Ever since our first experiment with AirBnB (where we snagged a New York City...
Having learned our lesson from our stop in Ogunquit, we dutifully avoided the most popular spots in Acadia National Park on the first nice day of a holiday weekend, and headed for the less populated ‘back country’ instead. We spent our morning biking some of the park’s 45 miles of broken stone carriage roads, built by John Rockefeller Jr. in 1913 and maintained in fantastic condition by the parks department today. The trails wind past streams and ponds and cross over 17 unique stone bridges.
In the solitude of the back country (we only saw one other person on our travels) I thought how fortunate we are that someone had the wisdom and the resources to set aside such beautiful places for public use. John Rockefeller Jr. donated an astounding one third of Acadia’s 35,000 acres, including the most spectacular track between ‘Thunder Hole’ and ‘Otter Cliff.’ He just as easily could have developed these natural wonders for private use or turned them into commercial monstrosities like Ausable Chasm in NY. We owe him, and countless others, a debt of gratitude for keeping these places accessible, and mostly unspoiled.
One of the things that kind of sucked about our tour of the Ben & Jerry’s factory in Waterbury, VT, was mint chocolate chip ice cream. It was almost like they intended to taunt us by putting a display in the tasting room exalting their new flavors for 2010: Mud Pie, Dulce Delish, Boston Cream Pie. Do you think they served any of those? Nope. Mint chocolate chip. They have all of those great-sounding ice creams and, to reward the folks who made an effort to come to their factory, they dish up a mediocre flavor that everyone has had dozens of times before. Not a brilliant marketing move, to be sure. I doubt anyone rushed to the store to pick up a pint of mint chocolate chip after the tasting. We sure didn’t.
But when confronted with three of these new flavors in the freezer at Hannaford’s the other night, we forgot all about the transgression from a month earlier. Good ice cream trumps bad marketing every time. But maybe there is a method to their madness. Had we tried some of the flavors, we could have made an informed decision. But without any information we acted like the good little gluttons we are and bought a pint of each: Snickerdoodle Cookie, Dulce Delish, and Boston Cream Pie (image unavailable, heh, heh, heh). Well played, Ben & Jerry’s.
I don’t know about the other flavors yet, but I have to say they nailed Boston Cream Pie.
The tour itself was pleasant enough. It consisted of a short but entertaining film about the company’s history, a look at the ice cream making process, and the infamous tasting. The grounds include a cleverly conceived graveyard for flavors that have gone to the great beyond. Some flavors obviously died because they blew, but it was interesting to learn that some were simply taken out of circulation to make room for new flavors, while others contained specific ingredients that are no longer available. It is good to know that Ben & Jerry’s is willing to axe popular flavors rather than pollute them with substitute ingredients. Good for them. That commitment to quality is likely the reason Ben & Jerry’s factory is Vermont’s number one tourist attraction. But for me, better tastings can be found at the supermarket.
Hurricane Earl ended up being a bit of a hoax after all. We, of course, needlessly retreated to the safety of an EconoLodge in an effort to avoid the hurricane that wasn’t. But being stuck in a hotel room for a night wasn’t all bad. The downtime allowed Shannon to catch up on some projects and me to work on my chess game. Tabitha spent a productive evening curled up with her book, Jane’s Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World.
By noon the next day we were back in Bar Harbor; the heat lifted and the clouds parted. The forecast is for beautiful weather the rest of the week. Hoo-Ray!
Even if you don’t like beer, you owe it to yourself to try a Belgian brew (and if you do like beer, make it a double). The Belgians brew such fantastically flavorful and endlessly varied versions of the stuff that they really need a distinct classification to set them apart. Calling them ‘beers’ is just too limiting. But whatever you call them, Belgian beers are some of the best in the world.
What makes them so good is hard to say. It could be because they’ve been brewing beer seriously since the middle ages. But more likely it is because they’re not governed by some requirement or orthodox notion about what beer should be, they experiment with just about any combination. They add spices and sugars. They bottle them using the same methods applied to high end champagne and age them in oak like wine. If you can think of it, they’ve probably done it. After several hundred years of such experimentation, you’re bound to create something special. And they do.
So it was with great anticipation that we visited Allagash Brewing Company in Portland, ME. Allagash was one of the first artisan breweries to spring up in the 1990s that dedicated itself to the Belgian style of beer making. We had the opportunity to taste their original beer, Allagash White, a traditional Belgian wheat beer that is unfiltered and spiced with Curacao orange peels, and coriander. If that combination of spices makes you think we’re in an entirely different universe of brews, it’s because we are. But surprisingly, the spices are so well balanced and subtle that all you notice is that this golden hued beverage is deliciously different from what you normally get from similar looking beers. White is what we consider an everyday drinking beer; something refreshing on a hot afternoon or with a meal. It is a bit expensive to fill that purpose, but it would be nice to have a couple of bottles around for a change of pace every now and again.

Barrel aged beer! Curieux?
Then we moved on to tasting the Dubbel and the Triple, which are heavier, more flavorful, and sweeter beers. We think of these as “dessert brews,” to be savored slowly and deliberately for their own sake. The mahogany-colored Dubbel knocked our socks off with its rich malty flavor and hints of sweet chocolate. We picked up a couple of four packs and have been doling them out sparingly like fine truffles. The Triple was also excellent, with a fruit and honey flavor, but we were more intrigued by a beer we didn’t get to taste, Allagash’s Curieux.
The name, Curieux, means ‘curious’ in French, which couldn’t describe our reaction any better. To make Curieux, Allagash cellars their terrific Triple in oaken Jim Beam barrels for eight weeks, a process that has us ‘curious’ to say the least. We know what oak does to wine, softening Chardonnay and giving it a buttery vanilla flavor. But we’ve never experienced it in a beer before. We imagine the Triple picks up hints of vanilla and bourbon from the casks, but at this point, we can only imagine.
We were curious enough about this brew to snatch two 750ml (wine sized) bottles without ever sampling it. So far we’ve remained disciplined and haven’t yet gobbled them up. We don’t have a special occasion in mind to crack them open, but eventually our Curieux will get the better of us, no doubt.
During our travels in Maine, we’ve come across quite a number of signs like this one promising us a moose sighting. So far one has yet to cross our path.
By far, the best depiction of Maine’s state animal we’ve seen is this one:
This oh-so-relaxed moose made me wish I had planned a visit to Soakology, a spa and tea house, while we were in Portland. During our trek through the city’s Old Port Section on a culinary walking tour, we noticed that businesses seemed to go out of their way to draw the eyes of passers-by. Props to Portland for its creative and entertaining signage.