We’re in the middle of a mountain, tunnel wind blowing our hair, and then we burst out and over the gleaming new emerald city of Pittsburgh. Golden at the triangle where three rivers join forces, skyscrapers shine and ballparks roar on our left. The Monongahela flows on our right. And Gustav Lindenthal’s steel truss Smithfield Bridge drops us onto Carson Street on the one and only south side of the ‘burgh.
Sometimes it’s one word, emblazoned in a yellow stripe on red fire trucks: Southside. Sometimes, when the Pittsburgh accent is thick enough, it’s almost one syllable. There’s never a “th,” rarely a “d.” It’s like, “sow’s eye,” only said real fast. “Sowseye’d.”
Start with a look-see from atop Mt. Washington. (Zach: Use the panorama photo montage here? ) Plunk down a few bits and ride the incline tram straight up the mountain. It’s a hairy 35-degree angle, the oldest and steepest such public transit in the country. Up here we look down upon coal-barges hauling upstream, and the city glimmers below like a toy town. Down to the right, Southside lays flat against the river where glass factories and steel mills once clanked and screamed. It runs a few blocks and rises up along what folks here call “the slopes.”
Heights make us thirsty so on Carson Street we can’t believe our luck. At one time, this workingman’s neighborhood held title to more bars per human than any other city in the world. Ain’t it nice that in high-tech, 21st century Pittsburgh, some things haven’t changed too much.
There are still more bars than you can shake a mug at. All kinds: Tap rooms and taverns, beer halls, gin joints, cocktail lounges, cabarets and saloons. Billiard parlors, meet markets, nightclubs, dance halls and juke joints. Wine bars, tapas bars, and sushi bars - even hookah bars. And, thank heavens for small favors, fantabulous bar food.
We wash down Cajun Comfort wings and a Voodoo Killer burger with pints of Penn Pilsner at a watering hole called Fathead’s. We dig into hubcap fries, junkyard nachos and jailhouse chili at an old filling station now dubbed The Double Wide. And we make room to share a Pittsburgh footlong at The Pickle Barrel, a $3-lunch counter that opened the same year Roberto Clemente was baseball’s MVP. We behold a skinny tight-wrapped dog, laden with black olives and cheddar cheese. “Black and gold,” says a local in line, who eyes us eyeing our prize. “Pirates’ and Steelers’ colors. Colors of the ‘burgh,” he swells.
Back on the street, a Southside lifer named Tim cranks up the perfect afternoon cooler. He works an ancient ice-shaver like an organ grinder, and collects cold crystals in a paper cup. Homemade root beer syrup soaks the ice and we have a handmade snow cone that sets us back a buck and sends us back about 40 years. We ask how’s business and Tim says, “It cools off till it gets hot.” Southside logic.
It’s five-meals-a-day here, which we walk off from one end of Carson to the other. Start where the incline drops in Station Square. A glorious throwback to the gilded age, a marble-palace railroad station is now a four-star tablecloth restaurant. We slurp Blue Point oysters below the dazzle of dozens of stained glass skylights. Our hostess tells us a thick layer of common shoe polish hid these gorgeous marvels for decades. “Black-out from the war,” she explains. “No one knew how beautiful until they took 30 cases of oven cleaner to it. Now look.” We bask in rainbow light and imagine catching the cannonball to Erie.
Reverie complete, we head upriver along Carson and browse oddball boutiques: Vintage clothing, Polish newspapers, weird lamps and handicrafts from local artisans. Must be a dozen tattoo parlors, where galleries of ships’ anchors and vines of wild roses stand ready to wrap around a bicep. And there’s a real magic shop, The Cuckoo’s Nest, where we buy a fake thumb. We spend the next few hours attempting to pull a silk scarf out of it like Mysterioso.
It’s break time over a cold bottle of Iron City, and one of Carson Street’s proprietors tells about his neighborhood. He goes by Demo, short for Demetrius. (His Greek surname would take up the rest of this page.) Demo worked the mill in ’79 when the last pig iron was cast into Pittsburgh steel. “40,000 men worked these mills,” Demo’s eyes close with memory. “You could hear the roar across the river and up the slopes.”
Up the slopes is where we head next. Back in the day, thousands of men trudged a cardio commute, up hundreds of narrow steps from blast furnaces on the flats to hillside lanes just wide enough for the iceman’s cart. Neat row homes line the alleys. We puff and pant, out-of-breath tourists, and climb past humble homes with killer views. Some aren’t even on the street; their porches face the concrete steps. We imagine hauling groceries home here and have to sit a spell to wipe our brow.
The scene below intoxicates. We can see the street where we’ll sleep, at an inn called The Morning Glory, with its brick courtyard and feather light pancakes. Over there is the back alley of The Pretzel Shop, where the door by the oven opens near dawn and we get brown bags of hot pretzels hand-pulled the same way for generations. And across the river, downtown towers reflect a hot noon sun in clear skies, a sight rarely seen when the steel mills belched smoke and soot.
Tonight it’s a saloon singer in a sofa-stuffed cocktail lounge. But only after briny olives and grilled calamari at a Sicilian restaurant only a Southsider can find. Then it’s up and at ‘em, with the other side of Carson to stroll, giggling discoveries to make and the usual Southside lunchtime toss-up between gyros, pierogies and pretzel sandwiches. And perhaps a tiger’s head tattoo...
Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Morning Glory Inn
Nancy and Dave run a beautiful little inn that’s not easy to find and even harder to leave. The beds have those foam mattresses invented by NASA that conform to your body and the only thing that gets you out of them is the promise of Nancy’s lemony pancakes and fluffy baked eggs. Wireless web throughout and warm cookies at night.
Dish Osteria & Bar
We found this on a corner of a side street a short walk from the Morning Glory. We thought it was an Italian trattoria until the proprietor corrected us. Wagging a chef’s knife he reminded us that Dish is a Sicilian osteria. “Taste the difference,” he scolded. And we did. Fresh, delicious, old-world home cooking. Sicilian, not Italian. Get the papardelle and lamb ragü.
The Brashear Museum
This little astronomical display is hidden in a social services building around the corner from the hotel. It celebrates the life and work of the man who revolutionized telescope technology back in the steel mill days. It wasn’t easy to see the stars through all that soot, so old man Brashear made it happen. You can walk through this little museum gem in about 10 minutes.
The Pittsburgh Jeans Company
Forget your shopping mall jeans franchise. This popular Carson Street indy has been making people look great in all things denim with a unique personal passion. Great jeans and great folks to fit ‘em just right.
The Pretzel Shop
Behold the elegance of the hand-twisted pretzel. Live like a local and use the back-alley door as soon as they open. You’ll see the antique brick oven and get your pretzels fresh from it. Come in the front at lunch and munch a great pretzel sandwich.
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Williamsport to Brookville – Little League dreams, bugle burgers and baseball bats.
We come barreling off the mountain into Williamsport, swinging to the singing of Johnny Hartman. We’re tuned to 88.1 on the FM, cruising Route 15 to Green Dolphin Street. Williamsport has a jazz station!
The jazz makes sense, as Williamsport appeals like an old chestnut. A 19th century chord structure of industrial grit and millionaire mansions lays down a perfect groove for an improvised roadtrip. We’re vamping to the home of Little League baseball, and we’ll follow our nose across the Commonwealth to Brookville, the hardwood home of professional baseball bats.
First stop, the Little League Museum, sitting high above the perfect field of dreams where global Little Leaguers take to the only true World Series every August. This place tells the story of Carl Stotz, Little League’s founder, who in 1939 forever transformed the sandlot. Carl convinced Floyd Mutchler and his Lycoming Dairy to become Little League’s first sponsor. Old man Mutchler said it best: “We’ll go along for the boys.”
Some of “the boys” (and eventually, girls) went on to do big things and are enshrined here in Little League’s Hall of Excellence. Here’s Nolan Ryan and Mike Schmidt. Over there, former Little Leaguers Bruce Springsteen, Tom Selleck and even George W. Bush. (We hear he was all field and no hit.)
Williamsport is one part former glory, two parts good people restoring the luster. We meet Marsha and Gloria Miele, sisters who run the Peter Herdic House and Peter Herdic Inn, side-by-side Victorian mansions along “Millionaire’s Row.” Incredible plasterwork, carved staircases and Tiffany windows adorn the Queen Anne masterpieces. Marsha runs the “House” – a great restaurant – and taps into delicious local bounty. We “ohh” over gilled sausage from nearby Cow-a-Hen Farm, and “ahh” at old-fashioned river shad, smoked just a few blocks away. Next door, Gloria runs the “Inn,” where we sleep tight after a great meal and dream baseball dreams.
We’re up and off early, with a stop along the way for hand-cut fries and a cruise down the Elk Scenic Highway. Who knew the largest herd of elk east of Wyoming roams these thick woods? And right in the heart of Elk County is the sleepy village of Benezette, and the Winslow Hill B&B. Betty McCluskey offers mighty comfy lodging here, and we opt for what she calls the Sunrise Room. “This room comes with a trained rooster alarm clock,” Betty gives us fair warning. “Bert’ll make sure you wake up in time to see the elk.”
Sure enough, at 5:40 the next morning, Bert the rooster is crowing through our screen door. The cockle-do does it, and we enjoy the sunrise with lumbering elk grazing in a next-door meadow.
It seems the elk are everywhere - in back woods and front yards and on local menus. We try a “bugle burger” and grab some elk jerky for the road. We even gawk over weird, beautiful jewelry – “nelklace” pendants with dangling elk poop, compressed, dehydrated, de-stinked and polished a shiny, mesmerizing ebony. These Pennsylvania woods give us oddball delights.
These woods also give us baseball bats. Turns out nothing drives a baseball quite like Pennsylvania maple. Centerfielder Johnny Damon agrees every time he steps to the plate. He’s one of hundreds of pro ballplayers who swing a BWP bat, handmade right here in Brookeville, just south of elk country in the Pennsylvania Wilds.
Our factory guide Dave shows us how to make a great clean-up hitter. Lathe the maple to the precise ounce. Sand the raw bat till smooth, and then do it again and again. Three coats of paint, two of protective lacquer and stamp the logo on just so, with the grain, so you know how to hold the bat when you swing for the fences.
“350 bats a day, seven days a week,” Dave says with pride. “We make the national pastime here.” He gives us our own bat – the model Johnny Damon used when he led the Red Sox to their euphoric (big league) World Series victory. “This bat’s the curse killer,” Dave says. We brandish ours at an imaginary pitcher standing an imaginary 60 feet 6 inches away (perhaps old Nolan Ryan) and all the sandlots of childhood come rushing back.
With thanks to Dave we toss the maple beauty into the ragtop, pull on a jaw full of elk jerky, and aim south toward Punxsutawney, with Charlie Parker’s alto be-bopping us down the two-lane. It’s a beautiful day for a baseball roadtrip, so we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Little League Museum
Walk through the story of the perfect game that captured hopes and hearts around the world. This is where it all started back in 1939. You can even measure the speed of your fastball and tee off on a pitching machine. Play ball! Next door to the International Little League headquarters at 539 Route 15, South Williamsport. www.littleleague.org/museum.
Joey’s Place
Where to eat lunch, period. The garden cheesesteak is a two-fisted gooey goodness. Grab a seat at the bar or at one of the many large tavern tables. 505 Washington Blvd in Williamsport. 570.323.6217.
Peter Herdic Inn
Eat, sleep and drink like an industrial-era millionaire. And make sure you take a stroll along “millionaire’s row” and gawk at how the better half lived a hundred fifty years ago. 411West 4th Street in Williamsport. Call Gloria for a reservation: 570.326.0411, or stop by online: www.herdichouse.com.
The E.A. Rowley House
Perhaps the finest Queen Anne architectural masterpiece in the world. Back in the day it had flush toilets, electric chandeliers and a dumbwaiter. You’ll love it for the incredible woodwork, Tiffany stained glass, tiled fireplaces and rare and original sculpted French wallpaper. Ask Eiderson Dean (great name, no?) for a tour. 707 West 4th Street, Williamsport. www.williamsport.org
Socky’s Restaurant
A great lunch counter halfway between Williamsport and Brookville. Just across from the grand old Renovo railroad yards. You won’t find a better patty melt and real hand-cut fries anywhere. Period. 406 Erie Avenue, Renovo. Call ahead for directions: 570.923.0318
Winslow Hill B&B
If you wanna sleep a little later, ask for the Sunset Room. If you want to breakfast with the elk, check into Betty McCluskey’s Sunrise Room. Her trained rooster Bert will sound the alarm just outside your door at dawn. Reserve the Sunset, Moonlit or Sunrise room at winslowhillbb.com or call Betty at 814.787.4212.
Benezette Hotel
A great local tavern with good eats and a great jukebox. The wings are great, the spaghetti dinner’s a knockout at just $6.50, but it’s the Bugle Burger that brings the locals back for more. Right in the heart of downtown Benezette at 95 Winslow Hill Rd; 814.787.4355.
Double Diamond Deer Ranch
Enough with the elk. Come visit Rusty Snyder’s incredible Deer Ranch. The old time family attraction is possible only by Rusty’s love for her deer friends. Feed the fawns and get to know the doe. And don’t miss the barn, where Rusty’s deerly departed rest in eternal splendor, stuffed (ahem) and resplendent in their stalls. On Rt 36 just 3 miles south of Cook Forest State Park. www.doublediamonddeerranch.com. 814.752.6334
BWP Baseball Bats
Watch hearty Pennsylvania hardwood become curveball crushing baseball bats right before your eyes. Hundreds of pros use BWP bats from the Pennsylvania Wilds. See the factory for yourself and you’ll know why sluggers refer to their bats as “lumber.” Just off Route 80 east of Brookville. Call ahead: 814.849.0089. www.bwpbats.com
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
The jazz makes sense, as Williamsport appeals like an old chestnut. A 19th century chord structure of industrial grit and millionaire mansions lays down a perfect groove for an improvised roadtrip. We’re vamping to the home of Little League baseball, and we’ll follow our nose across the Commonwealth to Brookville, the hardwood home of professional baseball bats.
First stop, the Little League Museum, sitting high above the perfect field of dreams where global Little Leaguers take to the only true World Series every August. This place tells the story of Carl Stotz, Little League’s founder, who in 1939 forever transformed the sandlot. Carl convinced Floyd Mutchler and his Lycoming Dairy to become Little League’s first sponsor. Old man Mutchler said it best: “We’ll go along for the boys.”
Some of “the boys” (and eventually, girls) went on to do big things and are enshrined here in Little League’s Hall of Excellence. Here’s Nolan Ryan and Mike Schmidt. Over there, former Little Leaguers Bruce Springsteen, Tom Selleck and even George W. Bush. (We hear he was all field and no hit.)
Williamsport is one part former glory, two parts good people restoring the luster. We meet Marsha and Gloria Miele, sisters who run the Peter Herdic House and Peter Herdic Inn, side-by-side Victorian mansions along “Millionaire’s Row.” Incredible plasterwork, carved staircases and Tiffany windows adorn the Queen Anne masterpieces. Marsha runs the “House” – a great restaurant – and taps into delicious local bounty. We “ohh” over gilled sausage from nearby Cow-a-Hen Farm, and “ahh” at old-fashioned river shad, smoked just a few blocks away. Next door, Gloria runs the “Inn,” where we sleep tight after a great meal and dream baseball dreams.
We’re up and off early, with a stop along the way for hand-cut fries and a cruise down the Elk Scenic Highway. Who knew the largest herd of elk east of Wyoming roams these thick woods? And right in the heart of Elk County is the sleepy village of Benezette, and the Winslow Hill B&B. Betty McCluskey offers mighty comfy lodging here, and we opt for what she calls the Sunrise Room. “This room comes with a trained rooster alarm clock,” Betty gives us fair warning. “Bert’ll make sure you wake up in time to see the elk.”
Sure enough, at 5:40 the next morning, Bert the rooster is crowing through our screen door. The cockle-do does it, and we enjoy the sunrise with lumbering elk grazing in a next-door meadow.
It seems the elk are everywhere - in back woods and front yards and on local menus. We try a “bugle burger” and grab some elk jerky for the road. We even gawk over weird, beautiful jewelry – “nelklace” pendants with dangling elk poop, compressed, dehydrated, de-stinked and polished a shiny, mesmerizing ebony. These Pennsylvania woods give us oddball delights.
These woods also give us baseball bats. Turns out nothing drives a baseball quite like Pennsylvania maple. Centerfielder Johnny Damon agrees every time he steps to the plate. He’s one of hundreds of pro ballplayers who swing a BWP bat, handmade right here in Brookeville, just south of elk country in the Pennsylvania Wilds.
Our factory guide Dave shows us how to make a great clean-up hitter. Lathe the maple to the precise ounce. Sand the raw bat till smooth, and then do it again and again. Three coats of paint, two of protective lacquer and stamp the logo on just so, with the grain, so you know how to hold the bat when you swing for the fences.
“350 bats a day, seven days a week,” Dave says with pride. “We make the national pastime here.” He gives us our own bat – the model Johnny Damon used when he led the Red Sox to their euphoric (big league) World Series victory. “This bat’s the curse killer,” Dave says. We brandish ours at an imaginary pitcher standing an imaginary 60 feet 6 inches away (perhaps old Nolan Ryan) and all the sandlots of childhood come rushing back.
With thanks to Dave we toss the maple beauty into the ragtop, pull on a jaw full of elk jerky, and aim south toward Punxsutawney, with Charlie Parker’s alto be-bopping us down the two-lane. It’s a beautiful day for a baseball roadtrip, so we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
The Little League Museum
Walk through the story of the perfect game that captured hopes and hearts around the world. This is where it all started back in 1939. You can even measure the speed of your fastball and tee off on a pitching machine. Play ball! Next door to the International Little League headquarters at 539 Route 15, South Williamsport. www.littleleague.org/museum.
Joey’s Place
Where to eat lunch, period. The garden cheesesteak is a two-fisted gooey goodness. Grab a seat at the bar or at one of the many large tavern tables. 505 Washington Blvd in Williamsport. 570.323.6217.
Peter Herdic Inn
Eat, sleep and drink like an industrial-era millionaire. And make sure you take a stroll along “millionaire’s row” and gawk at how the better half lived a hundred fifty years ago. 411West 4th Street in Williamsport. Call Gloria for a reservation: 570.326.0411, or stop by online: www.herdichouse.com.
The E.A. Rowley House
Perhaps the finest Queen Anne architectural masterpiece in the world. Back in the day it had flush toilets, electric chandeliers and a dumbwaiter. You’ll love it for the incredible woodwork, Tiffany stained glass, tiled fireplaces and rare and original sculpted French wallpaper. Ask Eiderson Dean (great name, no?) for a tour. 707 West 4th Street, Williamsport. www.williamsport.org
Socky’s Restaurant
A great lunch counter halfway between Williamsport and Brookville. Just across from the grand old Renovo railroad yards. You won’t find a better patty melt and real hand-cut fries anywhere. Period. 406 Erie Avenue, Renovo. Call ahead for directions: 570.923.0318
Winslow Hill B&B
If you wanna sleep a little later, ask for the Sunset Room. If you want to breakfast with the elk, check into Betty McCluskey’s Sunrise Room. Her trained rooster Bert will sound the alarm just outside your door at dawn. Reserve the Sunset, Moonlit or Sunrise room at winslowhillbb.com or call Betty at 814.787.4212.
Benezette Hotel
A great local tavern with good eats and a great jukebox. The wings are great, the spaghetti dinner’s a knockout at just $6.50, but it’s the Bugle Burger that brings the locals back for more. Right in the heart of downtown Benezette at 95 Winslow Hill Rd; 814.787.4355.
Double Diamond Deer Ranch
Enough with the elk. Come visit Rusty Snyder’s incredible Deer Ranch. The old time family attraction is possible only by Rusty’s love for her deer friends. Feed the fawns and get to know the doe. And don’t miss the barn, where Rusty’s deerly departed rest in eternal splendor, stuffed (ahem) and resplendent in their stalls. On Rt 36 just 3 miles south of Cook Forest State Park. www.doublediamonddeerranch.com. 814.752.6334
BWP Baseball Bats
Watch hearty Pennsylvania hardwood become curveball crushing baseball bats right before your eyes. Hundreds of pros use BWP bats from the Pennsylvania Wilds. See the factory for yourself and you’ll know why sluggers refer to their bats as “lumber.” Just off Route 80 east of Brookville. Call ahead: 814.849.0089. www.bwpbats.com
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
Monday, May 7, 2007
In the Susquehanna river towns, it’s glassware, gumbo and the good life made by hand.
Curving north from the Mason-Dixon, this Susquehanna River road is a pig’s tail curl. We’re driving the eastern bank, toward the river towns of Columbia, Marietta and Wrightsville. The woods we weave haven’t changed much since the Confederate Army marched the opposite shore.
These towns are watersheds in the War Between the States - or the Northern War of Aggression, depending on your point of view. In the summer of 1863, thousands of Confederate soldiers attempt to cross the Susquehanna to capture Harrisburg. But a few citizen volunteers burn their own Columbia-Wrightsville bridge and force General Lee’s finest to head west toward the twilight zone of Gettysburg.
144 summers later, we’re on this Civil War trail hunting for signs of old river town life. We find it within a thriving artisan culture of twisted iron and blackened catfish. Where people still make things with their hands.
It begins off the corkscrew river road, on an alley among the brick rows and barbershops of vintage Columbia. In a backstreet factory called Susquehanna Glass, folks have cut patterns by hand into gorgeous glassware for 100 years. Upstairs we meet Sandy Miller, who’s been cutting glass here for a third of them. Order glassware from fancy-schmancies like Williams-Sonoma, chances are she’s making it for you.
Within seconds, Sandy uses a whirling wheel to etch a tall ship into a tall glass. “What about seagulls,” she muses. And birds appear in flight with a flick of her ample wrists. “Aw,” she shrugs as we gasp. “Some people have a natural knack and this is mine.” Sandy hands us the cut tumbler and we can’t wait to sail her ship through a highball sea come happy hour.
We’re eager for the view from the rebel side, so we head across the 1930 concrete-arch bridge some locals still call “the new one.” For as long as they’ve cut glass on one side, the John Wright Foundry has been forging all manner of cast-iron marvels on the other. Stove grates and lampposts, and the pan in which our grandmother fried “dip eggs” in bacon grease.
Today the old foundry includes a ground-floor bistro with a wide river view. We sip iced tea and daydream about the blazing bridge that lit up history here back in ‘63. Up in the second floor store, we grab a cast-iron fajita griddle and giggle at the factory-outlet price.
Back in the ragtop, griddle and glassware secure, we head up out of town through fertile fields, to a mountaintop panorama of the Susquehanna sliding by. Sharing the view is Jim and Sue Miller’s Moon Dancer Winery, a dream come true for a couple of recovering white collars.
Grapes love the riverside hill as much as the Millers. Jim pours us some tasty Riesling, but it’s their Blue Moon Port that makes us grin. A tour of the cellar shows off a great collection of Pennsylvania oak barrels, where Jim and Sue serve candlelit dinners among the casks.
With Port and Riesling in the ragtop’s trunk, it’s across the river again, north until we park in front of the Petit Museum of the Musical Boxes, a tinkling miracle in the heart of beautiful Marietta. This town is timeless Americana: the 1st National Bank, the restored theater, the Old Town Hall. On Market Street we expect to run into Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.
“It’s a wonderful life here,” says a woman of a certain age, sitting on her spotless brickhouse stoop. “And it gets prettier every afternoon.” In the golden light, we ask our new friend where we might find a proper supper. She tells us Josephine’s, up the block, has crab cakes “big as my head.” She winks and throws a challenge. “Then again, if you like it hot, you might try to find Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen.”
Turns out Dave Prudhomme’s uncle is the legendary New Orleans Chef Paul, who turned blackened fish into phenomena. Dave fell for Sharon and Sharon hails from Columbia and that’s why this Prudhomme’s Cajun Kitchen feels a little “lost.” But step inside and you’re on the bayou with ‘gator on the menu and zydeco in the air. And the whole family cooks like the devil on fire.
We dive into a bowl of the best gumbo this side of Lake Pontchartrain. Dave grins through his goatee and sets down a plate of Shrimp Sunny: blackened catfish on a bed of crabmeat, slathered with crawfish étouffée, surrounded by succulent shrimp. One bite and Cajun fiddles two-step across our tongues. Awesome.
“All from scratch,” Dave hugs me. “All with our own two hands.” And right there that’s the spirit of the river towns. Like when they need to turn back invading Confederates, a few townies take it in their hands to save the Union. And here we sit today, wolfing hand-made Deep South gumbo in a gritty waterfront community where hard work will never be a dirty thought.
Tomorrow we get up early to beat the farmers to the Central Market in downtown York. So we have to say g’night to Dave and Sharon and head for bed-and-breakfast at The Columbian, a Victorian mansion just a couple blocks from the National Watch and Clock Museum. Which leads us to a whole other story of hands, best saved for a whole other time. While we’re waiting, we’ll look for you along the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
Smith’s Hotel
This old roadhouse is big with the locals. We played shuffleboard bowling and tucked away the best cheesesteak west of Roxboro. “It oughta be good,” grumped our barmaid. “He’s been makin’ ‘em for 20-odd years.” 1030 Lancaster Avenue on the east side of Columbia. Call ahead at 717.684.3385.
Susquehanna Glass Factory
Look for the yellow signs.. They point down a back alley, because that’s where the company started 100 years ago. Today, great factory tours and low factory prices. Watch the weather: they close when the temp is above 90. 731 Ave. H in Columbia. Call 800-592-3646 and ask about tours. Online at www.theglassfactory.com.
The Columbian: A Bed & Breakfast Inn
Karen will make you comfy and cook you a great breakfast at this cozy Victorian B&B. Five rooms, each with a privy. And if it’s nice, take your coffee in the lovely backyard garden. Great location at 360 Chestnut Street in Columbia. Reservations: 717-684-0241 and online at www.columbianinn.com.
National Watch and Clock Museum
It’s just a two-minute walk from The Columbian, so make the time to check this place out after breakfast. 514 Poplar Street in Columbia, and on the web at www.nawcc.org.
John Wright Store & Restaurant
At the foot of the beautiful Wrightsville-Columbia Bridge, this great old foundry has a lovely restaurant, a great river view and lots of cast-iron for home, garden and gifts at great prices. North Front Street in Wrightsville. 717.252.2519. Online at www.jwright.com.
Moon Dancer Vineyards & Winery
Jim Miller will share the wine and the Susquehanna view from his gorgeous hillside vineyards. For live music and food festival schedules, visit www.moondancerwinery.com. 1282 Klines Run Road, Wrightsville. 717.252-WINE.
Marietta Walking Tour
The 19th Century architecture is a well-preserved miracle. Enjoy an afternoon stroll through timeless neighborhoods. Visit the community website at www.mariettapa.com.
Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen
Alligators, zydeco and hand-cut onion rings, stuffed with crabmeat, topped with pepperjack cheese and broiled till they’re bubbling. Dave and Sharon Prudhomme bring the best of the bayou to the shoals of the Susquehanna at 50 Lancaster Avenue in Columbia. Call 'em at 717-684-1706. Or see for yourself at www.lostcajunkitchen.com. And you’re goofy if you don’t get the gumbo.
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
These towns are watersheds in the War Between the States - or the Northern War of Aggression, depending on your point of view. In the summer of 1863, thousands of Confederate soldiers attempt to cross the Susquehanna to capture Harrisburg. But a few citizen volunteers burn their own Columbia-Wrightsville bridge and force General Lee’s finest to head west toward the twilight zone of Gettysburg.
144 summers later, we’re on this Civil War trail hunting for signs of old river town life. We find it within a thriving artisan culture of twisted iron and blackened catfish. Where people still make things with their hands.
It begins off the corkscrew river road, on an alley among the brick rows and barbershops of vintage Columbia. In a backstreet factory called Susquehanna Glass, folks have cut patterns by hand into gorgeous glassware for 100 years. Upstairs we meet Sandy Miller, who’s been cutting glass here for a third of them. Order glassware from fancy-schmancies like Williams-Sonoma, chances are she’s making it for you.
Within seconds, Sandy uses a whirling wheel to etch a tall ship into a tall glass. “What about seagulls,” she muses. And birds appear in flight with a flick of her ample wrists. “Aw,” she shrugs as we gasp. “Some people have a natural knack and this is mine.” Sandy hands us the cut tumbler and we can’t wait to sail her ship through a highball sea come happy hour.
We’re eager for the view from the rebel side, so we head across the 1930 concrete-arch bridge some locals still call “the new one.” For as long as they’ve cut glass on one side, the John Wright Foundry has been forging all manner of cast-iron marvels on the other. Stove grates and lampposts, and the pan in which our grandmother fried “dip eggs” in bacon grease.
Today the old foundry includes a ground-floor bistro with a wide river view. We sip iced tea and daydream about the blazing bridge that lit up history here back in ‘63. Up in the second floor store, we grab a cast-iron fajita griddle and giggle at the factory-outlet price.
Back in the ragtop, griddle and glassware secure, we head up out of town through fertile fields, to a mountaintop panorama of the Susquehanna sliding by. Sharing the view is Jim and Sue Miller’s Moon Dancer Winery, a dream come true for a couple of recovering white collars.
Grapes love the riverside hill as much as the Millers. Jim pours us some tasty Riesling, but it’s their Blue Moon Port that makes us grin. A tour of the cellar shows off a great collection of Pennsylvania oak barrels, where Jim and Sue serve candlelit dinners among the casks.
With Port and Riesling in the ragtop’s trunk, it’s across the river again, north until we park in front of the Petit Museum of the Musical Boxes, a tinkling miracle in the heart of beautiful Marietta. This town is timeless Americana: the 1st National Bank, the restored theater, the Old Town Hall. On Market Street we expect to run into Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.
“It’s a wonderful life here,” says a woman of a certain age, sitting on her spotless brickhouse stoop. “And it gets prettier every afternoon.” In the golden light, we ask our new friend where we might find a proper supper. She tells us Josephine’s, up the block, has crab cakes “big as my head.” She winks and throws a challenge. “Then again, if you like it hot, you might try to find Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen.”
Turns out Dave Prudhomme’s uncle is the legendary New Orleans Chef Paul, who turned blackened fish into phenomena. Dave fell for Sharon and Sharon hails from Columbia and that’s why this Prudhomme’s Cajun Kitchen feels a little “lost.” But step inside and you’re on the bayou with ‘gator on the menu and zydeco in the air. And the whole family cooks like the devil on fire.
We dive into a bowl of the best gumbo this side of Lake Pontchartrain. Dave grins through his goatee and sets down a plate of Shrimp Sunny: blackened catfish on a bed of crabmeat, slathered with crawfish étouffée, surrounded by succulent shrimp. One bite and Cajun fiddles two-step across our tongues. Awesome.
“All from scratch,” Dave hugs me. “All with our own two hands.” And right there that’s the spirit of the river towns. Like when they need to turn back invading Confederates, a few townies take it in their hands to save the Union. And here we sit today, wolfing hand-made Deep South gumbo in a gritty waterfront community where hard work will never be a dirty thought.
Tomorrow we get up early to beat the farmers to the Central Market in downtown York. So we have to say g’night to Dave and Sharon and head for bed-and-breakfast at The Columbian, a Victorian mansion just a couple blocks from the National Watch and Clock Museum. Which leads us to a whole other story of hands, best saved for a whole other time. While we’re waiting, we’ll look for you along the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here’s where to stop. For a complete map and photos of all this, check out www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.
Smith’s Hotel
This old roadhouse is big with the locals. We played shuffleboard bowling and tucked away the best cheesesteak west of Roxboro. “It oughta be good,” grumped our barmaid. “He’s been makin’ ‘em for 20-odd years.” 1030 Lancaster Avenue on the east side of Columbia. Call ahead at 717.684.3385.
Susquehanna Glass Factory
Look for the yellow signs.. They point down a back alley, because that’s where the company started 100 years ago. Today, great factory tours and low factory prices. Watch the weather: they close when the temp is above 90. 731 Ave. H in Columbia. Call 800-592-3646 and ask about tours. Online at www.theglassfactory.com.
The Columbian: A Bed & Breakfast Inn
Karen will make you comfy and cook you a great breakfast at this cozy Victorian B&B. Five rooms, each with a privy. And if it’s nice, take your coffee in the lovely backyard garden. Great location at 360 Chestnut Street in Columbia. Reservations: 717-684-0241 and online at www.columbianinn.com.
National Watch and Clock Museum
It’s just a two-minute walk from The Columbian, so make the time to check this place out after breakfast. 514 Poplar Street in Columbia, and on the web at www.nawcc.org.
John Wright Store & Restaurant
At the foot of the beautiful Wrightsville-Columbia Bridge, this great old foundry has a lovely restaurant, a great river view and lots of cast-iron for home, garden and gifts at great prices. North Front Street in Wrightsville. 717.252.2519. Online at www.jwright.com.
Moon Dancer Vineyards & Winery
Jim Miller will share the wine and the Susquehanna view from his gorgeous hillside vineyards. For live music and food festival schedules, visit www.moondancerwinery.com. 1282 Klines Run Road, Wrightsville. 717.252-WINE.
Marietta Walking Tour
The 19th Century architecture is a well-preserved miracle. Enjoy an afternoon stroll through timeless neighborhoods. Visit the community website at www.mariettapa.com.
Prudhomme’s Lost Cajun Kitchen
Alligators, zydeco and hand-cut onion rings, stuffed with crabmeat, topped with pepperjack cheese and broiled till they’re bubbling. Dave and Sharon Prudhomme bring the best of the bayou to the shoals of the Susquehanna at 50 Lancaster Avenue in Columbia. Call 'em at 717-684-1706. Or see for yourself at www.lostcajunkitchen.com. And you’re goofy if you don’t get the gumbo.
Ok, now it’s your turn. Let us know where you’ve been, what you’re eating and who you’re meeting. Send us an email at shunpiker@visitpa.com
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Along Route One: Exotic Mushrooms and Oddball Museums in the Brandywine Valley.
The United States Route One starts its roadtrip way up there in the mountains of Maine and splashes into the margarita blenders way down there in Key West. It’s the nation’s first great north-south road, and it still carries its fair share of history. Here in the Brandywine Valley we find artifact motor courts, hot-dog and milkshake stands, and barber shops from another time. We have to peel our eyes; the gems are hidden among the homogeny of endless suburban glens.
It’s through the big-box ticky tack that we steer Route One out of Philadelphia. We’re headed to mushroom country in the southeast corner of the Commonwealth, tucked between the corporate theme parks of Delaware and the cultural bulwark of the Mason-Dixon.
We’re hunting shitakes and morels, oysters and crimini, where those meaty portabella sandwiches fake us into believing we could go vegetarian after all. En route to the fungi farms we stumble across the first of a series of oddball exhibitions. It’s the Museum of Mourning Art, hidden inside an exacting replica of George Washington’s Mt. Vernon estate, which is hidden behind the walls of Arlington Cemetery in the borough of Upper Darby. Ok, we figure: before a bite of mushrooms, a bit of morbid curiosity.
Inside the faux Mt. Vernon is a gorgeous chapel of battered barn wood and country church pews. We’re ushered into a warren of crannies crowded with Victorian paraphernalia of bereavement. There’s a horse-drawn hearse behind an iron graveyard gate with curly-cued roses. A collection of mourning jewelry includes rings and broaches embroidered with the hair of the dearly departed. There’s even an original invitation to the funeral of George Washington himself. The Museum of Mourning Art is ghastly and gorgeous. It’s good grief.
An hour later, in the ragtop, bright sunshine brings us back to life. A few miles and we’re stopped again by the unexpected. We meet Tony Polito, who cuts hair and exhibits a call to arms in his unique Barber Shop & Military Museum. Since 1959 Tony’s barber chair has been surrounded by an expanding armory of canteens and bayonets, helmets and handcuffs, boots and bugles.
“I’m a barber and a patriot,” Tony barks like a drill sergeant. We nod along and nose around until our stomachs sound the noon retreat.
Good thing Jimmy John’s Pipin’ Hots is next door to the barber’s bivouac. This timeless hot-dog joy shack has grilled up quality heartburn for 67 years. We pile kraut and onions on tight little franks, layer on the brown mustard, and wolf a couple with relish. At our table, Jimmy John’s fleet of classic model trains toot by; they vibrate the straws standing thick in our black-and-white shakes.
With the repeating memory of the Pipin’ Hots dogging us on, we’re up for an afternoon of whatever comes next. And close by, near an airstrip that warns of low flyers, we find an armada of enormous Coast Guard choppers and Army gunships. It’s the front yard of the American Helicopter Museum. Inside, flying machines hang from the walls and ceilings and crowd across the floor. We climb inside a whirlybird, work the pedals and make the whappa-whappa sound effect with our lips.
Our volunteer tour guide is worth the visit alone. He’s Fred Mack, 96 years old and still an eager flyboy. He celebrated his last birthday with a parachute. “Yup,” he admits, “I jumped out of a plane that wasn’t even on fire!” Hurry up and climb on a helicopter with Fred while you still can.
Finally, we roll into Kennett Square, in the heart of mushroom country. We’re just in time to sample homemade salads and sauces at the amiable and amply stocked Mushroom Cap, the region’s semi-official toadstool capitol. Kathi Lafferty runs the place, as well as the area’s annual Mushroom Festival. Her fridge is full of beautiful white buttons and squiggly exotics. We dig into mushroom-sauced meatballs and pack away a few jars of her homemade Mediterranean mushroom salad. Now this is what we came for.
Down the road apiece we grab a room (which is just clean enough) at the Kennett Steak and Mushroom Restaurant & Motel. A walk through town works up an appetite for their beer-battered “maitakis bites”, criminis stuffed with crab imperial and a thick NY Strip smothered with a shitake marmalade. No doubt about it, there’s a lot of tasty fungus among us, or should we say we’re among the fungi. Whatever, it’s all good.
Tomorrow, we’re at the Brandywine River Museum, where Andrew Wyeth’s granddaughter gives us a personal tour of her family’s artistic legacy. Then a beautiful horse-farm B&B that makes even our feisty Terrier feel comfy. And tomorrow night, to finish our Route One excursion, we dive into the hands-down best mushroom soup of the trip at the colonial Dilworthtown Inn. After dinner we spelunk through their subterranean wine cellars, which seem to be a perfect place to grow more mushrooms. But that’s another story altogether.
Once again serendipity on the side roads leads to the most unusual – and delicious – discoveries. Drop us a line and let us know what you’ve found once, won’t you? Until then, we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (You find a map with photos of all these joints and more at visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
The Museum of Mourning Art
Yeah, yeah, it’s all about death and grief, but it’s also weirdly amusing. Ask for Elizabeth to give you the tour, because you have to call for an appointment. She makes it a lot of fun. Arlington Cemetery 2900 State Rd, Upper Darby; 610-259-5800
Tony Polito’s Barber Shop & Military Museum
Good haircuts in a uniform setting. Truly a personal obsession worth the visit. 1501 Wilmington Pike, West Chester; (610) 459-1245
Jimmy John’s Pipin’ Hots
The regular hot dog here is, well…regular. Go for the special frank; it’s a beauty. And it makes a nice combo with the palm-sized burgers. B&W shakes are as thick as your head and not to be missed. Next door to Tony Polito’s; 610.459.3083
The American Helicopter Museum
Check out one of the first helicopters ever made from the roaring ‘20s. A real field day for the whirlybird inside all of us. Fly in or drive like most people. 1220 American Blvd, West Chester. Get info and directions online at www.helicoptermuseum.org
The Brandywine River Museum
A beautiful conservancy for the historic Brandywine River wrapped around a collection of N.C., Andrew and Jamie Wyeth’s breathtaking paintings. If you’re lucky, Victoria Wyeth, Andrew’s only grandchild, will give you a personal tour. Just call ahead: 610.388.2700. Or visit www.brandywinemuseum.org.
Kennett Steak & Mushroom Motel
Nothing fancy, but an easy walk into Kennett Square’s national landmark downtown. The beer’s cold and the mushrooms tasty in the restaurant on site. Birch & Broad Sts, Kennett Square; 610.444.5085. See a menu at www.kennettsteakandmushroom.com.
The Mushroom Cap
This is Kennett Square’s unofficial mushroom capitol building. See Kathi Lafferty for fresh mushrooms, homemade mushroom salad and all sorts of toadstool tchotchkes. 114 West State St., Kennett Square; 610.444.8484. You can shop online at www.themushroomcap.com.
Hamanassett Bed & Breakfast
Ashley and Glen Mon offer up true hospitality on this plush horse farm. Ask about the romantic carriage house near the barn. Definitely ask for Glen’s crawfish bread. This place is a real keeper (and doggies are welcome). 725 Darlington Road, Chester Heights. Call 610.459.3000 for reservations or take a tour online: www.hamanassett.com. Oh, and pay attention when they give you directions; this place is so well hidden Mapquest can’t get you there.
The Dilworthtown Inn
One of the great American restaurants, period. And the best mushroom soup in mushroom land. Don’t leave without asking for a visit to the legendary wine cellars. 1390 Old Wilmington Pike, West Chester; 610.399.1390. Browse a menu at www.dilworthtown.com.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
It’s through the big-box ticky tack that we steer Route One out of Philadelphia. We’re headed to mushroom country in the southeast corner of the Commonwealth, tucked between the corporate theme parks of Delaware and the cultural bulwark of the Mason-Dixon.
We’re hunting shitakes and morels, oysters and crimini, where those meaty portabella sandwiches fake us into believing we could go vegetarian after all. En route to the fungi farms we stumble across the first of a series of oddball exhibitions. It’s the Museum of Mourning Art, hidden inside an exacting replica of George Washington’s Mt. Vernon estate, which is hidden behind the walls of Arlington Cemetery in the borough of Upper Darby. Ok, we figure: before a bite of mushrooms, a bit of morbid curiosity.
Inside the faux Mt. Vernon is a gorgeous chapel of battered barn wood and country church pews. We’re ushered into a warren of crannies crowded with Victorian paraphernalia of bereavement. There’s a horse-drawn hearse behind an iron graveyard gate with curly-cued roses. A collection of mourning jewelry includes rings and broaches embroidered with the hair of the dearly departed. There’s even an original invitation to the funeral of George Washington himself. The Museum of Mourning Art is ghastly and gorgeous. It’s good grief.
An hour later, in the ragtop, bright sunshine brings us back to life. A few miles and we’re stopped again by the unexpected. We meet Tony Polito, who cuts hair and exhibits a call to arms in his unique Barber Shop & Military Museum. Since 1959 Tony’s barber chair has been surrounded by an expanding armory of canteens and bayonets, helmets and handcuffs, boots and bugles.
“I’m a barber and a patriot,” Tony barks like a drill sergeant. We nod along and nose around until our stomachs sound the noon retreat.
Good thing Jimmy John’s Pipin’ Hots is next door to the barber’s bivouac. This timeless hot-dog joy shack has grilled up quality heartburn for 67 years. We pile kraut and onions on tight little franks, layer on the brown mustard, and wolf a couple with relish. At our table, Jimmy John’s fleet of classic model trains toot by; they vibrate the straws standing thick in our black-and-white shakes.
With the repeating memory of the Pipin’ Hots dogging us on, we’re up for an afternoon of whatever comes next. And close by, near an airstrip that warns of low flyers, we find an armada of enormous Coast Guard choppers and Army gunships. It’s the front yard of the American Helicopter Museum. Inside, flying machines hang from the walls and ceilings and crowd across the floor. We climb inside a whirlybird, work the pedals and make the whappa-whappa sound effect with our lips.
Our volunteer tour guide is worth the visit alone. He’s Fred Mack, 96 years old and still an eager flyboy. He celebrated his last birthday with a parachute. “Yup,” he admits, “I jumped out of a plane that wasn’t even on fire!” Hurry up and climb on a helicopter with Fred while you still can.
Finally, we roll into Kennett Square, in the heart of mushroom country. We’re just in time to sample homemade salads and sauces at the amiable and amply stocked Mushroom Cap, the region’s semi-official toadstool capitol. Kathi Lafferty runs the place, as well as the area’s annual Mushroom Festival. Her fridge is full of beautiful white buttons and squiggly exotics. We dig into mushroom-sauced meatballs and pack away a few jars of her homemade Mediterranean mushroom salad. Now this is what we came for.
Down the road apiece we grab a room (which is just clean enough) at the Kennett Steak and Mushroom Restaurant & Motel. A walk through town works up an appetite for their beer-battered “maitakis bites”, criminis stuffed with crab imperial and a thick NY Strip smothered with a shitake marmalade. No doubt about it, there’s a lot of tasty fungus among us, or should we say we’re among the fungi. Whatever, it’s all good.
Tomorrow, we’re at the Brandywine River Museum, where Andrew Wyeth’s granddaughter gives us a personal tour of her family’s artistic legacy. Then a beautiful horse-farm B&B that makes even our feisty Terrier feel comfy. And tomorrow night, to finish our Route One excursion, we dive into the hands-down best mushroom soup of the trip at the colonial Dilworthtown Inn. After dinner we spelunk through their subterranean wine cellars, which seem to be a perfect place to grow more mushrooms. But that’s another story altogether.
Once again serendipity on the side roads leads to the most unusual – and delicious – discoveries. Drop us a line and let us know what you’ve found once, won’t you? Until then, we’ll look for you on the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (You find a map with photos of all these joints and more at visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
The Museum of Mourning Art
Yeah, yeah, it’s all about death and grief, but it’s also weirdly amusing. Ask for Elizabeth to give you the tour, because you have to call for an appointment. She makes it a lot of fun. Arlington Cemetery 2900 State Rd, Upper Darby; 610-259-5800
Tony Polito’s Barber Shop & Military Museum
Good haircuts in a uniform setting. Truly a personal obsession worth the visit. 1501 Wilmington Pike, West Chester; (610) 459-1245
Jimmy John’s Pipin’ Hots
The regular hot dog here is, well…regular. Go for the special frank; it’s a beauty. And it makes a nice combo with the palm-sized burgers. B&W shakes are as thick as your head and not to be missed. Next door to Tony Polito’s; 610.459.3083
The American Helicopter Museum
Check out one of the first helicopters ever made from the roaring ‘20s. A real field day for the whirlybird inside all of us. Fly in or drive like most people. 1220 American Blvd, West Chester. Get info and directions online at www.helicoptermuseum.org
The Brandywine River Museum
A beautiful conservancy for the historic Brandywine River wrapped around a collection of N.C., Andrew and Jamie Wyeth’s breathtaking paintings. If you’re lucky, Victoria Wyeth, Andrew’s only grandchild, will give you a personal tour. Just call ahead: 610.388.2700. Or visit www.brandywinemuseum.org.
Kennett Steak & Mushroom Motel
Nothing fancy, but an easy walk into Kennett Square’s national landmark downtown. The beer’s cold and the mushrooms tasty in the restaurant on site. Birch & Broad Sts, Kennett Square; 610.444.5085. See a menu at www.kennettsteakandmushroom.com.
The Mushroom Cap
This is Kennett Square’s unofficial mushroom capitol building. See Kathi Lafferty for fresh mushrooms, homemade mushroom salad and all sorts of toadstool tchotchkes. 114 West State St., Kennett Square; 610.444.8484. You can shop online at www.themushroomcap.com.
Hamanassett Bed & Breakfast
Ashley and Glen Mon offer up true hospitality on this plush horse farm. Ask about the romantic carriage house near the barn. Definitely ask for Glen’s crawfish bread. This place is a real keeper (and doggies are welcome). 725 Darlington Road, Chester Heights. Call 610.459.3000 for reservations or take a tour online: www.hamanassett.com. Oh, and pay attention when they give you directions; this place is so well hidden Mapquest can’t get you there.
The Dilworthtown Inn
One of the great American restaurants, period. And the best mushroom soup in mushroom land. Don’t leave without asking for a visit to the legendary wine cellars. 1390 Old Wilmington Pike, West Chester; 610.399.1390. Browse a menu at www.dilworthtown.com.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Goggling great art in Reading, wrapped up at Hershey’s Cuban spa, and a couple of free beers along the way.
The wind blows like a train up on Mt. Penn. But it’s worth braving as we gawk at the 100-year Oriental Pagoda next to us and the red-brick city of Reading sprawling about 1000 feet below us.
We’re here to find great art in this old factoryville, the city that inspired the great “Rabbit” quartet by native novelist John Updike. First, the birds-eye view from the mountain top, where Reading quarryman William Abbot Whitman atoned for his sins of scarring the earth by building a Japanese-style pagoda in 1908. We figure it’s his idea of the yin of beauty against the yang of his industrial eyesores. Or vice versa. Whatever, it’s a good place to get a lay of the land below.
The road down Mt. Penn switchbacks into a green park full of statues and monuments and kids playing stickball. There’s a band shell where you can still hear Sousa marches oompah on summer nights. A short cruise past Coney Island parlors, neighborhood taps, barrio bodegas and mansion-sized row homes with Tiffany transoms and we park the ragtop outside the big old brick factory where they once made industrial safety goggles.
We’re at The Goggle Works, where they now make great art. Reading’s enlightened city fathers (and mothers) have come to understand the arts can have resuscitating powers in tired factory towns. With help from the generosity of a few noble sponsors, this old goggle plant has been transformed into a warren of artist’s studios, galleries, a movie theater and a fountainhead of creativity that is reenergizing the urban center.
We say hello to a horse made of bottle caps. We stroll past eye-popping modern paintings and portrait photography that make us want to talk with its subjects. We interrupt a glassblower to compliment his bubbling bottles. And we lose ourselves in a gallery full of “outsider art:” paintings on plywood, found-object sculptures and intimate portrait-peeks into the majesty of unheralded lives. We can’t take our eyes off the stuff.
But peel ‘em away, we must. And we’re off to Pottsville and America’s oldest brewery. An hour or so up Route 61, a lunch-bucket blacktop where heavy trucks ply their trade and diners proclaim the righteousness of “breakfast served all day.” And bingo, we’re inside a limestone cave hewn out of a mountain where the Yuengling family has put magic in a bottle for more than 175 years.
Our tour guide is named Ed. He’s a student over at Penn State and therefore claims to know a thing or two about beer. He leads our group with folks from all over – Alaska, Germany, even Center City Philadelphia – on a thirst-inducing stroll through the whirling dervish of bottles flying by on belts like something out of “Modern Times.” We spelunk through the damp cave stacked with kegs of amber goodness and finally plunk down at a bar seat for the hard-earned free samples. Ah, these Pennsylvania Germans sure know what to do with a bag of hops, some barley malt and a limestone cave.
We thank our lucky stars the limit on Yuengling freebies is two cups. We’re still on the road, where we’re lined up for a rest stop in the Spa at the Hotel Hershey. This is the place old Milton Hershey designed in the manner of the grandest of European hotels. It’s proud up on a hill, surrounded by rose gardens and the aroma of cocoa. And inside, a new spa with pleasures inspired by old man Hershey’s love of Cuba, where he first found the sugar to sweeten his chocolate empire.
Our masseuse, a lovely woman named Suzanne (do yourself a favor and ask for her by name), rubs the road-weary out of our bones with a jasmine-soaked massage followed by a limey-mint-slippery mojito wrap. We’re snug as a bug in a rug of warm towels and aromatic lotion inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s legendary favorite Cuban mojito cocktail. Suzanne pushes all the right muscle buttons and sends us into a naptime trance until we wake up drooling. Above us is a seven-headed shower arm – like something out of Dr. No or from the corner car wash – rinsing off the mojito goop with incredibly soothing warm water. Looks weird, feels good.
As we walk blinking and yawning out of the spa in thick terry robes, fresh from our Cuban cocktail body wrap, we head toward, of course, the hotel lounge. We’re ready for a real mojito and one more sensory experience on this eccentric roadtrip.
It sure feels good when we get off the highway. Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
The Pagoda
72 feet tall, 886 feet above the city of Reading and 100 years of history. Not to mention a smashing view way up on top of Mt. Penn. Get all the info and a great map at www.pagodaskyline.org. There’s a gift shop on the fourth floor. Best to call ahead, though. 610.375.6399.
Adrienne’s Inn at Centre Park
Adrienne Peridini can talk the birds out of the trees. Good gab is her gift, and it helped her win the essay contest created to sell this Victorian mansion to the one person who would maintain its splendor and make folks feel welcome. The splendor: Italian plaster cherubs, Tiffany transoms, happy fireplaces and old-world woodwork. The welcome: Adrienne’s French toast and genuine smile. We love the Blue Room with its 7’ claw foot tub. On the web at adriennesinnatcentrepark.com. Or call 610.374.8557 and ask her for her best rate.
The Ugly Oyster and Jimmy Kramer’s Peanut Bar
Two downtown Reading stalwarts. We slurp down a dozen blue points with a Guinness at the Ugly Oyster, and then do a polka up the block for chili-fried chicken at the Peanut Bar. Conversation with the locals is as good as the food and drink. The Ugly Oyster’s at 21 S. 5th Street. Toss the shells on the floor at The Peanut Bar at 332 Penn Street just around the block.
The Garfield Diner
A classic dining car right on Pottsville’s monument square. Scarf some homemade meatloaf across from the statue of the Spanish-American War soldier. Since 1953 at 402 W. Market Street. Find ‘em at visitpa.com.
The John O’Hara House
John O’Hara wrote great novels, screenplays and stories for The New Yorker. The surrounding coal country was his muse. 606 Mahantongo Street, across from the Yuengling Brewery.
The Yuengling Brewery
High up on Mahantongo Street, overlooking the architectural treasure that is Pottsville, is America’s oldest brewery. The Yuengling beer-making family knows what it’s doing, and with the fun free tour (and free samples) you can see (and taste) for yourself. We love sipping their beautiful dark porter. Visit on the web at www.yuengling.com.
The Spa at the Hotel Hershey
Yes, you can be dipped in chocolate and rubbed all over. Or go for one of the invigorating Cuban-themed treatments in this total oasis for mind, body and soul. It’s inside the majestic Hotel Hershey and a million miles from reality. (Our favorite masseuse is Suzanne.) You’ll find your way there, eventually, at www.hersheypa.com.
The Union Canal House
The tiny crossroads of Union Deposit, PA is literally around the corner from all the Hershey hubbub, yet in a very different aesthetic dimension.
Get one of the seven comfy rooms in this welcome tavern circa 1700’s. (The “deluxe” suite has a Jacuzzi and kitchenette.) And dig into the clams, crabs, steaks and reasonable wine list. Online at www.unioncanalhouse.com.
Mt. Gretna Hideaway
This may be a bit off the beaten path, but that's the point. A great beer-barrel roadhouse, the Hideaway is across from the firehouse, on the backroads to Hershey (just off Exit 266 of the ‘Pike) in the tiny lakeside burg of Mt. Gretna. It’s well worth the hunt, just for a crock of chili, a tavern cheesesteak and to buy a few bottles of amazing homemade hot sauce. The address: Boulevard, Mt. Gretna. And yes, online at www.mtgretnahideaway.com. Did we mention the amazing homemade hot sauce?
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
We’re here to find great art in this old factoryville, the city that inspired the great “Rabbit” quartet by native novelist John Updike. First, the birds-eye view from the mountain top, where Reading quarryman William Abbot Whitman atoned for his sins of scarring the earth by building a Japanese-style pagoda in 1908. We figure it’s his idea of the yin of beauty against the yang of his industrial eyesores. Or vice versa. Whatever, it’s a good place to get a lay of the land below.
The road down Mt. Penn switchbacks into a green park full of statues and monuments and kids playing stickball. There’s a band shell where you can still hear Sousa marches oompah on summer nights. A short cruise past Coney Island parlors, neighborhood taps, barrio bodegas and mansion-sized row homes with Tiffany transoms and we park the ragtop outside the big old brick factory where they once made industrial safety goggles.
We’re at The Goggle Works, where they now make great art. Reading’s enlightened city fathers (and mothers) have come to understand the arts can have resuscitating powers in tired factory towns. With help from the generosity of a few noble sponsors, this old goggle plant has been transformed into a warren of artist’s studios, galleries, a movie theater and a fountainhead of creativity that is reenergizing the urban center.
We say hello to a horse made of bottle caps. We stroll past eye-popping modern paintings and portrait photography that make us want to talk with its subjects. We interrupt a glassblower to compliment his bubbling bottles. And we lose ourselves in a gallery full of “outsider art:” paintings on plywood, found-object sculptures and intimate portrait-peeks into the majesty of unheralded lives. We can’t take our eyes off the stuff.
But peel ‘em away, we must. And we’re off to Pottsville and America’s oldest brewery. An hour or so up Route 61, a lunch-bucket blacktop where heavy trucks ply their trade and diners proclaim the righteousness of “breakfast served all day.” And bingo, we’re inside a limestone cave hewn out of a mountain where the Yuengling family has put magic in a bottle for more than 175 years.
Our tour guide is named Ed. He’s a student over at Penn State and therefore claims to know a thing or two about beer. He leads our group with folks from all over – Alaska, Germany, even Center City Philadelphia – on a thirst-inducing stroll through the whirling dervish of bottles flying by on belts like something out of “Modern Times.” We spelunk through the damp cave stacked with kegs of amber goodness and finally plunk down at a bar seat for the hard-earned free samples. Ah, these Pennsylvania Germans sure know what to do with a bag of hops, some barley malt and a limestone cave.
We thank our lucky stars the limit on Yuengling freebies is two cups. We’re still on the road, where we’re lined up for a rest stop in the Spa at the Hotel Hershey. This is the place old Milton Hershey designed in the manner of the grandest of European hotels. It’s proud up on a hill, surrounded by rose gardens and the aroma of cocoa. And inside, a new spa with pleasures inspired by old man Hershey’s love of Cuba, where he first found the sugar to sweeten his chocolate empire.
Our masseuse, a lovely woman named Suzanne (do yourself a favor and ask for her by name), rubs the road-weary out of our bones with a jasmine-soaked massage followed by a limey-mint-slippery mojito wrap. We’re snug as a bug in a rug of warm towels and aromatic lotion inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s legendary favorite Cuban mojito cocktail. Suzanne pushes all the right muscle buttons and sends us into a naptime trance until we wake up drooling. Above us is a seven-headed shower arm – like something out of Dr. No or from the corner car wash – rinsing off the mojito goop with incredibly soothing warm water. Looks weird, feels good.
As we walk blinking and yawning out of the spa in thick terry robes, fresh from our Cuban cocktail body wrap, we head toward, of course, the hotel lounge. We’re ready for a real mojito and one more sensory experience on this eccentric roadtrip.
It sure feels good when we get off the highway. Until then, we’ll see you around the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
The Pagoda
72 feet tall, 886 feet above the city of Reading and 100 years of history. Not to mention a smashing view way up on top of Mt. Penn. Get all the info and a great map at www.pagodaskyline.org. There’s a gift shop on the fourth floor. Best to call ahead, though. 610.375.6399.
Adrienne’s Inn at Centre Park
Adrienne Peridini can talk the birds out of the trees. Good gab is her gift, and it helped her win the essay contest created to sell this Victorian mansion to the one person who would maintain its splendor and make folks feel welcome. The splendor: Italian plaster cherubs, Tiffany transoms, happy fireplaces and old-world woodwork. The welcome: Adrienne’s French toast and genuine smile. We love the Blue Room with its 7’ claw foot tub. On the web at adriennesinnatcentrepark.com. Or call 610.374.8557 and ask her for her best rate.
The Ugly Oyster and Jimmy Kramer’s Peanut Bar
Two downtown Reading stalwarts. We slurp down a dozen blue points with a Guinness at the Ugly Oyster, and then do a polka up the block for chili-fried chicken at the Peanut Bar. Conversation with the locals is as good as the food and drink. The Ugly Oyster’s at 21 S. 5th Street. Toss the shells on the floor at The Peanut Bar at 332 Penn Street just around the block.
The Garfield Diner
A classic dining car right on Pottsville’s monument square. Scarf some homemade meatloaf across from the statue of the Spanish-American War soldier. Since 1953 at 402 W. Market Street. Find ‘em at visitpa.com.
The John O’Hara House
John O’Hara wrote great novels, screenplays and stories for The New Yorker. The surrounding coal country was his muse. 606 Mahantongo Street, across from the Yuengling Brewery.
The Yuengling Brewery
High up on Mahantongo Street, overlooking the architectural treasure that is Pottsville, is America’s oldest brewery. The Yuengling beer-making family knows what it’s doing, and with the fun free tour (and free samples) you can see (and taste) for yourself. We love sipping their beautiful dark porter. Visit on the web at www.yuengling.com.
The Spa at the Hotel Hershey
Yes, you can be dipped in chocolate and rubbed all over. Or go for one of the invigorating Cuban-themed treatments in this total oasis for mind, body and soul. It’s inside the majestic Hotel Hershey and a million miles from reality. (Our favorite masseuse is Suzanne.) You’ll find your way there, eventually, at www.hersheypa.com.
The Union Canal House
The tiny crossroads of Union Deposit, PA is literally around the corner from all the Hershey hubbub, yet in a very different aesthetic dimension.
Get one of the seven comfy rooms in this welcome tavern circa 1700’s. (The “deluxe” suite has a Jacuzzi and kitchenette.) And dig into the clams, crabs, steaks and reasonable wine list. Online at www.unioncanalhouse.com.
Mt. Gretna Hideaway
This may be a bit off the beaten path, but that's the point. A great beer-barrel roadhouse, the Hideaway is across from the firehouse, on the backroads to Hershey (just off Exit 266 of the ‘Pike) in the tiny lakeside burg of Mt. Gretna. It’s well worth the hunt, just for a crock of chili, a tavern cheesesteak and to buy a few bottles of amazing homemade hot sauce. The address: Boulevard, Mt. Gretna. And yes, online at www.mtgretnahideaway.com. Did we mention the amazing homemade hot sauce?
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
Six feet under, solitary confinement and some “scientific oddities” in good old Philadelphia
Kelly Drive in Philadelphia slides between grand statues to the east and sculls along the lazy Schuylkill River to the west. It’s just a few minutes out of town to the pearly iron gates of Laurel Hill Cemetery.
Back in the 19th century – long before the river road we’re cruising – a barge brought Philly’s high society upriver to their final resting places. The departed have a marvelous view across the river in a necropolis of Calder sculptures, winding arboretum pathways, and wild stories galore. We find it easy – and fun – to get lost among huge Victorian monuments that mark the graves of scientists, industrialists, revolutionaries, and all manner of uppity folk.
Every grave is telltale, and the monuments provide the narrative. “This carved broken urn means he died a violent death,” Ross Mitchell tells us. “Here lies a man killed by his butler. No joke.” Ross is the un-ghoulishly happy gent who runs the joint. He shows us “millionaire’s row,” where the founder of the Philadelphia Inquirer, the inventor of the flexible saw blade (who made a nice piece of change during the Industrial Revolution) and the inventors of the modern public transit system are all in neighboring mausoleum mansions. Ross takes us into one with a staircase deep into the earth and we get the creepy feel of a lot more than six feet under.
There’s even a gravestone marked “Adrian Balboa.” Yup, Rocky’s wife is buried here. Well, at least in the movie. Her gravestone prop is to be well maintained in perpetuity.
The old marble stones suffer from acid rain. Mournful heroic angels and blunted obelisks reach to the sky in agony. We see Laurel Hill the way Henry James described the city of Venice. We feel “the sad elegance of ruin…”
Six Titanic passengers and 40 Civil War-era generals rest here. And every New Year’s Eve at noon, champagne flows free to the public at the graveside of General Meade, who won the battle of Gettysburg. The promise of free bubbly seals the deal for our return and we head downriver, past a classic Frederick Remington cowboy sculpture, toward the imposing edifice of Eastern State Penitentiary.
But all that whistling through the graveyard has us hungry. Luckily Philly’s ancient Victorian Water Works is right on the way, and now a splendid neoclassical restaurant. We slurp lobster bisque among huge columns of the ancient pump house and munch garbanzo salsa overlooking Schuylkill waterfalls. Behind us looms Philly’s iconic Museum of Art. (Adrian!)
Tummies full, we creep into Eastern State Pen. The miserable souls who wound up here were given a bible and a cold stone cell and a few years to sit and think about things. Sean Kelly, the current “warden” of these architectural ruins, gives us a similar tour to the one that inspired Charles Dickens to proclaim the place “cruel and wrong” back in 1842. We have to agree.
“Basically, instead of rehabbing criminals, the solitary confinement drove ‘em crazy,” says Sean. Since we’re fresh from the graveyard, we ask about spooks. “Oh there’s ghosts aplenty, I’m sure. The paranormal experts are crawling around here all the time.”
We crawl around to the former cell of Al Capone, who did time here on a gun charge in ‘29. The mobster’s pad is the Ritz compared to the surrounding dank cells. There’s a polished desk, a comfy bed, even a console radio to bring waltz music into his little corner of haunted hell.
But all this delightful despair is just a warm up for the macabre Mütter Museum, an unsettling collection from the old College of Physician’s. Being a bit squeamish we’re glad to have the prison between it and our lobster bisque. We gawk at what they call “fluid-preserved anatomical specimens.” We call them a variety of human head slices, the shared liver from the original “Siamese” twins and an assortment of 2000 completely weird objects that people found a way to swallow 100 years ago. (Much, much weirder than the garbanzo salsa.)
Thank goodness we have a bed worthy of Capone waiting for us near Rittenhouse Square and reservations at our favorite Italian BYOB. Maybe after dinner we’ll see you strolling the square, or heading out of town toward the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
Laurel Hill Cemetery
Guided tours of this hauntingly beautiful 78-acre cemetery cum arboretum cum sculpture garden are held one Sunday each month. Tour themes include “Sinners, Scandals and Suicides” and “ Dead White Republicans.” Say hello to Ross Mitchell, who runs the necropolis and whistle through the coolest graveyard you’ll ever see. Check out their lively website at theundergroundmuseum.org.
Hi-yo outdoor art! (Tim: the Frederick Remington cowboy statue. Maybe this gets inserted within the text of the piece in some fun way.)
Philly has more outdoor art than Paris. Along the Kelly Drive you’ll find statue after statue, including this Frederick Remington masterwork rearing up over the Schuylkill River.
The Water Works Restaurant
Originally one of the country’s first and largest municipal water works, this architectural marvel is as beautiful as it is delicious. Overlooking the Schuylkill River falls and surrounded by Fairmount Park gardens. Tucked behind the Museum of Art, just off Kelly Drive. Online at thewaterworksrestaurant.com.
Eastern State Penitentiary
Sean Kelly is the current “warden” of this amazing and haunted jailhouse. Take the tour and you’ll see why Alcatraz has nothing on the original granddaddy of American prison lore. On Fairmount Avenue at 21st Street. On the web: easternstate.org.
Rittenhouse 1715
Just about a half block from fashionable Rittenhouse Square, this beautiful boutique inn is bigger than a B&B, but much more personal than a big-box hotel. Luxurious, incredible comfortable and an easy walk to everywhere. At 1715 Rittenhouse Square Street with a great website at rittenhouse1715.com.
Melograno Tuscan Bistro
Luca’s from Rome and knows how to run an Italian kitchen. His wife Rose is Vietnamese-American and knows how to make you feel welcome. Their unique chemistry creates some of the best food you’ll ever have in front of you. You’re nuts not to try the homemade papardelle. BYOB to 22nd & Spruce. Call 215.875.8116 and ask Rose about tonight’s special.
10th Street Pour House
Walk a few blocks and get yourself a real breakfast. Great coffee, splendid Eggs Benedict and a Tex-Mex omelet that just won’t quit. Arguably the best home fries in town. 262 S. 10th Street, between Spruce and Locust. 215.922.5626.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
Back in the 19th century – long before the river road we’re cruising – a barge brought Philly’s high society upriver to their final resting places. The departed have a marvelous view across the river in a necropolis of Calder sculptures, winding arboretum pathways, and wild stories galore. We find it easy – and fun – to get lost among huge Victorian monuments that mark the graves of scientists, industrialists, revolutionaries, and all manner of uppity folk.
Every grave is telltale, and the monuments provide the narrative. “This carved broken urn means he died a violent death,” Ross Mitchell tells us. “Here lies a man killed by his butler. No joke.” Ross is the un-ghoulishly happy gent who runs the joint. He shows us “millionaire’s row,” where the founder of the Philadelphia Inquirer, the inventor of the flexible saw blade (who made a nice piece of change during the Industrial Revolution) and the inventors of the modern public transit system are all in neighboring mausoleum mansions. Ross takes us into one with a staircase deep into the earth and we get the creepy feel of a lot more than six feet under.
There’s even a gravestone marked “Adrian Balboa.” Yup, Rocky’s wife is buried here. Well, at least in the movie. Her gravestone prop is to be well maintained in perpetuity.
The old marble stones suffer from acid rain. Mournful heroic angels and blunted obelisks reach to the sky in agony. We see Laurel Hill the way Henry James described the city of Venice. We feel “the sad elegance of ruin…”
Six Titanic passengers and 40 Civil War-era generals rest here. And every New Year’s Eve at noon, champagne flows free to the public at the graveside of General Meade, who won the battle of Gettysburg. The promise of free bubbly seals the deal for our return and we head downriver, past a classic Frederick Remington cowboy sculpture, toward the imposing edifice of Eastern State Penitentiary.
But all that whistling through the graveyard has us hungry. Luckily Philly’s ancient Victorian Water Works is right on the way, and now a splendid neoclassical restaurant. We slurp lobster bisque among huge columns of the ancient pump house and munch garbanzo salsa overlooking Schuylkill waterfalls. Behind us looms Philly’s iconic Museum of Art. (Adrian!)
Tummies full, we creep into Eastern State Pen. The miserable souls who wound up here were given a bible and a cold stone cell and a few years to sit and think about things. Sean Kelly, the current “warden” of these architectural ruins, gives us a similar tour to the one that inspired Charles Dickens to proclaim the place “cruel and wrong” back in 1842. We have to agree.
“Basically, instead of rehabbing criminals, the solitary confinement drove ‘em crazy,” says Sean. Since we’re fresh from the graveyard, we ask about spooks. “Oh there’s ghosts aplenty, I’m sure. The paranormal experts are crawling around here all the time.”
We crawl around to the former cell of Al Capone, who did time here on a gun charge in ‘29. The mobster’s pad is the Ritz compared to the surrounding dank cells. There’s a polished desk, a comfy bed, even a console radio to bring waltz music into his little corner of haunted hell.
But all this delightful despair is just a warm up for the macabre Mütter Museum, an unsettling collection from the old College of Physician’s. Being a bit squeamish we’re glad to have the prison between it and our lobster bisque. We gawk at what they call “fluid-preserved anatomical specimens.” We call them a variety of human head slices, the shared liver from the original “Siamese” twins and an assortment of 2000 completely weird objects that people found a way to swallow 100 years ago. (Much, much weirder than the garbanzo salsa.)
Thank goodness we have a bed worthy of Capone waiting for us near Rittenhouse Square and reservations at our favorite Italian BYOB. Maybe after dinner we’ll see you strolling the square, or heading out of town toward the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
Laurel Hill Cemetery
Guided tours of this hauntingly beautiful 78-acre cemetery cum arboretum cum sculpture garden are held one Sunday each month. Tour themes include “Sinners, Scandals and Suicides” and “ Dead White Republicans.” Say hello to Ross Mitchell, who runs the necropolis and whistle through the coolest graveyard you’ll ever see. Check out their lively website at theundergroundmuseum.org.
Hi-yo outdoor art! (Tim: the Frederick Remington cowboy statue. Maybe this gets inserted within the text of the piece in some fun way.)
Philly has more outdoor art than Paris. Along the Kelly Drive you’ll find statue after statue, including this Frederick Remington masterwork rearing up over the Schuylkill River.
The Water Works Restaurant
Originally one of the country’s first and largest municipal water works, this architectural marvel is as beautiful as it is delicious. Overlooking the Schuylkill River falls and surrounded by Fairmount Park gardens. Tucked behind the Museum of Art, just off Kelly Drive. Online at thewaterworksrestaurant.com.
Eastern State Penitentiary
Sean Kelly is the current “warden” of this amazing and haunted jailhouse. Take the tour and you’ll see why Alcatraz has nothing on the original granddaddy of American prison lore. On Fairmount Avenue at 21st Street. On the web: easternstate.org.
Rittenhouse 1715
Just about a half block from fashionable Rittenhouse Square, this beautiful boutique inn is bigger than a B&B, but much more personal than a big-box hotel. Luxurious, incredible comfortable and an easy walk to everywhere. At 1715 Rittenhouse Square Street with a great website at rittenhouse1715.com.
Melograno Tuscan Bistro
Luca’s from Rome and knows how to run an Italian kitchen. His wife Rose is Vietnamese-American and knows how to make you feel welcome. Their unique chemistry creates some of the best food you’ll ever have in front of you. You’re nuts not to try the homemade papardelle. BYOB to 22nd & Spruce. Call 215.875.8116 and ask Rose about tonight’s special.
10th Street Pour House
Walk a few blocks and get yourself a real breakfast. Great coffee, splendid Eggs Benedict and a Tex-Mex omelet that just won’t quit. Arguably the best home fries in town. 262 S. 10th Street, between Spruce and Locust. 215.922.5626.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
4,466 miles from Naples: “The Pizza Capital of the World”
The river road from Wilkes-Barre up to Old Forge snakes through small storefront towns, hugging the mighty Susquehanna. This is Main Street for a riverside of Italian and Polish enclaves; home to immigrants lured a century ago by coalmines, steel mills and a better life for their kids. We drive by memorials to mineshaft disasters, soda-fountain drug stores, corner taprooms, salumerias, ethnic social clubs, and about as many Catholic churches as there are saints.
Up here in Old Forge, the only thing that may outnumber churches is pizza parlors. This is the self-proclaimed “pizza capital of the world,” and folks in every local parish agree that Old Forge pizza is a religion unto itself. But this is where the agreement ends and a world-class pizza rivalry starts cooking.
Some say Arcaro & Gennell, a comfy tavern of a pizza restaurant, knows just the right combo of cheeses and sauce. Others say Revello’s, right across the street, makes a crust to die for. Still others insist the best Old Forge-style pizza isn’t even in Old Forge.
“Grotto’s is the best pizza you’ll ever eat. You’re crazy not to start there.” We heed a local’s advice and stop first in Harvey’s Lake, where people drive from miles for a mouthful of Grotto’s pizza. It’s good, but we’re not about to settle for a chain-store pie.
What makes Old Forge pizza unique? You can order a slice (here they call it a “cut”), but most folks get it by the rectangular tray (not by the pie) It could be a half-inch thick. Olive oil goes in a deep pan first, then a layer of dough. More olive oil, more dough. The crust is thick, with baked-in bubbles and chewy good. Pile on the cheese, ladle on the sauce and bite down with alacrity.
The specialty up here is white pizza. No red sauce, just a blend of cheeses and sometimes, sweet onions. When it’s good, white pizza is like white chocolate. That is to say, it’s not like pizza at all; like great white chocolate isn’t really like chocolate. The best Old Forge white pizza transcends the category and creates a delicious new food group.
And we’re here to tell you, the best white pizza on our sojourn (we sampled nearly a dozen pies – oops, trays - in two days) is at Revello’s, in the heart of Old Forge. Our choice is controversial, even in Revello’s. We ask our server whether she prefers the white or red and she confides in a whisper, “I don’t like either here. The best pizza in Old Forge is up at Mary Lou’s.”
We drop our napkins and bolt for the door, planning on a beeline for Mary Lou’s. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your appetite – there are two other pizza joints along the way and we don’t make it Mary Lou’s for about an hour. By then, our pizza judgment is pretty much impaired.
You think we’re sated. But on the way back to Wilkes-Barre we pull up to Sabbatelle’s in the hardscrabble river town of Pittston. Rocky and Jane Sabbatelle have stocked their Italian deli for 30 years. Aisles are crowded with homemade everything and shelves are full of olives, salamis and sausages, incredible aged provolone, fresh mozzarella, egg pappardelle, fried eggplant, and – you guessed it – trays of pizza.
“The best you’ll ever eat,” Rocky promises. “Better than anything up in Old Forge.” What the heck, we shrug, and loosen a couple buttons.
Later, we head for a local brewery tour and a four-poster bed in what was the summer mansion of the “lumber-and-ice king” of Pennsylvania’s great industrial age. But that’s a whole other story. So until then, we’ll see you round the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
Smile and say “Cheese!”
Folks in Old Forge know you need more than plenty of napkins with good, gooey pizza. At Revello’s we’re lucky enough to find a free dental floss dispenser in the rest room. So there’s no excuse for picking your teeth at the table!
Arcaro and Gennell
They’ve been at it for 44 years, and you feel completely home inside this family pizza tavern. Sure, you come for the pizza, but try the hot pepper shooters and homemade fettuccine capricciosi on the full-blown Italian menu. 443 S Main St, across from Revello’s in Old Forge. Check out pizzacapitaloftheworld.com. 570.457.5555
Revello’s Café
Everything on the menu is available for take-out, except the homemade tripe. “It takes too long to make, and it’s a real crowd-pleaser at the bar,” we’re told. No wonder the bar is so crowded, especially on weekends. Our white pizza winner. 502 S Main St, across from Arcaro & Gennell in Old Forge. 570.457.9843
Mary Lou’s Pizza
Mary Lou Verdetto knows what she’s doing. In fact some of the insiders at other pizza parlors says hers is the best. Turn west off Main Street, keep your nose out the window and you’ll find her. Open Thursday, Friday and Saturdays only. 209 Dunn Avenue in Old Forge. 570.562.2700
The Lion Brewery
What’s better with pizza than free beer! They’ve been at it since 1905 here and you can sample the ale, porter and 1857 lager in the historic Stegmaier Brewhouse. Call ahead for a free tour: 570-823-8801, ext 346 (ask for Theresa) or online at lionbrewery.com. 700 North Pennsylvania Blvd in Wilkes-Barre.
Sabatelle’s Market
Stop in for an enormous sandwich, some homemade pasta, and don’t forget to bring home the pancetta. Say “ciao” to Rocky, Jane, Chuck, Maury, Jason and/or A.J. Sabatelle.114 S Main Street, Pittston, PA 570.654.4617
Bischwind B&B, Bear Creek Village
This glorious B&B was the “lumber-and-ice king” Albert Lewis’s summer home back in the day. (He’s buried across the street in one of the most amazing little cemeteries you’ll ever see.) Current owner Billi English grew up in the house and knows all the nooks and crannies. (Ask her to point out the Tiffany glass transoms. Awesome.) Billi’s four-course breakfast is fit for a land baron. Filet mignon and eggs anyone? One Coach Road and Rt 115, Bear Creek Village. 570.472.3820 and/or bischwind.com.
Bear Creek Inn
Enough with the pizza trays. Belly up to the beautiful old bar and let Larraine Eddowes, the Inne’s gracious owner, introduce you to all the locals. She makes a fine martini, and the conversation gets just as spirited. And you’re crazy if you don’t get the lamb chops with mint jelly. Quarter mile from the Bischwind on Rt 115 in Bear Creek Village. 570.472.9045 and/or bearcreekinne.com.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
Up here in Old Forge, the only thing that may outnumber churches is pizza parlors. This is the self-proclaimed “pizza capital of the world,” and folks in every local parish agree that Old Forge pizza is a religion unto itself. But this is where the agreement ends and a world-class pizza rivalry starts cooking.
Some say Arcaro & Gennell, a comfy tavern of a pizza restaurant, knows just the right combo of cheeses and sauce. Others say Revello’s, right across the street, makes a crust to die for. Still others insist the best Old Forge-style pizza isn’t even in Old Forge.
“Grotto’s is the best pizza you’ll ever eat. You’re crazy not to start there.” We heed a local’s advice and stop first in Harvey’s Lake, where people drive from miles for a mouthful of Grotto’s pizza. It’s good, but we’re not about to settle for a chain-store pie.
What makes Old Forge pizza unique? You can order a slice (here they call it a “cut”), but most folks get it by the rectangular tray (not by the pie) It could be a half-inch thick. Olive oil goes in a deep pan first, then a layer of dough. More olive oil, more dough. The crust is thick, with baked-in bubbles and chewy good. Pile on the cheese, ladle on the sauce and bite down with alacrity.
The specialty up here is white pizza. No red sauce, just a blend of cheeses and sometimes, sweet onions. When it’s good, white pizza is like white chocolate. That is to say, it’s not like pizza at all; like great white chocolate isn’t really like chocolate. The best Old Forge white pizza transcends the category and creates a delicious new food group.
And we’re here to tell you, the best white pizza on our sojourn (we sampled nearly a dozen pies – oops, trays - in two days) is at Revello’s, in the heart of Old Forge. Our choice is controversial, even in Revello’s. We ask our server whether she prefers the white or red and she confides in a whisper, “I don’t like either here. The best pizza in Old Forge is up at Mary Lou’s.”
We drop our napkins and bolt for the door, planning on a beeline for Mary Lou’s. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your appetite – there are two other pizza joints along the way and we don’t make it Mary Lou’s for about an hour. By then, our pizza judgment is pretty much impaired.
You think we’re sated. But on the way back to Wilkes-Barre we pull up to Sabbatelle’s in the hardscrabble river town of Pittston. Rocky and Jane Sabbatelle have stocked their Italian deli for 30 years. Aisles are crowded with homemade everything and shelves are full of olives, salamis and sausages, incredible aged provolone, fresh mozzarella, egg pappardelle, fried eggplant, and – you guessed it – trays of pizza.
“The best you’ll ever eat,” Rocky promises. “Better than anything up in Old Forge.” What the heck, we shrug, and loosen a couple buttons.
Later, we head for a local brewery tour and a four-poster bed in what was the summer mansion of the “lumber-and-ice king” of Pennsylvania’s great industrial age. But that’s a whole other story. So until then, we’ll see you round the bends and backroads.
When you hit the road, here's where to stop. (For a map with photos of all these places and more, go to www.visitpa.com/shunpiker.)
Smile and say “Cheese!”
Folks in Old Forge know you need more than plenty of napkins with good, gooey pizza. At Revello’s we’re lucky enough to find a free dental floss dispenser in the rest room. So there’s no excuse for picking your teeth at the table!
Arcaro and Gennell
They’ve been at it for 44 years, and you feel completely home inside this family pizza tavern. Sure, you come for the pizza, but try the hot pepper shooters and homemade fettuccine capricciosi on the full-blown Italian menu. 443 S Main St, across from Revello’s in Old Forge. Check out pizzacapitaloftheworld.com. 570.457.5555
Revello’s Café
Everything on the menu is available for take-out, except the homemade tripe. “It takes too long to make, and it’s a real crowd-pleaser at the bar,” we’re told. No wonder the bar is so crowded, especially on weekends. Our white pizza winner. 502 S Main St, across from Arcaro & Gennell in Old Forge. 570.457.9843
Mary Lou’s Pizza
Mary Lou Verdetto knows what she’s doing. In fact some of the insiders at other pizza parlors says hers is the best. Turn west off Main Street, keep your nose out the window and you’ll find her. Open Thursday, Friday and Saturdays only. 209 Dunn Avenue in Old Forge. 570.562.2700
The Lion Brewery
What’s better with pizza than free beer! They’ve been at it since 1905 here and you can sample the ale, porter and 1857 lager in the historic Stegmaier Brewhouse. Call ahead for a free tour: 570-823-8801, ext 346 (ask for Theresa) or online at lionbrewery.com. 700 North Pennsylvania Blvd in Wilkes-Barre.
Sabatelle’s Market
Stop in for an enormous sandwich, some homemade pasta, and don’t forget to bring home the pancetta. Say “ciao” to Rocky, Jane, Chuck, Maury, Jason and/or A.J. Sabatelle.114 S Main Street, Pittston, PA 570.654.4617
Bischwind B&B, Bear Creek Village
This glorious B&B was the “lumber-and-ice king” Albert Lewis’s summer home back in the day. (He’s buried across the street in one of the most amazing little cemeteries you’ll ever see.) Current owner Billi English grew up in the house and knows all the nooks and crannies. (Ask her to point out the Tiffany glass transoms. Awesome.) Billi’s four-course breakfast is fit for a land baron. Filet mignon and eggs anyone? One Coach Road and Rt 115, Bear Creek Village. 570.472.3820 and/or bischwind.com.
Bear Creek Inn
Enough with the pizza trays. Belly up to the beautiful old bar and let Larraine Eddowes, the Inne’s gracious owner, introduce you to all the locals. She makes a fine martini, and the conversation gets just as spirited. And you’re crazy if you don’t get the lamb chops with mint jelly. Quarter mile from the Bischwind on Rt 115 in Bear Creek Village. 570.472.9045 and/or bearcreekinne.com.
Ok, now it's your turn. Let us know what you find out there with an email to shunpiker@visitpa.com.
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