Travelogue: Montauk a.k.a. Are you sure we're still in New York?

 

Aron planned a wonderful weekend getaway for us in Montauk, which sits at the very tip of the South Fork of Long Island--a way for me to extend my birthday further yet! I've been wanting to go, we both have, ever since moving out here. A colleague at work recently got her first summer-share there and made me completely envious with her tales of classic clam shacks; long, clean beaches; and an unpretentious, low-key vibe. Like the Hamptons, however, the price to visit Montauk can be quite high between Memorial day and Labor day. Luckily, my birthday is in September!

We spent a few too many hours in the car getting through the city's entanglements, but--eventually--we made it to The Lobster Roll (or Lunch, as it may be more commonly called). If you recall, Aron took me to Newport, RI, for my birthday a couple of years ago. I'm loving this lobster theme... I think I actually prefer a good roll to the straight style.This one was good--and I loved the atmosphere--but definitely a true lobster salad roll (very finely diced vs large chunks of sweet lobster). On a side note (I can't help but mention): on the way into town, we stopped at the grocery store and I nearly knocked Julianne Moore down as I ran in.

We stayed at the Albatross--a fine, but unremarkable motel. Still, it had a great location, and Aron did a fantastic job getting us this spot at a last-minute's notice. Ask him about the curmudgeon-old-lady who gave his reservation away at the first place he had picked and watch my normally unflappable husband get angry!

  Breakfast Saturday took us to Mr. John's Pancake House. No doubt Anthony's pancake house across the street has virtually the same menu, but we were very happy to split orders of banana pancakes and corned beef hash with eggs at Mr. John's.

When we first began walking down the beach, we had intended to just check out the water and then come back later. But once we started we couldn't stop! It was two or so hours before we returned to more solid land. Our imaginations swirled with thoughts of our summer home in Montauk, with mornings spent sipping coffee overlooking the water, strolling down the coast. Playing house, so to speak, became a recurrent theme of the weekend as we drove by the many shingled homes--particularly the smaller, quainter looking ones--that we would love to call ours.

There were plenty of people in the water--mostly in wetsuits, on surfboards--and it was quite warm in the sun, out of the breeze. We walked toward the area where the majority of surfers could be found: Ditch Plains beach. We were impressed--and inspired--by how many surfers were in the 40-60 age range. Longboards prevailed. Everyone was so fit and beautiful! And there were so many women surfing; more than I used to see on the waves in Southern California (though numbers have likely changed there since I was spending summer days on Huntington Beach). We overheard the lady who operates the Ditch Witch--a take-away spot operating out of an RV--say that she was headed to Costa Rica after Sunday. You could feel how happy everyone was to have such beautiful weather for what seemed to be the end of the season.

Alongside the surfers were anglers. We were amazed at how many anglers we saw perched on rocks around the coastline. We happened upon one just in time to see him catch (and release) a very large fish!

Hard to say for sure--walking on the beach was pretty awesome--but the high point of the weekend, for me, just may have been eating sweet, perfect lobster rolls (the best of the weekend and, save the buns, maybe maybe best ever) at the B.Y.O. Lobster Deck, surrounded by water. The setting at Duryea's, particularly on such a lovely, sunny, September afternoon... no words, just cheese.

 

We had heard differing reviews of Gosman's Dock. One the one hand, the food was rumored to be inferior to many other options and was popular only with tourists. On the other, some sources felt like it was the quintessential Montauk of their youth. We figured that the second opinion probably meant that the first was true--and that both suggested it would be worth a brief visit. Having so thoroughly enjoyed lunch at Duryea's, we had no regrets about skipping to fare and, indeed, it did seem like a bit of a tourist complex--but it was great to see the fishing boats coming in for day, to wander by the hard-working ships with huge spools of nets (well... nets, mixed feeling about seeing so many of those), and to stop in at the seafood market.

 

That afternoon (just late enough, it turned out, for free parking) we drove out to Montauk point to see the lighthouse. The oldest lighthouse in New York--commissioned by congress under Washington in 1792--is certainly the icon of the East End village. We climbed the very narrow, 137-winding-step stairway to the top (although they were quite concerned that Aron's height could put him in danger of a headache--lots of low clearances), and toured the small museum set up inside the base station. I think we were lucky to be there without any crowds. It's quite difficult to pass on those stairs! Actually, we made it in just before closing as we had taken our time first walking around the rocks at the base of the tower--jumping over cracks and skirting the many fisherman.

Rumor was that the best view of the sunset could be had from the Montauket. The gathering of crowds around the seven o'clock hour seemed to validate that--as did the unobstructed view of the sun setting into Fort Pond Bay.

Once the sun set, we drove to the sign with the chili pepper on it, in Diamond Cove marina, for dinner at The Hideaway. The chowhound message boards assured us that the Mexican food and margaritas were impressive. Agreed. My fish tacos were great--and I loved the bottles of sour cream and hot sauce that came with each meal. Also on order: fish burrito for Aron, chips and guacamole to share, and freshly-made churros for dessert. We determined that Montauk has perfected that blend of casual restaurant that feels like the corner diner but serves fare--at a higher price, of course--that would right in with the best of the city.

On Sunday, we went for (somewhat) lighter breakfast fare--and outdoor tables--at Joni's. We spotted this place the previous day; it has a very granola menu, with lots of non-dairy, organic options, and it smells like fresh-squeezed juice. I had a cup of watermelon juice (and a big cup of coffee) and we split a waffle and a mushroom-cheese-avocado-and-egg wrap. I knew I'd like it when I saw that I had the option of avocado or guacamole. An important distinction. Aron was equally sold on the waffle when he saw that they had real maple syrup. The imposter syrup is a deal-breaker for him and I still feel a twinge of blush when I think of the time he brought his own to breakfast at the home of someone we barely knew! At least he left it for her when we went? This stuff was the real-deal. But I think he would have been fine regardless--the waffle was great alone. It was made with whole wheat flour and was filled with things like flax seeds and bits of coconut.

After breakfast, we walked down the beach again, stopping at the Ditch Witch for iced tea and a good view of the surfers. It was even walmer than the previous day.

 

Eventually we had to part ways with Montauk. Without the second home on the beach that we so clearly need. Sigh.

On the way back to New York--we left around one to give ourselves some time to explore--we stopped at one of the other popular roadside clamshacks: the clam bar. It fit in perfectly with all of the other charmingly low-key restaurants we visited (low-key while still serving lobster and other semi-fancy fare). I think we were both especially partial to the classic look of the place. The white and yellow umbrellas against the red and white roadside stop--so perfectly beachy.

 

Down the road, we stopped at a beach outside of Amagansett. Just to see how other beaches compared. It was more wind-swept, but it was also later in the day. Still, the appeal of the Long Island shore in the Hamptons s clear.

 

Sag Harbor is across the South Fork, facing Shelter Island--on our way back we detoured, stopping to buy tomatoes from "The Tomato Lady" and to gawk at the very, very large boats in the bay. (Can they still be called that?) They actually looked average in size next to the homes along the edges of the water. That is, until we saw them in the harbor.

 

The village of Sag Harbour is perhaps the cutest along the Hamptons route. I love the tiny main street, forked at one end with a statue and leading to the water and an old icon of New Amsterdam at the other. 

 

We finished the day--the weekend--with farm stands and one last sunset on the beach.

 

Surfboards and Clam Shacks?

We're off to Montauk this weekend! Very exciting...

Welcome to Sauna Valley (Labor Day IV)

Last weekend, to round out the long holiday, Aron and I finally made our way out to Queens on the seven train for a visit to Spa Castle! Spa Castle, a Korean day spa, is a giant complex of saunas, hot and cold pools—some with jets, some without—and massage rooms. It would seem like a playground for adults except that there are actually a lot of children there, too. Certain parts in particular were very relaxing, others were more curious; our overall impression was that we had been on a bit of an adventure.

After riding the subway to the Flushing stop, we walked around the block to a parking lot where we tried to surmise whether the people waiting by the fence were, indeed, also going for a day at the spa. Luckily we guessed right and soon the spa van pulled up to drive us all to the complex—about 20 minutes away. After getting our little bracelets—pink for me, blue for Aron—we split up to head into our respective locker rooms to change into our uniforms. Each little bracelet is linked to your account; you use it to open your lockers and you can charge lunch, or anything else you might require with a wonder-woman-like swipe of the wrist. Of course, it wasn’t immediately clear to me that I needed to find the locker matching the number on the bracelet. Instead, I went around pulling on multiple doors and pointing my bracelet until I set off an alarm. A woman appeared quickly, but kindly ignored the ringing and instead politely pointed to where I should leave my shoes before handing me a bright orange uniform and a new toothbrush (but of course!) and sending me on to the next set of lockers where I was to place my clothes.

I took note of the “naked room” (as I can’t help but call the unisex sauna/pool room) and the women napping on the leather couches and then made my way upstairs to look for a very tall man dressed in a baby blue uniform. We had decided that our first requirement was food and ordered sushi. About 45 minutes later, still waiting, we wished we had opted for the salad bar, but we took turns checking out “Sauna Valley” (this is the actual name), and sharing our impressions of the locker room in the interim. Apparently, there is a sign when one leaves the men’s room asking: “Do you have your clothes on?”

Deciding to spend time on the upper-most deck first, we stripped down to our bathing suits and joined quite a crowd in testing out a variety of jets and whirlpools at the Bade Pools. One particular wall of jets was so powerful that I was actually ejected from them into a young boy—then I learned to hold onto submerged rails. With red backs, we moved into the Jacuzzi (the Hinoki bath) and then into a fairly benign dry sauna. Our favorite was the foot and back massage pool—a row of beds, so to speak, with aqua jets.

“Sauna Valley” was next—we skipped the TV room (where more people seemed to be napping than watching TV), the traditional hot and cold floor sleeping area (is there something in the air?), and the massage chairs. Each little sauna dome had a temperature reading posted at the door, which seemed more relevant to us than whether the dome was lined with gold, LED lights, infrared beams, or salt, as it may have been. We alternated between each of the seven saunas and the Iceland cold sauna room; Aron would usually want to return to Iceland sooner than I, but we did our best to stick together as we spent the next two or so hours trying each one. Our favorite was actually the hottest: the Loess Soil sauna. It was also the largest and smelled of the straw mats lining its floor. We agreed it was pretty pleasant.

What wasn’t completely pleasant was the crowd. Perhaps because we had gone on a public holiday, the spaces were pretty crowded—and occasionally too loud.

However, the unisex spas were a different story, and we both agreed that we really enjoyed the time we spent apart—in the naked room. I think modesty prevented these areas from becoming too crowded and so they were so much more, well, spa-like—calm. In the center of the room are four heated mineral pools, in varying temperatures of hot. On the sides are the massage pools (more acqua jets), cold pools, wet and dry saunas, standing showers, seated showers, and scrub tables where woman in lingerie exfoliate customers.

Wearing nothing but my charge-card-bracelet, I made my way around to each of the attractions and did my best not to stare at the vigorous scrubbing taking place in the far corner. It actually looked a little painful. And as democratic as it felt to all be wearing out little pajama-like uniforms upstairs, this felt more so. There was something very sweet, too, about the mothers and daughters and friends scrubbing each other’s backs, washing each other’s hair, chatting away. One young girl did melt into tears when she tried to wear her bathing suit into the pools and was then told she would need to remove it. She was about 13—I can imagine being horrified at that age, too. We both observed that the naked rooms were dominated by Korean patrons, whereas the rest of the complex was more diverse.

In a sort of well-washed, bleary-eyed haze, I eventually rejoined Aron to catch the 7:15 shuttle back to our parking lot and the subway back to Grand Central. From there, we decided it would only be appropriate to end the day with Korean BBQ at our favorite spot (thus far) from among those on 32nd street.

Sweetest Flower

Although I love buying seasonal fruit from the Greenmarket at Union Square, the fruit stands on the streets do have surprisingly good produce, too--and even if they are not always locally seasonal, they do seem to follow the seasons of some parts of the world. In summer, I buy pounds and pounds of Lychees, the sweetness of which makes it feel more like I am eating candy than fruit. Right now, all the stands are selling figs. Nothing can compare with the figs we had in Croatia, which were so ripe you couldn't stack one on top of the other for fear its soft goey center would ooze out. Still, these figs are really good; and served on top of some whole-milk Ricotta from Joes Dairy, with some sea salt and a drizzel of honey, they make an amazing breakfast or dessert. I got these on the way home from call this morning.

Moscot's

I stopped wearing contacts in college when the demands of limited sleep from rowing, course work, and socializing made wearing contacts too irritating. Somehow, I've chosen a career where the sleep schedule is even worse, so when my eye prescription needed updating, glasses were the only way to go.

Over the past month, as Ashley and I walked the city, we'd check out glasses stores as we went. We found a pair I really from liked at Moscot's on the Lower East Side. Hyman Moscot began selling glasses from a pushcart in the LES in 1899 and eyeware has remained a family business since 1915 when he opened his store. Hyman's great, great grandson was there when I first came and we talked shop a bit about our respective health care fields before I decided on one particular pair--patient to provider, so to speak. I was drawn to most of the line of Moscot Orignals--reproductions of some of their most popular shapes from the 40s and 50s. I was tempted by the model that Johnny Depp wears, but mainly because, well, hey... Johnny Depp. I ended up going for a more Henry Kissinger-esque style (the Nebb). They were ready the next day, and its hard to know why I waited so long.