Well, this past weekend was a doozy. Sarah invited me to Salamanca, New York, to be her “Plus One” at her cousin Jennifer’s wedding. Sarah was the Maiden of Honor, in fact, at the nuptials of Jenn and Salamanca’s most eligible bachelor, Trevor, but I think I will save the actual events of the wedding for Part Two of this blog.
Because certainly, Salamanca had more to offer than simply a wedding. I was a guest for two nights in Saundra and Neilbert’s Autumn Chalet (as Neilbert calls it) — or, The Trailer (as Saundra prefers). Regardless of its designation, what it is, is a … what’s the correct name for it? It’s not a “trailer,” actually, in the sense of like, an Airstream that you could hitch to your truck. And if it’s a mobile home, it didn’t look very mobile — it looked to be permanently planted in fact, complete with a deck. It’s a foundationless house, that’s what it is, and it is bigger, square-footage wise, than the apartment I lived in for two years in Ypsilanti, Michigan, so. Saundra and Neilbert maintain their vacation abode for weekends away in the scenic ski country of southwestern New York, visiting with Neilbert’s large family. I was generously assigned the big guest room, and Saundra even set out some flannel sheets for me, remembering my unusual aversion to even slight chills.
Using the Trailer/Chalet as a base camp, I struck out with Sarah into the Greater Salamanca Metropolitan Area. It’s wee. The Seneca, a First Nation tribe, operate a brand-spankin’ new casino up there that looks a bit like a fancied-up Borg cube. So there are reservation lands and some tricky politics, but I didn’t get involved in any of that. On Friday night, following Jenn’s rehearsal and rehearsal dinner at Trevor’s restaurant, Myers, us three ladies drove through the dark to Ellicottville, a town designed to cater, I take it, to the ski clientele in particular. There’s a main street with several bars and bed & breakfasts.
We ended up at The Gin Mill, a tidy, bright little bar, where I got to experience a draft from the Ellicottville Brewing Company. Ordinarily, I am opposed to fruity beers — there’s no principle behind it, I just tend not to like them — but in the spirit of my rule to always try the local draft, I ordered the EBC Blueberry. It came with blueberries in it! They were added by the bartender, and they danced around in the carbonation — it was like magic! Also, contrary to my expectations, the beer itself was good — it tasted like an alcoholic blueberry muffin, a bit, and the sensation of drinking it with the dancing blueberries was akin to drinking bubble teas at Asian restaurants, which I have always found to be super fun.
Also, we met a gentleman from Pittsburgh, who had permanently relocated to Happy Valley, another local village. Apparently, there’s a secret, underground railroad between Salamanca, New York, and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, that no one’s ever told me about. I think Sarah’s family started it, and now it’s spreading. In any case, the guy was standard bar guy — there by himself, talking to the “single” ladies, though we did inform him of Jennifer’s pending marriage. What was great, though, was that he bought us a round — more blueberries! — and then left. We didn’t have to labor through the obligatory conversation with him, and we still got a free drink each. Sweet.
As Saturday was a big day, we headed home after we finished our free second round. Just as well, for all the goodness that was to come on Saturday morning. Because before we headed off to Jenn’s wedding, Sarah and Neilbert and I went to … Pumpkinville.
Pumpkinville had been advertised liberally on small, handmade wooden signs all around the Salamanca-Great Valley-Happy Valley-Ellicottville area. Nestled off some back road, Pumpkinville had plenty of what it was named for: a field of pumpkins, arrayed in the best country fall style, with the rolling hills of New York just beginning to turn red and orange and yellow in the background. I purchased three wee pumpkins for $1.50, on the grounds that you can’t go to Pumpkinville without bringing home pumpkins.
But pumpkins weren’t all Pumpkinville had to offer. For one, they had plenty of apples, and an apple cider press on the premises. For another, they had a tremendous amount of unhealth, which Sarah and I partook in liberally for lunch. In point of fact, the weekend in Salamanca was about the most Carbtastic weekend of my life: as one of only two vegetarians in the entire county (the other one was from out of town as well, in for the wedding), it was a project finding meatless food (Trevor generously made sure there was a cheese pizza at the rehearsal dinner on Friday night, to supplement the pepperoni pizza and wings that made the rest of the meal) and a project, in fact, even finding vegetables. Ah well, I guess vacations are for unhealth. I tried an Apple Cider Float, made with Pumpkin Ice Cream, which was, in fact, an awesome idea. For lunch proper I had French fries made for me — I think I was the first person to order any that day in Pumpkinville, because I got to watch them slice the potato and deep fry the resulting curly fries. Sarah and Neilbert enjoyed the local delicacy of Beef on Weck, which is roast beef on some special kind of bun, liberally accompanied by horseradish.
Oh, and Sarah and I split a pound and a half of fudge. Not all at once, mind you, we bought it and sampled it, and took the rest home. I’m here to say, 1) Pumpkin Spice Fudge tastes awesome, and, 2) I am glad I am not on a low-carb diet like Sarah was prior to (and after) this trip to Pumpkinville.
But Pumpkinville didn’t just have pumpkins and carbohydrates. It had much more. It had … baby goats! They were so cute! Oddly, they were trapped in a large, wooden construction, meant to resemble a mountain, I think (Mountain Goats — get it?), but in fact resembling poorly constructed scaffolding. Some baby goats were sort of wondering from platform to platform nervously.
Other baby goats were down on the ground, over by the fence, asking to be petted. Freaky thing, though: they’ve got long rather than round irises in their eyes, like cats … but sideways! Goats look like aliens. But totally cute aliens. I want a goat. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned before in this space my ambition to one day have City Chickens; the City of Pittsburgh allows you to keep up to three chickens (no roosters) in your backyard, for egg-laying purposes, and I fully plan, upon having a yard someday, to have two yard chickens. But what about a yard goat? I could milk it and make goat cheese! Ted is skeptical. In any case, I am convinced that regardless of what the song says, goats go to Heaven, too.
After we returned triumphantly from Pumpkinville, it was time to get ready for the wedding and the reception, the events of which will be recounted in a future blog. But the fun wasn’t over with the reception on Saturday night. For on Sunday morning, before heading home, Saundra and Neilbert generously treated me to breakfast at Eddy’s, a perfect little small town diner down the street from the Trailer/Chalet.
I love diners, and diner food, and this was perfectly in keeping with the unreconstructed lack of pretense that makes little diners great. We ordered our breakfasts at a window, and waited to be served basic egg fare. I ordered two eggs over easy with wheat toast and hashbrowns — the girl taking my order looked up at me with no little consternation and asked, “No meat?” perplexedly. No, no meat. By that time, I may have been the only vegetarian in Salamanca. Sarah and Saundra, low-carbing it, made up for my lack of meat orders, and we enjoyed out breakfasts heartily, including the self-serve coffee refills.
And with that, it was back to Pittsburgh, to resume our busy lives, while Jennifer and Trevor jetted off to Key West on their Honeymoon. More on Jenn and Trevor’s festivities in the next blog.