I Love NY

Early last week, Diana and I hopped in the car and headed back to my home state on a quest.

My grandparents own a cabin up in the Catskill mountains. Every November, my grandfather spends hours on end in his acres of forest, hunting deer.  Every January, I load 10 friends into the back of the car and spend a few days playing board games, cooking, skiing and having a generally wonderful time.  Throughout the winter, various family members head up and spend the weekends on the slopes of nearby Windham and Hunter mountains. Last week, Diana and I went in search of food.

This cabin is in the middle nowhere.  No, let me correct that, it's at the top of mountain road, in the middle of a lot of trees.  Like, a TON of trees.  Do you remember trees?  I thought we had so many of them here in Hoboken.  Well, maybe we've got Manhattan beat, but oh my, I had forgotten what it was like to be in the country.  I like it.  A lot.  

What a glorious few days we had.  Just the air -- you could taste how fresh it was -- and the sight of all those trees put me in the loveliest state of mind. We had brought some farm share goods with us and made a delightful dinner of winter squash soup with gruyere croutons and filet mignon and mushrooms cooked in butter.  We hung out with my grandparents around the farmhouse table and tried my grandfather's daily health tonic, honey and vinegar in boiling water.  We spent a few hours lounging in the afternoon sun on the front porch.  We had a breakfast of irish bangers and eggs and my grandma's irish soda bread.  We spent an afternoon apple-picking (I love apple-picking!  I got to climb trees!  And ohh, the apple cider donuts!).  And then...then. Then we went for the real goods.

A little over a year ago, I read a book that changed the way I eat.  In that book I read all about raw milk and the good it can do for you.  Ever since, I've been desperate to try it, but it's not easy to get in these parts.  In New Jersey, it's illegal across the board.  In New York you can only buy it direct from the dairy farm that produces it.  Well, there aren't any dairy farms reachable via MTA transit, so it's remained a bit out of reach.  Until recently.  I knew there were farms near the cabin, and knew that there were plenty of dairy farms in upstate New York, and so I hoped that we'd be able to find one nearby that sold their milk, raw and unpasteurized, to lucky consumers like us.  We did our research and Diana found Hawthorne Valley Farm, which we knew from the Union Square Green Market.  There's far too much to say about raw milk to include it all here, so keep an eye out for upcoming posts.  But suffice it to say, it was well worth journey, and it's one I will make again.

And though I've made New Jersey my home for now, and like it quite a lot, New York has got a few things going for it.  I do love that state.