if that makes sense. Amy thought it was the second best roll she's had in the state. I would rate it slightly lower, at third or fourth. But totally solid - not rubbery, fresh, and just enough butter. Delicious.


An added bonus is the Lazy Lobster's roasted onion (above), which is caramelized deliciousness. I recommend this place, especially for take out (it's small and hot in the summer), and for the owner's wonderfully pleasant but professional attitude.

The Mount Carmel Pass

Driving up Whitney Avenue between Hamden and Cheshire today, we take for granted the easy passage, and most of us probably have no idea that three hundred years ago it would have been impossible. When the early settlers of the New Haven Colony explored the area, they found huge rocky cliffs barring the way. The eastern slopes of York Hill and the head of Sleeping Giant met at the Mill River just where the small dam is today, allowing no one to pass except on foot.

Called “The Steps,” the rock formation was a formidable barrier, known only to hunters, shepherds, and the remaining Quinnipiac Indians. However, shortly after Joel Munson built his mill at the spot, he carved a daunting cart path over the rocks, allowing the slow passage of horses and eventually carts. Throughout the 1700s, occasional gunpowder explosives were used to improve and widen this path. Bellamy’s Tavern was built in 1743 to provide sustenance and lodging for the Cheshire merchants who now used the road to reach New Haven.
When the Farmington Canal was built in the 1820s, the rock needed to be blasted further, down to level ground in some places. Then, when the railroad came through two decades later, more rock was carved away. In the 20th century, the modernization of Whitney Avenue required more blasting, and more leveling, taking the still sizable hill on which sat Kimberly’s famous store stood and flattening it. All this took incredible efforts in the days before modern earth moving machines and nitroglycerine-based explosives.

Today, as the most modern construction finishes up at the intersection of West Woods, Mount Carmel, and Whitney Avenues, take a look around. Perhaps imagine yourself in a tunnel beneath the eastern arm of York Hill, because where the People’s Bank and Hair on Broadway are situated in space was deep underground until very recently. The difficult work done to widen the area and cut through the bedrock is only a fraction of the total done over the centuries.
Three hundred years ago, your car would have never made it, even with four wheel drive.

American Legion State Forest


Enjoyed a recent camp at the American Legion State Forest in Barkhamsted.


It was a pleasant night amidst the pines, with seven hours of good campfire time, slowly cooking potatoes, kielbasa, hot dogs, and marshmallows. Good friends Ryan, Jenifer, and Hawk of Healium Pittsburgh joined us. Too bad it's not Healium Connecticut...we could use their incredible brand of yoga here, and I know they'd love our state even more than they do already...


When Pigs Fly BBQ Cafe



Enjoyed a meal at the tiny and charming When Pigs Fly in Sharon, Connecticut recently. Solid pork shoulder sliders (below).



Their Shoepeg corn pudding (below) was a treat unusual in this part of the country (our corn pudding is significantly different.)



And the ribs (below) were good, as well, though perhaps not as 'fall-off-the-bone' as Uncle Willie's or a couple other Connecticut establishments.



I do have a question. I know 'southern bbq' is a marketing tool. But how many great bbq places does a state have to have before 'Connecticut bbq' is a viable name? Of course, in the case of When Pigs Fly they are also marketing themselves (via their web address) as 'Hudson Valley BBQ.' That's fine, too...but make a choice. You're a Connecticut bbq place that is both Hudson Valley bbq AND Southern bbq at the same time? Hmm...identity crisis?

Just Across the Pond

After parking at the University of Bridgeport where we teach, my wife Amy and I hoisted our light bookbags on eager shoulders and began to walk.  Striding up Lafayette Street, we passed the old Warner Brothers factory, manufacturer of corsets and baseballs. I told Amy the story of when the First Lady, Francis Cleveland, came to dedicate the Seaside Institute for single working women.  A short fifteen-minute walk later, we reached the ferry slip, sitting at a picnic table to await the “Grand Republic” ferry.  At last it slid into Bridgeport Harbor, down the channel dredged so many years before, a far-sighted move which increased the harbor’s importance tenfold and allowed huge ferries and ships to carry passengers like us.

 
On board Amy bought tickets and we sat by the window, remarking on the clarity of sky and sea.  It was the perfect day to take this fascinating transport, and for an overnight getaway across the Sound at the ancient seafaring village of Port Jefferson.  We had taken the ferry before to explore the vineyards of Long Island, but this time we were foot travelers only.  The ship pulled away, past the Buglight and Pleasure Beach. We sat port so that I could tell Amy about the events that had led to the amusement park’s decay. Emerald Seaside Park spread out to the west, and I stepped onto the deck to watch the city recede in our wake.

Soon the green shore of the Island approached.  Sailboats lazed in the calm sea and the arms of the small bay enfolded us into the marina.  After disembarking, Amy and I walked up Main Street, window-shopping.  We passed Barnum Avenue, named for the time Bridgeport’s entrepreneur bought land here across the pond.  We turned onto Liberty Avenue and found the Golden Pineapple Bed and Breakfast.  A charming Victorian house, packed with clocks and birdhouses, Chinese prints and 19th Century American paintings.   An enormous fish tank separated the living and breakfast rooms.  Trunks, curio cabinets, floral pillows, and plush chairs made us feel instantly relaxed.  



Jennifer, the hostess, greeted us and showed us our room with its king bed and antique furniture.  A spring breeze coasted through the windows, and far-off I heard the hoot of the ferry leaving the dock.  After a short rest in this marvelous room, we walked back downtown, taking East Main Street past the Free Library and a dozen charming shops.  Reaching Broadway, we turned left to the Fifth Season.  At this fine restaurant an artisanal cheese plate of Vermont cheddar, blue, and Camembert delightfully set off our red and white local Long Island wines.  The arctic char and halibut followed, framed on luscious beds of rice and couscous.  For dessert we tried the toasted almond crème brulee and a molten chocolate cake with hazelnut gelato.

The brisk May air echoed with laughter and conversation.  Some people walked the streets with ice cream cones, while others sat and chatted on comfortable benches.  As Amy and I wound up the long hill of Main Street again, I held her close and she remarked on the perfection of the evening.  I agreed.

After a long, comfortable sleep, we woke in time for breakfast on the porch of the Pineapple.  The host Tom served us a fresh fruit cup, coffee, tea, and French toast on multigrain bread.  We discussed his diesel engine, which he filled with vegetable oil to save money.  We left this oasis with regret and headed down the hill to shop.  At Tumi, the Peruvian store, we bought a handmade belt, and at Tabu we bought a Buddhist temple bell for our porch.  We stopped at the Pindar/Duck Walk tasting room and sampled some Sauvignon Blanc, Cabernet Franc, and lovely Meritage blends.

After noting the British telephone booths that the city had installed, we decided on lunch at the Tiger Lily Café.  Hot from the sun, we eagerly drank healthy fruit smoothies, munched on green salad, and ate a warm brie and pear Ciabatta sandwich.  It was nearly time for the ferry, and we took a quick look around at this charming seaside town, so close to Bridgeport.  We would be back for sure.

 
On the ferry back, Amy and I laid on the benches of the upper deck to drink in the sun.  As we slipped towards the breakwaters of Bridgeport Harbor, I could almost see the far-off statue of P.T. Barnum watching us.  Bridgeport was ahead, and home.