A Travellerspoint blog

Anguilla, Pt. 1: Like Peas In a Pod

If you have to undertake a recon mission, Anguilla is a pretty good place to do it.

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So when I finally convinced my sister and her husband to join us for their first-ever trip to Anguilla (after what we both agree was 20+ years of non-stop nagging), I knew a recon mission was in order. It had been 6 long months since our last visit, but it was only 6 short months until theirs. And so someone had to come down ahead of time to make sure the resorts were still open and the beaches were still there and the cheeseburgers still tasted the same . . . right???

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And as luck would have it, generous friends stepped in to make our unexpected trip less of a burden, offering up not just free places to stay, but places with warm hospitality and spectacular views and private swimming pools. And so Mission: Newbies was born.

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We made our way to the west end of the island, where a friend had invited us to stay at her beloved home, Octagon Villa, in her absence -- a bold move if ever there was one. I mean, knowing that I've walked into others' homes uninvited and critiqued their decor, what might I do with an actual invitation: Commandeer an entire bedroom just for my shoe collection? Bolt ironing boards to the floor in every room? Not just raid the fridge, but strap the thing to my back and carry it home?

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It turns out I did none of those things, but only because it took the entire duration of our stay for me to learn the layout of the house. That's because, true to its name, Octagon Villa is a gated compound of eight individual pods surrounding a large, private swimming pool, with each free-standing pod containing one room of the house.

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This unique layout is absolutely perfect for those travelling with kids or with another couple, since the amount of privacy is unsurpassed. It's also perfect for folks like me who love indoor-outdoor living, as even moving from the kitchen to the living room affords a quick trip outside. (And the walkways are covered, for folks like me who are allergic to rain.) If, however, also like me, you hear the phrase, "Your other left" with alarming frequency, it may take a little getting used to, as my days were spent something like this:

Me: Think I'll go to the kitchen for a diet Coke.
Me (opening door to Pod 1): Whoops. Living room.
Me (opening door to Pod 2): Shoot. Master bedroom.
Me (opening door to Pod 3 and giving the washing machine the side-eye): Dammit! You know, I'm not really thirsty after all.

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Angel, whose sense of direction is superb, of course had a field day with this, calling out "In the bedroom!" every time I yelled for him, then giggling as I made my rounds of every room in the house before finally finding (and vowing to strangle) him.

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Having settled in after an early-morning arrival, we set off for the one thing I actually can find: Ferryboat Inn.

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There, we planned to meet up with Rob and Julie, who had become fast friends after they spent nearly a week helping us look for my ring on our last trip; now, they'd agreed to spend an afternoon admiring my new bling and watching me gobble down cheeseburgers. Gluttons for punishment, I tell you.

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They even played hide-and-seek with us.

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By the time lunch was over, I was a little tipsy, a lot stuffed, and my face hurt from laughing so hard, so we decided to spend the balance of the afternoon doing nothing more than hanging around the villa. There, we discovered a bunch of other features to love, including a pool so private you could go au naturel in it (not that I would do such a thing -- ahem), a panoramic view of Shoal Bay West from the roof deck, and one of the lushest gardens I've ever seen in Anguilla.

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It even had a chicken. In a tree.

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I know it's hard to top a chicken in a tree, but Octagon also has three ginormous bedrooms, each of which is roughly the size of an airplane hangar.

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Indeed, the rooms were so large and comfortable that eventually I gave up trying to find the other pods, since each bedroom already had everything I needed: A huge attached bathroom, a flat-screen TV, and a color-coordinated mini fridge and coffee maker.

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In fact, Octagon is stocked as though the Zombie Apocalypse -- or my Boy Scout husband -- is coming any minute: Virtually everything in the house comes in triplicate, quadruplicate, and more, from coolers to candles, blenders to bottled water, dinnerware to dry goods . . . you could be happily holed up here for years and never run out of anything.

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But the outside world beckoned, and so we set off for a late afternoon visit to the Dune Preserve.

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Dune Preserve reminds me of the tree houses and pirate ships we used to play on as kids, with the welcome addition of alcohol.

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Before we knew it, we were enjoying a spectacular sunset at Rendezvous.

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The day had gotten away from us, so we raced back to the villa for a quick change of clothes, then set off for dinner at E's Oven.

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Back at Octagon, we took a quick dip in the pool, then headed off to bed.

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And it only took me two tries to find my bedroom.

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CLICK HERE to read Part 2!

Posted by TraceyG 05:44 Archived in Anguilla Tagged ferryboat_inn e's_oven octagon dune_preserve Comments (8)

Anguilla, Pt. 2: A Fashion Emergency

We decided to spend the next day at Ocean Echo.

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The day was windy and the waves were bigger than we are used to, but it was too cold for these big babies anyway (March . . . brr!), so we spent most of the day occupying ourselves with other pursuits.

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This poor guy. He never knew how close I came to grabbing that pizza and making a run for it.

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That evening our friends Diana and Carl had invited us over for cocktails and snacks at their place on Barnes Bay.

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Diana is always impeccably dressed like a chic Parisian woman and Carl looks roughly 20 years younger than his actual age, but for some reason we really like them anyway.

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In addition, they were fabulous hosts, even kindly arranging to cap off our visit with this spectacular sunset.

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We had already made separate dinner plans, so Angel and I headed over to nearby Picante to get our faces melted off.

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We tried a few new things on this trip -- Theron's spicy chili, the grilled chipotle prawn burrito, a basil mojito -- as well as Old Faithful, the seafood enchiladas.

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The next morning, a disaster of unprecedented proportions befell us: Due to a fender-bender near Four Seasons, the power went out.

No power meant no iron, and no iron meant that I had to scare up an outfit that didn't look like it had been balled up and shoved into the bottom of a hamper (or, you know, into a suitcase too small by half). By some miracle I'd hung up the dress I'd worn to Ferryboat, and so I suffered through the ultimate indignity -- not only did I have to be seen in public in a dress that hadn't been freshly ironed, but I had to be seen in public in a dress I'd just worn two days earlier.

Decked out in my vêtements vulgaires, we headed over to Cap Juluca, where I hoped that my messy bun and artfully rumpled dress gave off an air of "too rich to care," rather than "I just showered in a swimming pool and am wearing yesterday's clothes . . . again."

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Oh, did I not mention that no power also meant no water pump for showers? Thank heavens for that very private swimming pool.

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Luckily most folks at Cap are too busy looking at the stunning beach and stylish renovation to notice a fashion faux pas.

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Or they just dismissed me as some weird picture-taking blogger . . .

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Or that nitwit who went for a swim in the decorative pool. Whichever.

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Renovated Cap has several new restaurants, including an updated Pimms, a poolside cafe, the casual, waterfront Cip's, and the Cap Shack beach bar.

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Eventually we headed back to the villa to see if the power had been restored, and sweet baby Jesus, I was saved! I happily headed out to lunch in a clean, freshly-ironed dress.

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Clad, at long last, in clean pressed clothes, we made the short trip across the salt pond for lunch at a longtime favorite, Tratttoria Tramonto.

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At our usual corner table, we tucked into penne with basil pesto; a wild boar prosciutto panini with parmigiano, arugula, and white truffle oil; and the most gorgeous tomatoes I think I've ever seen (or tasted).

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After lunch, we alternated among reading, napping, swimming, and sipping.

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And, you know, ironing everything left in my suitcase . . . just in case.

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CLICK HERE to read Part 3!

Posted by TraceyG 06:15 Archived in Anguilla Tagged anguilla picante cap_juluca ocean_echo trattoria_tramonto Comments (7)

Anguilla, Pt. 3: Duck, Duck, Truce

That evening, it was time to clean up for happy hour with friends at the new Quintessence.

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Q is lovely, with a private, tropical mansion feel and stunning artwork at every turn.

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Indeed, Q's web site states, "Built stone by stone over a 10-year period, this fortress includes priceless Haitian art and antiques, all selected by famed owner Geoffrey Fieger." One can only hope to be so rich as to need to build a fortress, er, resort to house one's priceless art collection.

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But all of that paled in comparison to the FREE MEATBALLS at happy hour, which gives FREE BACON happy hour a run for its money.

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With meatballs on the brain, there was only one place to go for dinner: Dolce Vita.

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We decided on our "usuals" -- the spicy seafood pasta and the pillowy gnocchi -- but when the dishes arrived, I was disappointed to see that they looked a bit smaller than usual.

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That's because, unbeknownst to me, Abbi had planned a veritable feast for us . . . and the pasta dishes were just the appetizer.

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That's right, an entire duck. Roasted to crispy-skinned perfection and served with an a l'orange sauce prepared tableside that was so good I was tempted to chug it right out of the gravy boat.

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We tried to finish two bowls of pasta and an entire duck and the tiramisu, but even I knew when it was finally time to surrender. And so a smiling JoJo enjoyed the leftovers.

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Also smiling? This handsome little guy at the next table, Luciano, who charmed all of us with those big eyes and sweet smile.

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The next morning was moving day (or, more accurately after our indulgences at Dolce Vita, moving slowly day). We took in a final sunrise before departing Octagon.

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We were eastbound for Periwinkle Villa by the Sea, a lovely villa tucked away in Island Harbour. Because the friends who own this villa are sweet and charming and generous, I think the less I say about them the better, lest they discover that way lower-maintenance and less-gluttonous guests than the likes of me and Angel would also love to arrive on island to views like these . . .

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. . . and to homemade biscotti on their pillow.

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Periwinkle is cleverly designed with three levels, each of which houses, well, an entire house. We stayed on the middle level, which kept us close to our hosts but also afforded each couple plenty of privacy.

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We enjoyed a gorgeous sunset together before setting off for dinner.

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Have you eaten at Ben's yet? If not, then not only are you missing out on the island's best pizza, but you're also missing the chance to completely carb out by adding a side of cheesy au gratin potatoes.

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Plus there's the fun you'll have trying to wrap your head around the fact that Ben's food rivals that found in any Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris . . . but in a no-walls shack with an outhouse.

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After dinner we popped over to Lime Keel for a nightcap.

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Lime Keel may be tiny, but with a whopping four shots of rum per glass, their drinks are not.

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Maybe they should have named this place Lime Keel Over?

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CLICK HERE to read Part 4!

Posted by TraceyG 06:05 Archived in Anguilla Tagged dolce_vita bens_pitstop lime_keel quintessence Comments (8)

Anguilla Pt. 4: Let's Flamingle

We awoke the next morning at Periwinkle to the sound of the sea.

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It didn't take long to settle into a routine: Angel would join our hosts upstairs for coffee and that heavenly biscotti, while I was left to get ready in peace with my own walk-in closet and ironing board and full-length mirror, the latter two having been procured just for me. I told you our hosts were sweet and charming and generous.

Once Angel had eaten his own body weight in biscotti, we set off for Elodia's to enjoy the day.

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At lunch, we were joined by this sweet boy, who clearly wasn't trying at all to make us buy him a steak.

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Despite those puppy-dog eyes, I didn't buy him a steak. Though I did make him up a little doggie bag. Heh-heh.

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That evening we had plans to meet up with our local friend Catherine, along with another local, Jacqueline, who knows me from this blog, as well as Jacqueline's sister Patricia, who was visiting from the States. Having never met Jacqueline or Patricia, I chose the outdoor lounge at Zemi, thinking that if my bubbly personality was not enough to entertain them, some actual bubbly might be.

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Catherine was the first to arrive, giving us a chance to talk real estate -- she manages the excellent Anguilla Villa Company -- before the others showed up.

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Catherine, Jacqueline, and myself share a love of all things flamingo, and the two generously gifted me with flamingo-themed bags AND let me borrow these fabulous flamingo sunglasses, which I am STILL kicking myself for not pilfering -- especially since they would have so easily fit into one of my new bags.

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Eventually, though, we got the gong, and it was time to go.

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We were already on the east end, so we took advantage by having dinner at Artisan Pizza Napoletana.

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Baked to perfection in Artisan's authentic Neapolitan oven, the pizzas were light and chewy and delicious.

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But the highlight of our meal was the fabulous gelato, in mouthwatering flavors like Parmesan, Snickers and cream, and my personal favorite, charcoal coconut, which was like a nutty toasted marshmallow.

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The next day we hung around the house for a bit before heading over to Mead's Bay, stopping to make some friends along the way.

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We decided on lunch at Ocean Echo, which I love as much for its stellar location as its willingness to make me a bowl of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

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We stopped at Pam's for a rum punch on the way home, where we realized that this is probably where Lime Keel got the idea to make a rum punch that is 80% rum and 100% punch.

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That evening we had plans to meet up with an old friend, Paula, who'd brought a bunch of newbies along for a girls trip. We kicked things off with cocktails and cats at CuisinArt.

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We've always loved CuisinArt for its stylish blue and white decor with those bright pops of yellow, so the renovation was a huge disappointment -- the dark jewel tones are out of place in a tropical climate, and the cheesy colored lights would be out of place anywhere.

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It turns out both Paula and I had planned to have dinner at FBI that night -- meat-obsessed minds think alike -- and so it made sense for all of us to dine together.

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The next day we took a leisurely drive through Island Harbour and the Valley on our way to the west end.

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We were headed back to Trattoria Tramonto for lunch, but (gasp!) not for pasta. Or, rather, not just pasta.

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We arrived a little early, so we enjoyed a rum punch on the beach before lunch.

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We'd returned to Tramonto to try the famous burger, generously topped with a big, beautiful blob of mozzarella and parmesan cheese, and it certainly didn't disappoint.

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That evening we had dinner plans with friends Hal and Donna at Veya.

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As always, the food was incredible, particularly the butter-poached lobster with spinach risotto and crispy parsnips, which is possibly the only dish you'll ever order where the vegetables can compete with a lobster.

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Stuffed as we were, we somehow made room for dessert -- a buttery bananas Foster that Donna whipped up in about 10 minutes flat, filling the house with the smell of vanilla and flambéed rum and caramelized bananas, and filling our bellies with a little spoonful of heaven.

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The next day, another treat: Two of the island's best rum punches for the road.

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Or, you know, the water. Blue, blue water.

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Where to next? Roughing it in the bush in South Africa (sans ironing board!); celebrating a birthday in Brooklyn with my sissy (at a food festival -- where else!?); running down an off-the-menu cast iron butter burger in the Hudson Valley; and a return trip to Anguilla, this time with newbies in tow. Subscribe here and you'll be notified when a new post goes up!

Just want to know what we're eating and drinking in the meantime? Follow this blog on Instagram here: @escape.from.new.york

Posted by TraceyG 06:09 Archived in Anguilla Tagged cuisinart artisan elodias ocean_echo Comments (4)

Dad-Daughter Derring-Do in Dublin, Part 1

Never promise to go on a trip after an afternoon of drinking margaritas.

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Or, just eight months later, you might find yourself -- as I did -- careering around an ancient city with 4-foot-wide cobblestone streets in a 6-foot-wide car with a 72-year-old man wearing a hearing aid and yelling at the top of his lungs, "Beep! BEEP! BEEEEEPPPPPPP!!!!" as a polite way to let you know that you just took out yet another road sign / mailbox / bicyclist with your Zippy Starfire, as he charmingly refers to the Opel Zafira you rented.

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Of course, it's a miracle that Dad even made it to Ireland. I'd booked him a flight from Pittsburgh to New York, where we planned to meet up at the airport and then travel together (on a different airline) to Dublin. When travel day arrived, it was a gorgeous April afternoon, and the sky was a vivid shade of blue, which I remember very clearly because I'd looked up to it and wailed, "Why, God, WHY???" when his flight out of Pittsburgh was abruptly cancelled due to high winds -- forcing him to lose a day of his vacation and forcing me to set off for Dublin without him, but not before re-booking him on the next available flight . . . for the bargain price of ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.

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[Side note: He's offered countless times to pay me back. Naturally I've refused, not because I don't need the money, but because if he pays me back, then I cannot bring up that ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS every. single. time. I speak to him for the rest of my natural life or until I pay off the credit card, whichever comes first.]

Anyway. I arrived in Dublin, picked up my not-so-little red Zippy, and set off for the apartment I'd rented in trendy Temple Bar. I've driven on the left countless times in the Caribbean, but this was my first attempt at driving on the left with the steering wheel on the right. It was also my first time trying to navigate a tangle of tiny, one-way streets -- not a single one of which has a street sign larger than 12-point type, all conveniently placed on the sides of buildings roughly three stories up -- using a GPS that gave all directions in meters and had a severe case of Tourette's: "Turn left on--- Turn right on Fishamble--- turn left on Fish--- turn left--- right! left!--- Turn left on Whitefriar--- Make a u-turn--- Fishamb--- Turn--- Turn right on Whitefr--- Golden--- left on Whitefri-- U-tur---Goldfriar--" All while the map spun wildly in circles and while I was on the phone with the owner of the apartment, who was trying to guide me as I helpfully hollered into the phone, "I'm near a pub! No, a church! And now another church! And now a pub!" Eventually I'd spent so much time driving around in circles that things actually started to look familiar but, unfortunately, none of those now-familiar sights was the apartment I was searching for. Finally, defeated and near tears, I found not the apartment, but the owner of the apartment, Ruth, standing on the sidewalk (near both a church and a pub, I might add), and begged her to slide into the driver's seat.

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Do you know what happens when someone who's never driven an automatic in her life tries to drive one? Pretty much the same thing as when someone who's never driven a stick-shift before attempts to do so, only instead of a burned-out clutch, you end up with a burned-out brake pedal . . . and whiplash. For her part, Ruth just kept mumbling over and over, "There's wine at the house. There's wine at the house. There's wine at the house."

Finally, incredibly, we made it to the apartment in Adelaide Square, just steps from St. Patrick's Cathedral and St. Stephen's Green. I'd chosen the apartment because it had an attached garage for the car, so we could tour the countryside the during the day, as well as a central location so we could easily walk to dinner in the evenings after a long day of sightseeing.

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By now I'd been travelling since the night before, so at long last I kicked off my shoes and sank into the comfy couch. After checking in with family and friends, I noted that the weather had deteriorated, culminating in an afternoon to match my mood.

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Still, I needed to explore the neighborhood to get my bearings and, more importantly, I needed a stiff drink and a warm meal. The Swan was just a block away, and because the happy hour rush hadn't started yet, I had my choice of seats and was welcomed like an old friend.

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An authentic Victorian pub that is descended from a medieval inn, there has been a continuous license on or close to the site of The Swan since 1661, when Sir Francis Aungier developed what was then Dublin’s widest street. (And still not wide enough to accommodate a car.)

There, I discovered my new favorite sandwich, the Irish toastie, which is a grilled ham and cheese sandwich featuring four of Ireland's most famous ingredients -- Irish bread, Kerrygold butter, cheddar cheese, and traditional Irish ham -- all toasted to gooey perfection and usually served as a mid-day or late-night snack. That's right, a full-sized grilled ham and cheese sandwich as a snack. I knew I was going to like this country.

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I also discovered that the Irish really know how to mix a drink . . . because they let you do it. Order, say, a gin & tonic or a Jack & Ginger, and you're served a glass of the spirit along with a small bottle of the mixer, so that you can mix the drink to your desired strength. As someone who routinely finds her drinks either too weak or nostril-searingly strong, this simple, practical way of serving cocktails allowed me to tailor my juniper berry-studded G&T to perfection.

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The next morning it was time to return to the airport to pick up Dad. Unfortunately, however, after the harrowing drive from the airport into Dublin the day before, I never wanted to get behind the wheel again. I seriously contemplated paying a stranger to return the car (and me) to the airport, thinking Dad and I would just Uber back to the apartment (and, presumably, everywhere else we wanted to go). But if I am a bad European driver, I am an even more stubborn one, and so I steeled my nerves and set off for the airport, giving myself 1.5 hours for a 30-minute drive to allow for becoming hopelessly lost due to my stuttering GPS and the non-existence of legible street signs.

I used all 90 minutes.

Still, I arrived at the airport with all four limbs and all four tires, and I was still busy patting myself on the back when I realized I'd driven around the parking garage at least three times and still hadn't found a spot that I could maneuver the car into. I'd chosen the Zippy because it was a midsize four-door (better in the case of an accident, I figured), but the parking spots in Ireland seem to have been designed to accommodate three-quarters of the average-sized car, minus the side mirrors and assuming that you don't plan to actually exit the vehicle. Lest you think I'm just not great at parking, allow me to present Exhibit A:

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After numerous unsuccessful attempts to maneuver into a spot, and even more unsuccessful attempts to find two empty side-by-side spots to make things easier, I'd finally rolled down my window to ask a stranger if he could park my car for me when I spotted it -- a spot roughly as wide as a doorway, wedged between a pole and a car . . . but a small car. I approached the spot, jumped out to tuck in both side mirrors, jumped back in, closed my eyes, and hoped for the best.

Success!

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Pickup complete, Dad and I returned to the apartment mostly without incident (if you call one grazed curb, three wrong turns, and six bellows of "BEEEPPPPP!!!" to be "without incident"), where we realized that the spot I was assigned in the apartment's parking garage wasn't sized for an actual car, either. Herewith, Exhibit B:

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Happier to have my feet on solid ground than Sandra Bullock at the end of "Gravity," we then set off -- on foot -- for lunch at the famous Temple Bar.

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The place was mobbed -- as touristy spots always are -- but we managed to snag a cozy corner table and order up a Guinness and a whiskey sour, the latter being a surprising rarity in a country known for its whiskey.

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I also introduced Dad to the joys of the Irish toastie.

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We poked around Temple Bar for a bit after lunch, stopping to buy all things leprechaun and shamrock as we went.

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Later, we found ourselves back at The Swan, where I introduced Dad to my bartender friend and we toasted to our first day in Dublin.

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That evening, I'd planned for us to have a Dad-Daughter Burger Night at Bunsen, a cute spot in our neighborhood known for serving burgers, fries, and nothing else. Not only was Dad wholeheartedly on board, but he actually thought Dad-Daughter Burger Night was a real thing (rather than something I'd completely made up as an excuse to go eat burgers), which proves that the apple indeed does not fall far from the tree.

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And if I'd ever wondered if maybe I was actually adopted, that suspicion was dispelled when we both bit into our burgers and four eyes simultaneously rolled back into our heads.

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The next day, it was time to get into that blasted Zippy Starfire again. And it wasn't an easy process -- I'd get in the car while Dad waited outside (we couldn't open his door due to there being .25 inches between car and concrete wall), then we'd pop out the side mirrors, buckle ourselves in, don our helmets, and program the stuttering, spinning GPS, fingers and toes crossed for luck. (Next time, I'll rent a car with a sunroof for easy access in and out.)

I'd planned a day trip to Howth, a bustling fishing village on the Howth Peninsula east of central Dublin, where I'd booked an elegant waterfront lunch at Aqua, followed by a visit to the nearby Cliff Walk.

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Dad had been having trouble walking for most of our trip -- a hip replacement and a heart valve stent will do that to you -- but as we approached the scenic Cliff Walk, the man took off running like there was a cheeseburger at the end of the rainbow.

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It was a pretty arduous climb, but the views were well worth it.

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We'd spent hours taking photos on the Cliff Walk, and by the time we returned to the car, my phone was nearly dead. Unable to get back to Dublin without Google Maps, we headed into Howth to find a pub with an iPhone charger. That required pulling into a bike-sized spot in the nearby parking lot , which resulted in the unfortunate loss of yet another piece of the Zippy.

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(Apparently it's called a lower deflector, which is very misleading since it did absolutely nothing to deflect that curb I hit.)

Finally, iPhone fully charged, lower "deflector" ensconsed in the back seat for (hopeful) later reattachment, and safely back in Dublin, we headed out for pre-dinner drinks at the oldest pub in Dublin, the Brazen Head.

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The Brazen Head dates back to 1198(!), when it served as a hostelry. An advertisement from the 1750’s reads, “Christopher Quinn of The Brazen Head in Bridge Street has fitted said house with neat accommodations and commodious cellars for said business.” Today, the owners have fitted said pub with neat whiskey and commodious amounts of Guinness.

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As usual, Dad was a bit standoffish.

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The weather had been steadily improving since my soggy solo arrival, and it was a beautiful night for a walk. We headed over to Al Vesuvio, a cozy Italian spot tucked away in an 18th-century vaulted stone wine cellar.

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If the obsession with cheeseburgers wasn't enough of a giveaway, the fact that neither of us could go more than two days without some red sauce further cemented the fact that I am indeed my father's daughter.

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In more ways than one.

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CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!

Posted by TraceyG 05:23 Archived in Ireland Tagged dublin howth temple_bar brazen_head the_swan adelaide_square cliff_walk aqua_bistro Comments (7)

Dad-Daughter Derring-Do in Dublin, Part 2

The next day we awoke early for a visit to Trinity College. I wanted to see the famous Long Room in the Old Library, Dad wanted to see the Book of Kells, and both of us wanted to put off getting into the Zippy for as long as humanly possible. Naturally, we walked there.

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Officially the College of the Holy and Undivided Trinity of Queen Elizabeth, Trinity was founded in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I. Its library is a legal deposit library, meaning that it is legally entitled to a copy of every book published in Great Britain and Ireland. As a result, the library receives over 100,000 new items a year and contains about five million books, making it the largest research library in Ireland. It's also absolutely gorgeous.

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Prior to visiting the library, I'd surprised Dad with tickets to the Book of Kells, a 9th century manuscript that documents the four Gospels of the life of Jesus Christ. The illuminated manuscripts are made of calf vellum (some still with calf hair attached!), while the ink came from sources like shellfish, copper, elderberries, lead, arsenic, and soot from burned bones.

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Eventually, we could no longer postpone the inevitable, and it was time to take our lives into our own hands again with another road trip, this one to the picturesque maritime village of Malahide.

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I should pause here to note that parking the Zippy was the least of my problems. Far more alarming was the fact that, thanks to the "misplaced" steering wheel on the right-hand side, I could not seem to center the car within my lane to save my life (quite literally). I was either veering into oncoming traffic, or hugging the left-hand curb so tightly that by the time we set off for Malahide, I'd already dented the side mirror in Dublin, dislodged that rubber thing off the front in Howth, and lost a hubcap (incident location unknown). But off we went . . . because castles.

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We decided on a tour of Malahide Castle, which dates back to 1185. That's when the lands of Malahide and its harbor were presented to Richard Talbot for his loyal service as a Knight to Henry the Second of England. (All I got for my loyal service this year was a fleece emblazoned with the name of my firm.)

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Incredibly, the Talbots lived at Malahide Castle until the early 1970s, when the final Baron de Malahide, Lord Milo Talbot, died in 1973. His sister Rose inherited the estate and subsequently sold it to the Irish State in 1975, thus ending an 800-year stretch. Ugh, Rose, you ninny.

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During the tour, we learned that this hideous orange paint was quite the status symbol in the 1100s, because it had to be imported from Asia. Rich folks, they never change.

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I'd seen about as much flaming orange paint and frilly bedding as I could stand, and so I announced by royal decree that it was herewith time for our mid-day repast. We set off for the village for lunch at a charming pub called The Greedy Goose.

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We settled in at a cozy table with a view of the harbor.

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The Greedy Goose turned out to be my favorite restaurant of the trip because, for a set price, you could choose either three or four items -- appetizers, entrees, desserts, you name it -- from the entire menu. Naturally Dad and I ordered an app and two entrees each, all of which were excellent, with a special shout-out for the warm honey-and-truffle goat cheese bake topped with crushed hazelnuts, which we nearly came to blows over.

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After lunch we returned to Malahide Castle, this time to explore the extensive gardens.

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After another hair-raising ride back to Dublin, it was time for a drink. In fact, it was time for two.

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We chose the stylish Lucky Duck in honor of making it back from Malahide in one piece.

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(No, that's not a glass of white wine with an ice cube in it; it's the Lucky Duck's Milk Punch #43, made with Venezuelan Pampero rum, agricole, green tea, hemp, and clarified milk.)

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One of my favorite things about Ireland were the little green exit signs, which automatically assume the worst by indicating that you won't just be exiting, but actually making a run for it.

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That evening we had reservations at Tomahawk, a spur-of-the-moment decision made when we'd both spied their wood-burning grill at the exact same time.

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Tomahawk serves its steaks with a selection of sauces, including Jameson peppercorn, chimichurri, and juniper and rosemary butter, all of which Dad turned his nose up at, insisting that dousing his steak in sauce would ruin it.

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Mine arrived with the wrong sauce -- chimichurri instead of peppercorn -- and when I alerted the waitress, Dad took the opportunity to point out that his arrived with a sauce even though he hadn't ordered one. And so I was particularly tickled when she responded, "Oh, this is the sauce we give the people who don't like sauce" . . . and then Dad proceeded to dunk his entire steak in it.

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The next day was departure day, but we had to make a very important stop first.

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Knowing that the car rental company would charge me a hundred Euro or more for what is likely a $10 piece of rubber, Dad suggested that we take the lower deflector to a local garage to have it reattached. Explaining that it just needed to stay on long enough to make it to the airport car rental return, the lovely guys at First Stop took pity on me and glued? duct-taped? stapled? it back on, all for the bargain price of 20 Euro.

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Soon we were on our way back home, but not without a stop in Iceland first.

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Our layover was too short to leave the airport and go sightseeing, but too long to just sit at the gate, so Dad suggested that we spend it here.

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Like father, like daughter indeed.

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Where to next? Roughing it in the bush in South Africa (sans ironing board!); celebrating a birthday in Brooklyn with my sissy (at a food festival -- where else!?); running down an off-the-menu cast iron butter burger in the Hudson Valley; and getting by with some help from my friends in Anguilla. Subscribe here and you'll be notified when a new post goes up!

Posted by TraceyG 05:22 Archived in Ireland Tagged dublin iceland trinity book_of_kells malahide malahide_castle greedy_goose lucky_duck tomahawk loskins Comments (7)

Phoning It In From Delray Beach

Over the years, I have come to make peace with the six-month-long season known as winter. November, I can do: There's a more-gigantic-than-usual meal to look forward to, and Angel usually ends up on TV.

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December, I love: Christmas in New York is like nothing else, sparkly and glittery and replete with cozy pop-up ski chalets and boozy rooftop igloos.

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And some other seasonal diversions, too.

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January, February, and even March, I can manage; it's time to hunker down and get hygge, particuarly around VD.

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It might also be time to load up on comfort food, which is why I'm glad I have a Valentine who's legally bound to stick around.

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And then . . . there's April. April is the segue into summer. April is the start of day drinking on sidewalk patios and al fresco dining in ivy-covered gardens. In April, we fling open the doors of our summer cottage, ready for a succession of sunny weekends in the Hamptons. But just when you think it's time to swap out your boots for flip-flops and pour yourself a crisp glass of rosé, winter sometimes comes roaring back with a vengeance, and the only way to save your sanity is to relocate it to points south.

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We'd timed it perfectly: As an April snowstorm approached, we jumped on a plane for a four-night getaway that didn't involve weeks of planning or tons of camera equipment or lots of shoes.

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Well, two out of three, anyway.

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As we've done on prior trips, we booked an oceanview suite at the Delray Beach Marriott, a comfortable hotel that we like for its large pool, loungers on the beach, and easy walks to Delray's beachfront promenade and bustling downtown.

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Oh, and a giant-sized cornhole game played with throw pillows that -- coincidentally for once -- perfectly matched Angel's trunks.

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Having arrived too early to check in, we ordered up two grilled fish sammies on luau bread at the better-than-it-needs-to-be poolside restaurant for lunch, then got down to the serious business of lounging around at the pool.

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Freed from the tyranny of lugging around my heavy Nikon, we took a leisurely stroll around town before dinner.

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As usual, the weather in Delray was spectacular -- warm, sunny, and just humid enough to remind you that you're in Florida without requiring your hair to get its own zip code.

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That evening we had reservations at one of my favorite spots in Delray, Vic & Angelo's.

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Do you see that crazed look in my eyes? That's because I'm about to demolish a veal parm the size of a saucer sled.

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Vic & Angelo's is known for its stylish digs and see-and-be-seen crowd, but I don't care who sees me scarfing down that veal.

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Not quite ready to call it a night, we popped in to Sandbar for mojitos and some old-school hip-hop.

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Of course, it's just not "Rapper's Delight" if it's not accompanied by a laser light show.

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The next morning we awoke to a perfect blue sky, so we laced up our sneaks and took a brisk walk along the oceanfront promenade.

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We'd worked up an appetite, so we set off for bustling Pineapple Grove to get lunch.

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We were in search of a new spot we'd heard good things about, Banyan.

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It wasn't hard to find: Just look for the namesake tree.

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A chic indoor-outdoor space, Banyan is accented with crystal chandeliers, tufted red leather, lucite dining chairs, and a funky mirrored ceiling.

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The weather was perfect, so we decided to dine on the outdoor patio.

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I decided on a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and Banyan's "white salad," with endive, button mushrooms, hearts of palm, marinated artichoke hearts, shaved pecorino, and lemon vinaigrette, all topped with a small filet of grilled salmon.

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Angel also had white wine -- Chardonnay for him -- along with a Maryland crab melt topped with sliced tomato and Old Bay remoulade.

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After lunch, we returned to our regularly scheduled program.

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That evening we had dinner reservations at Deck 84 on the Intracoastal.

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We settled in at a waterside table and perused the cocktail and specials lists.

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We decided to share the house-smoked fish dip, but not our drinks: Angel did a Texas Two-Step with Tito's and muddled blueberries, while I went with a tiki-inspired Deck Punch with pineapple rum, dark rum, and not much else.

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For our entrees, we had the Baja fish tacos with cilantro-lime slaw and the Pad Thai with fresh grilled shrimp and tamarind.

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After dinner we decided to check out the happenings on Delray's main drag, Atlantic Avenue, before heading back to the hotel.

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I'd just had a cocktail made from 8oz. of rum and .0003oz. of juice, so when I saw this gigantic Buddha outside of Buddha Sky Bar, I knew I had to go in.

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The restaurant was full but the bar wasn't, so we took our time poring over the creative drink menu before deciding on a liquid dessert called the Samurai Shortcake with vanilla vodka, strawberry vodka, coconut milk, strawberries, and whipped cream for me, and the Dark Buddha Old Fashioned with chocolate bitters -- and a square of Hershey's chocolate! -- for Angel.

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The cocktails were so good that we each decided to try another, this time the Shaolin Purple Haze with grape vodka, chambord, blueberries, and blackberries for me, and the Key Lime in the Sky, a key lime martini with two kinds of vodka and some Coco Lopez, for the mister.

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We were on our way back to the hotel when a large crowd outside of Johnnie Brown's caught our eye.

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They'd come by car, boat, and bike to see a band called 56 Ace and, with the bar and restaurant completely packed, had spilled out onto the sidewalk.

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It didn't take us long to join the crowd.

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That's because 56 Ace was fantastic, playing a mix of classic rock, 90s rock, country rock, 90s rap, and oldies . . . often at the same time.

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Their method of mashups -- achieved not by stringing two or more songs together, but by singing two songs at the exact same time -- turned out to be wildly creative and alot of fun, because you don't realize how much, say, Green Day and Led Zeppelin or Nirvana and Aerosmith have in common until the singer on the right belts out the former, while the guy on the left cuts in with the latter at the same time, all to the same guitar riff.

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The next morning it was time to undo all the damage from the night before . . . with some pepperoni pizza.

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We love the Mellow Mushroom for its psychedlic vibe, friendly service, and fabulous pizza.

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After lunch it was time for some shopping at Delray's funky little boutiques.

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We also popped into the Seagate Hotel to check out their cool jellyfish aquarium.

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It was all fun and games until the skies clouded over and it began to thunder . . . and then the top of that palm tree by the gray car was struck by lightning and caught on fire.

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No, I didn't stick around to photograph it. Everyone knows that flaming palm trees are one of the ten plagues mentioned in the Bible, along with stink bugs and psoriasis.

Instead, rained out from shopping and the pool, we headed to the bar at the hotel for a Blackbird (bourbon, creme de cassis, and blackberries) and a key lime colada.

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The weather cleared up quickly, but once we'd snuggled in at the hotel, there was no getting me back out, so we stayed in and ordered room service.

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The next day was our last full day, so we headed back to Deck 84 for a waterside lunch.

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After a lazy poolside afternoon, it was time to clean up for our last dinner.

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We chose Rocco's Tacos for its convivial vibe, indoor-outdoor seating, and gorgeous Moravian star-lit decor.

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The Black Diamond margarita with Maestro Dobel Diamante and black cherry purée didn't hurt, either.

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Or the plentiful chips and salsa served on a baking sheet.

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We stayed up too late, and had one too many margaritas, for our early-morning flight the next day, but the view from my window seat made it all worth it.

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Shot with my iPhone, of course.
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Where to next? Roughing it in the bush in South Africa (sans ironing board!); pub-crawling around Dublin (with my Dad!); celebrating a birthday in Brooklyn (with my sissy!); and getting by (with some help from my friends!) in Anguilla. Subscribe here and you'll be notified when a new post goes up!

Posted by TraceyG 04:37 Archived in USA Tagged florida sandbar banyan mellow_mushroom delray_beach deck_84 buddha_sky_bar roccos_tacos johnnie_browns Comments (9)

The Hudson Valley: Fall's Well That Ends Well (Pt. 1)

I don't cook all that often, but I do have one favorite recipe: Take one of the world's most foremost culinary institutes, add a bunch of elite Manhattan chefs fleeing the city's astronomical rents, toss in acres of prime farmland, and finish with a slew of expert mixologists who favor locally-distilled whiskey and other spirits. Stir well to combine, and the result is the food and drink paradise known as the Hudson Valley, one of our favorite weekend getaways.

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This is particularly true in the fall, that magical time of year when the bounty of the area's harvest graces restaurant menus and seasonal cocktail lists from Kingston to Kinderhook and every town in between.

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It's a little over two-and-a-half hours from New York City to our favorite town in the Hudson Valley, aptly named Hudson, which is obviously about one-and-a-half hours longer than we can typically go in between meals. And so we usually stop for lunch on the way, this time at Tuthill House in Gardiner.

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Of course, we didn't make a detour into Gardiner just for lunch: Tuthill House is part of Tuthilltown Spirits . . . which makes Hudson Baby Bourbon . . . which I like for its gorgeous bottles and cool labels and seasonal offerings like Maple Cask Rye and Fresh Pressed Apple Vodka . . . which made it the perfect place for lunch, a whiskey tasting, and a little shopping.

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We snagged a table by the windows overlooking the falls, then got to work choosing a couple of seasonal cocktails: The Apple-y Ever After with apple-and- vanilla-infused gin, cinnamon, walnut, and egg white foam for me, and the Autumn Smash with Old Grandad, sage-poached local apples, sage liqueur, and cinnamon for Angel.

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Lunch was inadvertently loaded with greens: A "whole head of lettuce" salad dressed with Castelvetrano olive vinaigrette and shaved manchego; Murray's chicken breast with pesto and Hudson Baby Bourbon chicken jus; and a tartine with frisee, walnuts and goat cheese.

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This much healthy in one meal would not do, of course, so we ordered up an Orchard Gin lemon-thyme custard tart with stewed plums and meringue for dessert, to restore balance in the universe.

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And then we did a whiskey tasting.

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Or, rather, I shopped while Angel sipped.

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Loaded down with tote bags full of booze, we noticed on our way back to the car that we weren't the only ones who might have overindulged at Tuthilltown.

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Our next stop was at Golden Harvest Farm in Valatie to stock up on apples, pumpkins, and pies made from both.

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Finally it was time to head over to Warren Street in Hudson, the bustling main drag where we'd rented an apartment for the weekend.

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That evening Angel had planned a birthday dinner for me at Deer Mountain Inn in Tannersville. We kicked things off beforehand with a round of celebratory cocktails at my favorite spot in Hudson, the William Farmer Barroom.

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We lucked out to find two seats at the busy bar, then consulted the "Field Notes" for our cocktail choices.

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Soon it was time to head over to Deer Mountain. And while we were expecting a fantastic fireside meal, we were not expecting a swirling snowstorm . . . in October.

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The bad weather actually made the dinner all the more romantic, snuggled up as we were with craft cocktails, comforting bowls of soup, decadent entrees of beef tenderloin and butter-poached lobster with pillowy dumplings, and a view of the storm outside from our toasty table.

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After dinner we retired to the cozy bar to finish our cocktails.

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And although the drive back down the mountain featured sleet, snow, and even tennis-ball-sized hail, I'd like to think this guy watched over us.

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CLICK HERE TO READ PART 2!

Posted by TraceyG 07:15 Archived in USA Tagged hudson_valley oak hudson deer_mountain_inn tuthilltown william_farmer gaskins Comments (2)

The Hudson Valley: Fall's Well That Ends Well (Pt. 2)

The next day dawned bright and sunny in Hudson, so we decided to take a leisurely walk down Warren Street on our way to lunch.

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We poked in and out of the eclectic shops, admiring the antiques and picking up gifts of books, jewelry, candles, and olive oil for ourselves and friends and family.

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We'd worked up an appetite after all that walking, so we decided on pizza at a new spot, Oak Pizzeria Napoletana, for lunch.

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Owned by locals Juliana Santos and Joseph Alvarez, Oak turns out authentic Neapolitan pizzas made from naturally leavened dough (sans commercial yeast) and fired in Oak's wood-burning oven.

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After perusing the extensive menu of antipasti, we decided on a salad of little gem lettuce with pickled mushrooms, followed by a couple of paper-thin pizzas.

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After lunch, it was time for a stroll down the other side of Warren Street to walk things off.

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By late afternoon we were in need of a little pick-me-up, so we stopped into local motorcycle shop for a coffee . . . as one does.

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The afternoon had warmed up considerably, so we decided to make the short drive over to the Greenport Nature Conservancy to finish out the day enjoying the sunny weather and fall foliage.

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We chose the more mountainous green trail, which offered expansive views of open meadows, forest, dense cedar groves, the Hudson River, and the Catskills.

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That evening we drove down to Germantown for dinner at Gaskins, a modern country tavern that serves as the community's meeting spot at dinnertime.

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If you eat before 9pm, that is.

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After tucking ourselves into a cozy booth with a couple of glasses of red wine, we feasted on comfort food expertly made from local ingredients: Creamy burrata with kale pesto; a crunchy Brussels sprout salad with kale, clothbound cheddar, and hazelnuts that has become my new go-to recipe for fall dinners; crispy buttermilk fried chicken with honey-butter hot sauce; and a juicy grass-fed burger with a house-made bun(!) and cheddar cheese.

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Cheeseburgers, pizza, lobster, and fried chicken: Angel really does give the best birthday presents.

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Check back soon or subscribe here for yours truly roughing it in the bush in South Africa; pub-crawling around Dublin (with my Dad!); getting by with some help from my friends in Anguilla; and slothing (and sloshing) it up in Delray Beach. See you there!

Posted by TraceyG 05:29 Archived in USA Comments (1)

Anguilla, Part 1: Let's Make Some Waves

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of good luck, it was the age of bad luck, it was the epoch of human kindness, it was the epoch of utter stupidity, it was the season of juicy cheeseburgers, it was the season of tough ribs, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had beaches and blue skies before us, we had metal detectors and grid searches before us.

But let's start with the best of times, shall we?

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We arrived on a picture-perfect August day, collected our rental car, and made a beeline for Coconut Palm Villa on Mead's Bay.

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The larger of two separate villas comprising Twin Palms Villas, Coconut Palm has three full ensuite bathrooms, one half bath, two outdoor showers, and a private pool, and if all of that is not enough to keep you sand-free, then I don't know what is.

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The living areas were accented with colorful pops of lime and turquoise, and lots of doors, windows, and skylights to let in air and light.

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And did I mention the roof deck with the panoramic view of Meads Bay, and the umbrella and lounger setup on Meads?

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But all of that paled in comparison to having three bedrooms: One to sleep in, one to store my clothes and shoes in . . . and one for ironing in.

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I decided that the upstairs bedroom, in its own pod across from the main house, would be my hair and makeup prep area. Angel loved the idea, figuring that if I was tucked away in a separate building, I wouldn't be able to yell out every five minutes for him to bring me something I'd left in the main house or downstairs. And he was right; I didn't yell. I texted him instead.

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After depositing our things in their designated bedrooms, we quickly changed into swimsuits, then popped down the road to the island's cutest little beach bar, Waves.

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I mean, even the bathrooms are cute.

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These squishy, oversized beanbags are perfect for napping, or for passing out after a few of Waves' colorful rum punches. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

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You should always match your drink to your dress . . . and to that pillow you will need after a few rounds.

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We sipped our way to sunset, then finally headed back to Coconut Palm to take in the view and get ready for dinner.

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I'd made dinner reservations at Picante, our go-to choice for a warm, welcoming first night on island.

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We'd decided to keep our reservation even though the owner, Chloe, had messaged me beforehand to let me know that, because it was their last night of the season, they would not have my beloved seafood enchiladas. We compensated accordingly.

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You've gotta love a place that sends you a Code Red when they're out of your favorite dish.

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And you have to love it even more when the chef magically whips up a batch for you anyway.

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Toward the end of our meal we met the lovely Stacie from Maine, who can vouch for the fact that I was grinning like a loon after finishing those margaritas enchiladas.

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I awoke the next morning at the crack of dawn, an annoying, only-on-vacation habit if ever there was one. Just ask Angel.

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I used the time to do some unpacking, then rewarded myself with a leisurely walk through the gardens behind the house.

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It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, so we decided to take a drive up to Zemi Beach House for lunch.

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If you can think of a view more spectacular than the one that awaits you on the patio at 20 Knots, you are taking way better vacations than I am.

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We snagged a table in the sand and ordered up a round of cocktails, the excellent Tiki Old Fashioned with Mount Gay XO for Angel, and a caipirinha for me, made to order with vodka instead of cachaça.

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The bread at Zemi is toasted to a crisp and comes with an addictive roasted garlic spread and, if you gobble it up the way I did, will also come 1,000 tiny cuts to the roof of your mouth.

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After lunch, we splurged on a second round of cocktails -- for digestion, of course -- which we enjoyed on a couple of loungers on the beach.

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The day was really windy, so we finished the afternoon Zemi's spectacular aquarium pool.

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That evening we had plans to meet up at Roy's with Renee and Mike, two online friends whom we'd had yet to meet in person.

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Anybody can lose a shoe when it's a flip-flop. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

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Have you ever had the potent rum punches at Roy's? It took just one for me to decide I liked Renee and Mike enough to invite them to join us for dinner at E's Oven, and another half of one to accidentally walk into the house next door to E's when we arrived . . . and compliment their living room decor. I'm not a complete animal, you know.

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There, we feasted on the famous coconut-crusted grouper and a pile of cheesy au gratin potatoes. At E's, that is. Though I'm sure my new friends would have whipped something up after I raved about their fancy vases.

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I even managed to get into the right car at the end of the night.
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Posted by TraceyG 04:58 Archived in Anguilla Comments (9)

Anguilla, Part 2: Ain't Nothin' But a Bling Ting

The next morning I again woke at the crack of dawn, but this time it was on purpose: Sleeping in on FBI Monday would be like sleeping in on Christmas morning when you're sure Santa is bringing you a new bike.

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I slipped on a beach coverup, threw on a hat to hide my bed head, and burned rubber over to FBI for the Happiest Day of the Year.

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Though the burgers are always the main attraction, we were also excited to sample the AXA Ale from AXA Brewing Company.

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Christian had lots of AXA Brewing gear, so we bought one of almost everything to bring back to New York. There's nothing like sending your husband to the gym wearing a brewery t-shirt to advertise exactly what he's doing there.

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After lunch we hung around to chat a bit and take some photos. Though I wasn't quite expecting this when Marjorie asked Angie to smile for the camera.

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Indeed, we were enjoying the company at FBI so much that we almost didn't make it to Rendezvous Bay for a swim. And in hindsight, I really wish we hadn't. It started off innocently enough:

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The afternoon had gotten away from us a bit, so rather than drag our beach bag, rafts, and other stuff down the beach, we just grabbed two towels and bounded down to the beach for a quick swim.

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We plopped our towels down onto the sand, then stripped down to our swimsuits and deposited our rings, Angel's watch, and our phones into Angel's baseball cap for safekeeping. Afterwards, we put everything back on in order to take a walk down to Rendezvous Bay Hotel to check out the rebuilt version of The Place.

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As we made our way back down the beach, I decided to take one last dip before heading back to the car. Angel begged off, since his trunks were already dry from our walk and he didn't want to get the driver's seat wet.

I'd only waded in up to my waist when I realized I'd left my engagment ring on. I asked Angel to come get it; since he was already dressed, he waded in roughly up to his ankles and I met him near the water line to hand the ring off to him. Angel put it in his pocket, and I paddled around for a bit until it was time to leave.

It wasn't until we were halfway back to Coconut Palm that we discovered that the ring was no longer in his pocket.

I'll spare you the gory details of what happened when we pulled the car over and turned Angel's pockets inside out, but as our disbelief turned to horror, it looked something like this:

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Retracing our steps, we immediately began racking our brains as to what might have happened: Perhaps Angel had missed the pocket? (He hadn't.) Maybe the pocket of his trunks had a hole in it? (It didn't.) Had the ring slid out of his pocket in the car? (It hadn't.) Or perhaps fallen out of his pocket when he'd reached in for the car keys? (It didn't.)

But none of those things could be ruled out right away . . . at least not until we'd spent three days combing the beach, the parking lot, the car, and even the roadside with a battalion of generous friends, kind strangers, and every metal detector on the island.

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Two of those strangers-turned-new-friends, Rob and Julie Willsher, met us at the beach each day at 5:30 a.m. Rob spent the first part of his career as the British equivalent of a Green Beret and is an officer in the Royal Anguilla Police Force Marine Unit and the owner of Vigilant Divers, and Julie is a former Baltimore police detective, and between the two of them, they managed to calm us down enough to develop a working theory of where the ring might be, as well as a workable plan -- including grid searches, synchronized snorkeling, and a search of our car to put even the most thorough DEA agent to shame -- to find it.

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That evening we understandably needed alcohol, and a hell of a lot of it. And so we set off for Dolce Vita, where we could be assured of delicious food, great wine, and a sympathetic ear.

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We were thrilled to see that the restaurant had been lovingly restored after Irma, all the way down to the familiar white curtains tied with red ribbons and our beloved corner table.

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We settled on a bottle of Cab, then took Abbi's suggestion of the evening's special, an excellent tuna and salmon tartare.

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It was the first time I'd gone to dinner without my ring in almost 20 years, but wielding one fork in each hand for the shrimp pasta and mix-and-match gnocchi certainly kept my naked left hand occupied.

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The next morning we began what was to become our new morning routine: Wake before dawn, stumble around bleary-eyed, throw on some clothes, and meet Rob and Julie at the beach to search for the ring. After several unsuccessful hours of searching, we headed over to Elodia's for some hydrotherapy.

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After a long float, we shared an order of Elodia's crunchy fish bits, along with a nutmeg-topped rum punch for Angel, a creamy pina colada for me, and our usual lunch orders.

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That evening we had reservations at Veya, which included walking out not with a doggie bag, but with yet another loaned metal detector. We're nothing if not classy.

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As usual, we bargained hard to influence each other's appetizer and entrée choices to maximize which of Veya's fabulous menu items we'd get to try this time around.

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I decided on the local leafy greens with marinated goat cheese, candied papaya, and pumpkin vinaigrette, and then talked Angel into the Vietnamese style deep-fried calamari because I have a reputation to uphold here.

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For our entrées, I chose the roast chicken because it came with three of my favorite things: rice, chicken skin, and a bunch of chicken meat that can usually be traded for whatever carbs Angel happens to have on his plate.

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Angel decided on the grilled shrimp with sweet corn hush puppies and coconut curry sauce.

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He even got to keep one of those hush puppies for himself.
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For those of you still wondering, the prevailing theory in the Great Ring Debacle is that one of the ring's prongs caught on the fine mesh of Angel's swim trunks when he deposited it into his pocket, so the ring hung there for a bit before coming loose either while he was in the water, or on his way to the car. Happily, it was insured, and new bling is on the way!

CLICK HERE to read Part 3!

Posted by TraceyG 05:18 Archived in Anguilla Comments (6)

Anguilla, Part 3: A Sauvignon Blanc-Out

By Day 4 of the Case of the Disappearing Diamond, we were emotionally drained from getting our hopes up each day, only to have them dashed, and physically exhausted from the 4:30 a.m. wake-up calls. Confident that we'd done everything humanly possible to find the ring, we reluctantly called off the search and vowed (heh-heh) to enjoy the rest of the trip.

We started with a morning swim, followed by a leisurely stroll through Coconut Palm's lush garden.

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And although we ultimately did not find my ring, we actually wound up finding a lot more: The kindness of strangers. An outpouring of similar "lost ring" stories. Concern and well wishes from nearly every Anguillian we encountered for the rest of the trip (apparently word travels fast, especially when you're a Cheeseburglar). And the knowledge that even though the ring held immeasurable sentimental value, in the end it is just a thing, the loss of which could never change how we feel about each other.

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And we finally found out where the police station is.

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It was shaping up to be a gorgeous day, so we headed over to Ocean Echo for a little R&R.

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And maybe a couple of cocktails.

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Soon the smell of curry began to waft our way, so we headed up to our usual corner table for lunch.

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The smell of regression might have drifted our way as well. Don't judge.

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The rest of the afternoon passed in a happy haze of sun, sand, and sea.

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That night we drove up to Island Harbour to stuff our faces full of (pre-ordered) lobster.

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And we weren't the only ones.

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Full of lobster, $5 rum punch, and Falcon dip, we enjoyed a midnight swim before turning in for the night.

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The next morning was another beauty.

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After coordinating our schedules, we'd arranged to take Rob and Julie to lunch to thank them for helping us with the ring search. We agreed to meet at Straw Hat, with Rob warning us that it was going to be a "Five-Bottle Lunch."

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That's right: Although Rob may look like the kind of guy who pounds Budweiser and then smashes the empty cans on his forehead, he actually favors a delicate Petit Clos Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand.

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We snagged a large table by the water's edge, ordered an endless succession of icy bottles of wine, and enjoyed an afternoon of food, fun, and fantastic new friends.

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It was hard to part ways -- Rob and Julie have more crazy adventures than I have hairs on my head -- so we made plans to meet up later in the week before Angel and I drifted down to the beach for a late afternoon soak.

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That night it was back to Ferryboat Inn, since I had a hot date with a lobster Thermidor.

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To answer some of your questions: Yes, I'd just had lobster the night before at Falcon Nest. No, you can never have too much lobster. Yes, Marjorie's Thermidor should be on your bucket list of things to eat before you die. Yes, you have to call ahead for it. No, they won't give you extra of that creamed spinach thing that I've raved about before, even though I have suggested that, like Wing Night Wednesday and FBI Monday, it be designated its own special day ("Spinach Saturday").

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I didn't give the dogs anything to eat, and I think these photos prove it.

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I mean, when the Thermidor is as good as Marjorie's, they'd be lucky to even get a shell.

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Click here to read Part 4!

Posted by TraceyG 05:21 Archived in Anguilla Comments (8)

Anguilla, Part 4: You Come at the King, You Best Not Miss

The next morning we spent a few hours in the pool at Coconut Palm to start the day.

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We decided on lunch at Tropical Sunset, if by "decided" you mean "planned months in advance according to a color-coded agenda." We arrived early to claim our spot and enjoy a swim before lunch.

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I'd tried Tropical Sunset's sticky, fall-off-the-bone ribs on our last visit and couldn't wait to have them again.

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But like so many things I've looked forward to that have turned out to be disappointing -- bottled coconut water; the series finale of The Sopranos; every jumpsuit I've ever purchased -- the ribs this time around were underwhelming. But anybody can have an off day, and when the manager messaged me later to apologize and invite us to return, I gladly accepted (and will of course report back).

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We whiled away the rest of the afternoon in that brilliant blue water.

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We'd worked up quite a thirst from all that floating, so we took a walk down the beach to Zemi for a round of their expertly crafted cocktails.

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For dinner that night, it was back to Dolce Vita for some garlic bread with a side of Caesar salad, a decadently cheesy lasagna, and a mound of seafood fra diavolo.

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As usual, I was feeling so full after all that pasta that I really wished my belly button functioned like the plug on a beach ball so I could deflate it at will. Also as usual, Abbi ignored my pleas for mercy and brought over a slab of chocolate cake, which I insisted I could not eat . . . and then proceeded to devour.

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The next day was our last lunch at FBI.

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We'd just been to FBI two days before, so Angel committed the ultimate heresy by announcing that he was in the mood for something else besides the burger. (At that moment, I was actually glad I wasn't wearing my wedding ring, lest anyone think I was actually married to this dolt.) I, of course, remained in full possession of my faculties and ordered accordingly.

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After perusing the menu -- something neither of us had done at FBI since the late 90s -- Angel decided to try the chicken sandwich with FBI's homemade BBQ sauce. Sure, I figured it woud be good, but it certainly never occurred to me that a simple chicken sandwich could actually compete with the best cheeseburger known to man.

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How wrong I was. Ferryboat came for the king, all right . . . and now I have to eat two sandwiches every time I come here.

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Of course, I hadn't forgotten about Angie and Basil. But I did keep forgetting to stop at Best Buy, so we popped in to Ashley & Sons on our way to lunch to get some dog treats. Unfortunately, Ashley's didn't have any, but they did have these, which would have to do.

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Obviously I had to spoon-feed them . . . because they could get hurt with a fork.

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After everyone was well-fed, we headed over to Meads Bay to float the afternoon away.

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The loungers belonging to Coconut Palm villa are on a pristine, private stretch of sand between Carimar and Malliouhana.

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That evening we decided to relax at the house with a night swim, followed by some wine on the roof deck.

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It was the perfect way to reconnect, seeing as how I almost had to divorce him over that FBI burger betrayal.

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----------------------------------------
Check out what we're eating, drinking, and doing when we're not in Anguilla at @escape.from.new.york, or stick to flip flops, floppy hats, and fab frocks @the.beach.blonde.

CLICK HERE to read Part 5!

Posted by TraceyG 05:02 Archived in Anguilla Comments (5)

Anguilla, Part 5: The Circle of Life

We only had two days left, and though we'd fallen in love with Coconut Palm, enjoyed hours of blissful beach time, and made lots of new friends (all of whom conveniently own metal detectors), the loss of my ring had admittedly cast a pall over an otherwise perfect trip. And so we decided to finish strong with a last lunch at Ocean Echo, because if a round of Rumzies cannot cure what ails you, then probably nothing can.

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I love Ocean Echo for its great food, friendly service, fun drink list, and of course that stunning view.

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They'll even "reserve" your favorite table while you lounge at the beach.

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But most of all I love that they will make you a big bowl of Kraft mac & cheese if you beg ask nicely.

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It was our last night on island, so we headed back to the villa to get ready for another dinner at E's, this time with Christian from FBI.

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After managing to make it into the correct building this time, we feasted on the lobster spring rolls, mushroom chicken, coconut-crusted grouper, and lamb shank.

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And, of course, a side of E's cheesy au gratin potatoes for me. That bowl of mac & cheese at lunch was just an appetizer.

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The next day was departure day, but we'd lucked out with a late afternoon flight and had time for a last dip in the pool.

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And a quick breakfast at Straw Hat, where Angel fueled up for travel day with the seafood frittata stuffed with lobster, shrimp, and local fish.

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Have you had the Straw Hat egg sandwich? It comes on a Portuguese roll with two eggs; bacon, sausage, or ham; and the choice of with or without cheese, which is no choice at all unless you have a life-threatening cheese allergy (and even then I'd suck it up just this once).

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Angel settled the bill while I took one last soak in the warm, clear water.

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Too soon, it was time to get cleaned up for the flight home. We arrived at the ferry dock duly prepared: Luggage, passports . . . rum punch.

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As Calypso sped off toward St. Martin, I thought ahead to the double-cheese pizza I planned to order for the plane ride home. (Yes, still more cheese -- might as well, er, double down on your way out.)

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More importanly, Angel and I made peace with the fact that my ring had actually come full circle, finally resting where it had always wanted to be after making a break for it on Shoal Bay during our honeymoon. Naturally, we'll always have to return to visit it.

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One of those visits will be this summer, when we plan to introduce my newbie sister and her husband to the island. And that's when it occurred to me that I've been to almost every government building in Anguilla: The post office, the hospital (three times!), Inland Revenue, and now even the police station.

That just leaves one.

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Hmmm. That summer trip is gonna be an interesting one. Stay tuned.
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Check back soon or subscribe here for yours truly roughing it in the bush in South Africa (sans ironing board!!); drinking homemade hooch in the Hudson Valley; enjoying a birthday blowout with my sissy in Brooklyn; and frozen-drinking my way around Delray Beach. Cheers!

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Posted by TraceyG 06:10 Archived in Anguilla Comments (8)

The Key West Food & Wine Festival, Pt.1: The Wrath of Grapes

So, I've got a bone to pick with the folks who run the Key West Food and Wine Festival. The tag line for this winey weekend, which I have written about here and here, is "78 Degrees. 30 Events. 1 Tiny Island." Really? That's like describing Mardi Gras as "Some Beads and Maybe a Parade," or Super Bowl weekend as "There Might Be Hookers, But Don't Count On It." In other words, it doesn't even begin to describe the beachy bacchanal of food, wine, more food, and even more wine -- with a few detours into tequila, whiskey, and Champagne thrown in to keep things interesting -- that is the days-long eating-and-drinking binge known as the Key West Food & Wine Festival or, as I like to call it, "The Ultimate Liver Smackdown."

Day 1: I'll See You On the Other Side

We arrived on a gorgeous January morning after a quick and easy flight.

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Our friend Mark, who runs the festival, had arranged for us to be greeted by a rep for Tesla, one of the event's sponsors. The idea is that they give you a ride into town in the new Tesla Model X, a futuristic pod with falcon-wing doors, a medical-grade HEPA filter comparable to those used in hospital rooms, and more gadgets than the Starship Enterprise, including a self-driving mode -- and during those 15 minutes you agree to drop a year's salary on a new car because it reminds you of the one in "Back to the Future."

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The Model X was gorgeous, no doubt, but there was one tiny flaw . . .

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I told Angel not to bring so much stuff.

Eventually we managed to squeeze everything in, and the car drove itself on over to Old Town, where we'd rented the top floor of an eyebrow house on Olivia Street.

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We'd actually stayed here before, about 15 years ago, and were delighted to find that the amenities we'd enjoyed most -- the private deck, hot tub, and outdoor shower -- were just as we remembered them.

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We didn't have much time for hot-tubbing, though, since we had very important errands to run.

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That evening was the Welcome Party for the Food & Wine Festival on the beach at the Casa Marina.

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Our friends Claudia and Alden had driven down from Key Largo for the night to attend the kickoff party with us.

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We were thrilled and flattered, but they weren't the only ones trying to cozy up to us. Well, one of us, anyway.

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A spectacular sunset rounded out the evening.

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After the party wound down, we headed off to Santiago's Bodega with Claudia and Alden to get some dinner. You know, because we hadn't already eaten enough.

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It is possible that you may have overdone it on the wine when you manage to have a 2+ hour dinner and have nothing more to show for it than a single blurry photo of some flaming cheese.

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You would think that would've been a hint to call it a night, but you would be wrong. And so we set off for The Saint, a chic new hotel that Claudia had been raving about.

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It would have been rude to check out the space without also having a cocktail, so we had two.

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And then we started swinging.

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We had been on something like a 7-hour bender by this point, and it was clearly time to wrap things up. Which is why we thought it would be a fantastic idea to go to The Other Side for a nightcap.

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There, I discovered my new favorite cocktail: The banana nut bread Old Fashioned, made with Jameson Irish whiskey, Brazilian banana liqueur, spiced pear liqueur, and black walnut bitters.

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Even Fredrick approved.

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Day 2: Sweet Caroline

The next day we were off to a slow start, though I cannot imagine why. We decided to take it easy by spending the day at the pool.

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We had the place to ourselves, and spent the morning dozing in the cushy loungers and taking dips in the warm water.

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Eventually our stomachs started growling, and we decided to answer the call. We headed over to Caroline's for a healthy lunch of salad.

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Well, salad with fried chicken. And fried shrimp. And cheese.

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Later that afternoon, we took a spin on our bikes before heading back to the eyebrow house for a soak in the hot tub and a much-needed nap.

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That evening we had plans to meet up with friends Stephanie and Ari at Michael's. We'd never been before, but I knew I was going to love it because MEATLOAF.

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And not just any meatloaf, but meatloaf made of a Wagyu and prime tenderloin blend with house-made spicy ketchup.

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We had drinks, appetizers, and other entrées, too, of course, like a yummy Ruby Sipper with ruby red vodka, cranberry, and fresh basil; meaty crab cakes; snapper meunière with lemon brown butter; a warm chocolate cake; and a bunch of other stuff I could not be bothered to photograph because MEATLOAF.

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Day 3: The Garden of Good and Drunk

The next day we were scheduled to attend several food and wine events back-to-back, so we decided to line our stomachs with a big lunch at (dearly departed) Kelly's to give ourselves a fighting chance.

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Were you wondering why we also had key lime margaritas right before five hours of wine tastings? Scurvy prevention.

Soon it was time for the Tropical Garden Tour and Tasting, which would take us to five different gardens around the island.

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The event was sold out, with folks lined up for a chance to enjoy a glass of Hahn wine and some nibbles paired to go with at each stop.

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Now this lady knows how to dress for a wine tour.

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We boarded the trolley and set off for the first garden, the Memorial Sculpture Garden in Mallory Square.

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There, we enjoyed a glass of Hahn chardonnay and a black pepper popover with warm mushroom salad and goat cheese.

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We moved on to the Oldest House, where we feasted on lobster and avocado gazpacho and delicious little antipasto pinwheels with sundried tomato tapenade.

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Next up, we visited the gorgeous Audubon House.

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Unfortunately, however, there weren't alot of good spots for snacking here.

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By this time, we'd had three glasses of wine and had stuffed ourselves full of popovers and pinwheels, so it was time for a little divine intervention to keep us going.

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Finally, we set off for Martello Tower on Atlantic Boulevard, which houses the Key West Garden Club.

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Completed in 1864, West Martello Tower was used during the Spanish American War for quartering troops, storing supplies, and serving as a lookout.

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Today, it's used to house crowds of revelers scarfing down black bottom key lime pies, chocolate custard tarts, coconut tres leches bites, and some red wine.

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We still had two and a half more days to go, and it is not giving anything away here by admitting that, well . . . I didn't make it.

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The liver is the only organ in your body that can regenerate itself. Take advantage and get your KWFWF tickets here!

Posted by TraceyG 04:38 Archived in USA Tagged key_west key_west_food_and_wine the_saint the_other_side andrews_inn carolines Comments (3)

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