Something for the sweet tooth!

My pals and I were talking recently about candy cigarettes, more precisely about their disappearance.  (Remember as a kid balancing one of these sticks between your lips and trying to look like James Dean or Lauren Bacall?)  We decided that the intensive, years-campaign against tobacco cigarettes had pretty well made candy cigarettes a PC taboo.  Well, think again!

The other day I was buying my weekly stash of chocolate candy from The Chocolate Drop Candy Shoppe in downtown Belfast for our Inn guests – after all, if there is no chocolate on the pillow, you might as well be camping.  A young lad before me at the register was buying a small pile of sugary favorites, and lo and behold I spied a box of Kings candy cigarettes (to be sure, they are now called candy sticks, but what is in the name of a rose?).  Aghast, and amused, I bought a box and, indeed, inside were ten white candy sticks with a pink end.  Perusing the box, like I do everything I buy for the place of origin, I was aghast and only aghast to find “Made in the USA”.

For yummy chocolate truffles and other delights, a visit to this shop is a must – 60 Main Street, Belfast, ME.

Ciao, Diana

The White House Inn

When we moved to Belfast over a year ago , a good friend gave me a CD entitled, “The Best of Bert and I… Celebrating 50 Years of Stories from Down East” (2008).  This disc did not get played immediately.  However, on a recent return drive from a visit to Washington DC, I became very tired of The Eagles and Roy Orbison (well, except Pretty Woman) after about six hours.  Rummaging through the glove compartment, I rediscovered “Bert and I” and popped it in the player.  And what a hoot!

Robert Bryan and Marshall Dodge have been dishing out dead-pan Yankee humor since the late 1950s.   Here are a few lines from the skit, “At the Graveyard.”

Bert:  Sorry to hear that you’re burying your pa.

Digger:  Got to, he’s dead.

Bert: They say he was a self-made man.

Digger:  If he was, it sure relieves the All Mighty of considerable responsibility.

Bert: Isn’t that grave a little too shallow?

Digger:  Maybe, but he ain’t never gonna get out.

Bert:  How come this graveyard has no fence around it?

Digger: Why put a fence around when them inside can’t get out, and them outside aren’t in any hurry to get in.

Some of my other favorites are “The Pet Turkey”, “Directions” and “No News”  If you find that XM comedy is just not funny, buy this CD and give yourself a treat.

later, Diana

The White House Inn

When I was a little girl, my mother sometimes used the phrase, “His name is mud.”  Of course, I thought the person to which she was referring was dirty and icky and caked with that stuff of which swamps are made.  Later, I discovered, I was wrong.  The expression is, “His name is Mudd” with Mudd referring to that doctor who assisted the assassin of President Lincoln on his attempted escape, and meaning scurrilous, despicable, wicked.

Now, mud in Maine is with a small “m” and, indeed, means dirt mixed with water.  Mud season in Maine is March and April when all the ice and snow are melting and doing the woo-hoo dance with ground soil.  This is not the time and place to wear your Gucci heels.

Here is a word for you.  Tipicditocreps is a scientific term applied to a clay-type soil that is widespread in Maine.  Samantha Langley-Turnbaugh is a professor of Environmental Science and Policy at the University of Southern Maine. She says certain properties of the clay favor production of the mud, unlike other soil types.  ”You get mud when the water can’t infiltrate into the soil fast enough; if you have very sandy soil water can run off so you never have mud. You need water staying on the surface of the soil, if run-off is greater than infiltration, that’s when you get mud.”

Thus endth the lesson.

Diana

The White House Inn

I am constantly amazed what my liberal arts education (and lots of it) never taught me.  Case in point: maple syrup.  Growing up in a large family of five children, maple syrup came to us in a large glass container with the words Log Cabin or Aunt Jemima emblazoned across the top – it was dark, thick and sweet and tasted great on Bisquick pancakes.  To be honest, I continued this tradition with my own children.  Well, I have since learned that this goop was not maple syrup.

Maple syrup comes from maple trees, surprise, surprise, with the best variety being the sugar maple.  You bore a hole into the bark, and attach a tube into which flows the sap — this procedure is called tapping into the tree.  The speed of sap flow depends on the weather; if it’s too cold, nothing will flow.  Recently, in late February, a friend living in Searsport (the next town north of Belfast), tapped his sugar maples and the sap flowed – a good sign that spring is just about here.  Once you collect 40 gallons, you slow boil the sap until it reduces to one gallon (this is not a typo) and that is your maple syrup.  The first tappings of the season result in a light amber colored syrup; the later the tapping, the darker the finished product.   BTW, this ratio is why real maple syrup is relatively expensive: it takes a lot of sap to make a small amount. BTW2, real maple is loaded with zinc and manganese, two critical elements for your immune system.

If you stay with us here in Belfast, be certain you will be served real maple syrup with breakfast.  Alas, my sons are still demanding Aunt Jemima – I failed as a mother.

later, Diana

The White House Inn

Apparently, Maine was once a chicken mecca. Then a grizzly guy claimed that it takes a tough bird to make a tender chicken, and most of our feathered friends migrated south to Delaware and other places.  Well, that left all these empty chicken coops and cries that the sky is falling, the sky is falling.  Alas, Mainers are an inventive lot and  I have discovered how impressive this inventiveness is by the transformation of chicken coops.

Morphing #1.  My car is a 1990 Jaguar Vanden Plas – black, of course, and with a scant 90,000 miles.   When we lived in  Washington, I never drove the Jag beyond the beltway – after all, it could break down and I did not want to be too far from her mechanic – and of course driving in the snow was a huge no no.   When we moved to Belfast, I fretted over what to do with the Jag for eight months of the year when snow is a possibility.  Three miles from our Inn lives a delightful man who once raised chickens but now is retired; he rents out space in the his gigantic coop for winter storage for boats, special machinery and vintage cars like an old Jag.

Morphing #2. Halfway between Ellsworth and Bucksport on Route 1 sits the largest edifice of a chicken coop you have ever seen.  Not surprisingly it is called The Big Chicken Barn, but surprisingly it houses three floors of antiques and used books – a veritable bonanza for the bargain hunter and the deal finder.  Santiago and I went today, spent four hours and found some real deals — not that I needed these items but that’s not the point.

Later, Diana

The White House Inn

Several friends have remarked that any time I am cruising on Interstate 95 between New Hampshire and Maine, I should be sure to stop at this big wine store sitting right on the border – well, a few feet inside New Hampshire.  Turns out that New Hampshire has no tax on wine and liquor (how did that get overlooked in the constant search for government revenues?).  Well, I haven’t stopped yet — mostly I am trying to get home to Belfast and the only stop with enough “pull power” is a Starbucks.

And I reason, why stop at this mega-store when I can walk a few blocks from our Inn and enter the eclectic and fascinating world of the Belfast Co-op with its amazing collection of wines?  Ron, the wine steward, is a terrific guy – and he knows his stuff.  Recently, Ron introduced us to Dynamite, a vineyard from California, which produces incredible Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon; for the white winers, Dynamite has a wonderful Chardonnay.  Guests who stay with us rave about these wines, and more often then not make a stop at the Co-op.  Mega-store or Co-op?  Really no choice.

ciao, Diana

The White House Inn

Right after Christmas break, a couple of beautiful snow storms dumped incredible amounts of that white stuff all over Maine.   My sons are grown now (well, almost as number two is on the six-year plan for undergraduate work) but I can’t help feeling empathy for all those parents with school age children and no school in all this snow! I seem to recall in my earlier parenting days that January was the time for thinking about what to do with the children in summer, and camps were the answer.  And sleep-away camps were the best, excuse me, I meant to say “the bomb”.

Most states have summer camps but Maine is truly special — spectacular summer weather and a pristine, rugged outdoors.  Close to Belfast is The Maine Arts Camp in Unity, and Hidden Valley Camp in Freedom — how can you go wrong with camps located in Unity and Freedom?  BTW, both towns are near Liberty.  The secret is to drop the kids off and then go to “camp”  yourself along the mid-coast.  You get my drift, a little mini-vacation — and, remember, if there’s no chocolate on the pillow it’s really camping!

ciao, Diana

The White House Inn

The Camden Conference is just around the corner — 19-21 February.   But all the fun – and erudition – is not just in Camden; and, indeed, I have already spoken about the Three Cups of Tea event (see blog of 27 December).  On 20 January, right here in Belfast, the Library is hosting a discussion on President Obama’s decision to send more troops to Afghanistan. (Alas, we can re-direct our thoughts to something not related to health-care!!)  Professor Seth Singleton of the University of Maine, lecturer extraordinaire having spoken in more than 20 countries, will lead the discussion — the event is free and open to all, and begins at 6:30 pm.

And don’t forget the Energy Symposium being held at Belfast’s Hutchinson Center on 30 January.  Repose at our Inn where several of the speakers are staying.

Cheers, Diana

The White House Inn

It’s Wednesday night in Belfast — cheap movie night at the Colonial Theatre, our special art deco movie house located one block from Main Street and six blocks from our Inn.  For $4.50, one can see the latest outpouring from Hollywood et al.  This past Wednesday we saw Sherlock Holmes with Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law – it was many things: an entertaining movie, an action film, a Wednesday night diversion.  It was not the Sherlock Holmes of Arthur Conan Doyle.  (Okay, I waited through the credits to make sure Mr. Conan Doyle was mentioned as the creator of the character – which mercifully he was).  Those of you who read Conan Doyle will know whereof I speak — those who have not read his masterful works, go to the library post haste!  I was talking to my 22 year old son, liberally educated in the liberal arts, about this film – he thought Robert Louis Stevenson had written the Sherlock Holmes novels and short stories.   Well, Stevenson and Conan Doyle lived about the same time and both were Scottish, but all in all I want those megabucks in tuition back!

Side bar:  Coincidentally after seeing the movie, I came home to read the day old New York Times, finding a terrific article on Downey’s rendition of Holmes.

I am a member in absentia of a book club in Washington DC; when we moved to Maine I just could not let go of my girl friends and this club which has been ongoing for over 15 years.  (Also I am starting a club here in Belfast and I am a member of an internet group — something like, too many book clubs and too little time.)   The Washington club chose Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Relin for the December selection.  I moaned and groaned as my favorite genre is grand historical novels, and why did I want to slosh through 300 pages about building schools in today’s Pakistan?   But we have a rule, when the club assigns, you must read –  a broadening of horizons’ mantra type of thing.

Well, a few pages into this Three Cups of Tea and I was hooked – on the adventure story, on the history and geography of the area, and on the reality of altruism in the world.   I am happy to note that one of the community events organized by the 2010 Camden Conference is a discussion of this book led by Professor Paul Johnson; the event is scheduled for Tuesday, January 19, at the library in Damariscotta.

FYI:  For all of you book junkies, the book assigned for January by the DC club is Wolf Hall, a grand historical novel about Thomas Cromwell.  Despite the riveting opening chapter where young Thomas is getting the life almost beaten out of him by none other than his father, I am still reflecting on building schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan.

Happy New Year, Diana