![]() ![]() We ate sliders and discovered local beer, some of it so cloudy I almost needed a spoon. Old folks ate burgers, drank beer and chatted. The place was as atmospheric as only a long-standing jazz club can be. The barman mentioned there was jazz at 6pm every second Tuesday in the Pressroom, a long-established music venue. We ate Happy Hour oysters at The Franklin. We reached Portsmouth and checked into the Hotel Thaxter, a remodelled period gem in the centre of town. It’s as traditional as apple pie, but it has to be said in recent years we are catching up here. Americans embrace Halloween with enthusiasm. Gigantic skeletons, witches, bats and pumpkins adorned every house. They make the most of their ghoulish reputation derived from the Salem witch trials in the 1690s. That and Freddie Kruger put me off horror for life. I only settled in when we drove through Salem, the town of my nightmares as a boy as a result of the movie Salem’s Lot. In truth, the first part of the journey was a chore, the usual suburban and sometimes stressful clog. We picked up the car (it’s important to note that most American rentals don’t have satnav so get your roaming package sorted, you will need it) and headed for route 1A, the scenic 158km stretch heading north to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. This in itself is a statement of the hotel’s ambition. Jodi Adams, the Doyenne of Boston’s dining scene, is due to open la Padrona, a luxe Italian restaurant, within its vertiginous walls in December. I had my first lobster roll in Raffles, which was ultra-memorable, warm and welcoming. Charmingly generous with his time, he set us on our way. Photograph: Paul FlynnĬhef Mendes met us for lunch back in the hotel before we picked up our car. I had my list of restaurants and at the top was Duckfat, a place that specialises in confit duck. Brimming with shimmering pastries, I really wanted to have the lamb hash with labneh and challah, but I was saving my appetite for later. We came upon a stupendous cafe halfway down the street. Picture framers, clothes menders, Mom and Pop hardware stores. It is full of charm and shops that rarely exist any more. On Beacon Hill, Charles Street runs parallel to the river. Revolutionary statues punctuated it reminding us of the struggle to birth this great nation. It somehow felt ancient, removed from the modern city. Boston Common was quiet, you could feel the history in the place. We landed in Boston, the gateway to New England and a second home for the Irish.Ī modicum of jet lag made us rise early so we hit the streets at dawn, marvelling at the grand Boston houses, imagining the generations that had lived there and how they went about their lives. Now, all these years later after a lifetime of work, we needed a new road trip to retrieve that youthful sparkle. We were young, unblemished, full of vigour and life. The last time my wife Máire and I had an American road trip was our honeymoon almost 30 years ago, from San Francisco up through Napa Valley to a very chilly Lake Tahoe. I was determined to get there at some point in my life. However, New England was mostly about those trees, golden, russet and orange covering the landscape in fall like a captivating quilt. Coastal towns where pleasure boats jostled for space among the trawlers that ploughed through moody seas for lobsters for my well-buttered rolls. Picture postcard villages, sedate and untroubled. Shingle homes, brilliantly white, nestling on manicured lawns, enveloped by grand old trees. ![]() It was in my subconscious ever before I went there. New England comprises six states – Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |