Weekend Getaways

By Anais Wheeler, Wcities Boston Contributor

I don’t know if you’ve heard the hubbub, but apparently, there is some sort of financial difficulty going on. And it’s not just the tycoons blubbering in their stock certificates anymore either, it’s actually affecting those of us beneath the income bracket made famous by Joe the Plumber. But before you give up your vacation time as fast as Edward Liddy can a retention bonus, consider the still-off-season getaways that are gentle on that Potential Layoff Fund.

Full disclosure: these two destinations are close to the heart of this blogger, serving as the backdrop for some formative (or dis-formative?) years. Despite my bias, though, outer Cape Cod and Midcoast Maine offer true respite from city life or geographically convenient adventure. This is the first in a series of two posts—this time, Provincetown.

Cape Cod juts out from Massachusetts like the twirl in an otherwise stodgy mustache, and Provincetown is the twirliest part. Many Bostonians know this little town as the site of some infamous weekend of debauchery—perhaps during their Carnival, which occurs every August—but Ptown has more to offer than beads and (dare I say?) BJs.

Provincetown in early spring is austere; there is a hush over the usually bustling town and a sleepy quality to the businesses that are open. As a former Provincetown service-person, I can attest that what’s known locally as “Augustitis” hits the help hard—and it hits in June. But this time of year, people are glad to see you. Ptown’s main drag, Commercial Street, is ridiculously dense with shops, restaurants and bars, but only the true necessities and the real troopers are open all year round.

Try the Provincetown Inn for digs almost literally at the tip of the Cape. Offseason prices are an excellent value, and you’ll find yourself using the word “buffet” (that’s a verb) throughout your stay; with the town’s breakwater a matter of feet away, the elements are evident here, but the center of town is a fair walk away.

For a more rarefied feel, head to the Anchor Inn, the location of which is imminently convenient if not quite as poetic. The Anchor Inn is just out of the center of town on Commercial Street, with harbor beach access. The hushed lobby is attended by a solicitous staff, and the rooms feature fine old four-posters and fireplaces (until June!), increasing the rooms’ cool-weather desirability.

The few restaurants that remain open represent a spectrum of options. For a great menu and wine list, try The Mews, which is on par with Ptown’s best restaurants all year round. Our inside connection, Erik, a cabbie for Mercedes Cab and real live townie, notes that The Mews offers an off-season two-for Thursday; two entrees, that is, for the price of one. Fanizzi’s offers mid-range standard New England fare, good for a late lunch of chowder or crab cakes. The dining room juts over the beach and the paneled windows frame a harbor panorama looking toward Boston and the South Shore; the light of the place during a rain storm is ineffably romantic.

In fact, there are many unspeakable, take-your-breath-away Ptown moments. Over Presidents Day weekend this year, Provincetown blossomed with unbelievable February weather. On a long weekend from Boston, we wandered about in sweaters—sweaters!—throughout the day Sunday. The weather was nice enough that we walked east on Commercial Street through the East End’s Gallery District, past the Cape Inn (another cheap year-round option, but dingier than the Ptown Inn), and out Snail Road (carefully crossing Route 6) to the dunes. The small driveway entrance there leads to a mile of shifting mountains of sand, eventually flattening to reveal the “ocean side” of the Cape, where the real buffeting happens. Our walk led us along the paths (careful of the vegetation, which is fragile) about half-way to the ocean, where the dunes fell away in front of us, the dune shacks appeared and the wind started to howl. These dunes are beautiful in every season, but the subtle Spring giving way to life is gasp-worthy.

This area, as well as the bike paths through the dunes out Race Road and through Beach Forest are National Seashore, meaning these areas are protected from development. This time of year, you often have to put on your game face to enjoy these areas, but the takeaway is worth it, red dripping nose and all.

After all this wholesomeness, remind yourself why Provincetown’s famous by stopping into the Governor Bradford, a grimy-but-great restaurant/hotel/bar in the center of town. Everything that’s anything happens at The Bradford in the winter, and you will likely get your fill of town gossip along with your warm Jack and Coke. Afterward, check for bands or events at The Pig (formerly the Squealing Pig and sister bar to the Boston location), or The Vixen. If you have TOO good a time, call my friend Erik to give you a lift in his Mercedes Cab.

If you have TOO good a time, call my friend Erik to give you a lift in his Mercedes Cab

In the morning, fight off that headache with a cup of darn good coffee from Joe or a full breakfast a touch out of the way at Chach .

On your way out of town, swing by Marine Specialties, a town landmark, which carries everything from old American Airlines china (don’t believe me? It’s been there for ages) and Provincetown calendars to feather boas and half-price Seven jeans.

Autumn Apple Pressing in New England

By Anais Wheeler, Wcities Boston Contributor

What could be more quintessential in autumn in New England than picking apples and pressing cider? Escaping from the bustle of Boston, we drove north on an early October weekend, through New Hampshire and into Vermont on 89, that hilly, winding highway that is one of the only ways to get (still north but) west at over 40 miles per hour in northern New England.

During my childhood, my family had a plethora of back-to-the-lander friends, and my memories of pressing apples took place at Wayback Farm, where the cider press was building-sized and used conveyor belts to sort the apples before they were crushed and squeezed. While collecting apples was fairly hard work for a nine-year-old, the actual pressing was effortless and not a little fascinating.

This trip, too, involved friends who have embraced farm life. We arrived at their farm on a beautiful Saturday morning. The leaves were peaking, and the hills were mottled with those autumn reds and yellows that make this area a favorite weekend destination at this time of year.

Image courtesy of Christopher Read.

Apple mush makes good pig feed. Beer not so much. Image and happy drunk pigs courtesy of Benjamin Polloni.

In no time at all, we had grabbed cement buckets and set to work on a few trees. The trees hadn’t been pruned in years, and picking from them proved difficult and occasionally painful. (I came home with an especially attractive scratch under my eye in addition to the many on my hands and arms.) Our efforts were augmented by a friend who had spent a season picking olives in Italy; he suggested shaking the trees over tarps, but our tarps were too small, and the ground too uneven, so we settled for using a rake to shake the small apples free from the branches. This resulted in cascades of hard little crab apples landing on our backs and heads, as well as winding up in impenetrable undergrowth. Not only did we pick our own apples, but we helped the deer with their share.

I have no yard in the city, let alone an apple tree, and it’s easy to forget what wild apples can really look like. Many of our specimens were a mottled brownish red, and with the random lumpiness, they looked more like little roasting potatoes than the platonic ideal of an apple we’re used to at Whole Foods or Generic City Co-op.

Someone had heard that a truck-bed full of apples would make 10 gallons of cider, so we stopped when it looked like ten gallons worth, and set about setting up our borrowed hand-crank cider press.

There she is: our spectacularly high-tech apple press (and our first five gallons of cider). Image courtesy of Benjamin Polloni, 2008.

This apple press was probably made from a kit, like this one, but the terribly enterprising of you, dear readers, could probably design your own. It’s a simple hand crank, with a slatted round receptacle. Insert a porous bag in the slatted receptacle, crush the apples into the bag through the hand crank (harder than it sounds). When the bag is full, attach the disc-shaped press to the drill-like thingie (technical apple-pressing term, obviously). Spin to press and squeeze the juice from the porous bag. It drips through a hole on one side of the base, and into a small pot. It would probably be a good idea to have some cheesecloth to filter out seeds and skin before you pour into your storage container (we used several 5-gallon glass carboys, but you could also use a bunch of gallon jugs).

Hand-cranking is hard work. Image courtesy of Christopher Read.

 

Mmm…apple mush ready to be squeezed into cider. Image courtesy of Benjamin Polloni.

That Saturday, we pressed almost ten gallons, but found that the truck bed still looked much the same (that is to say, full of apples), so the Boston portion of our crew vowed to come back in the light of the next day to finish the job. We did, and pressed a total of 15 gallons by Sunday afternoon.

The Boston crew sticks with it: Chris Read, Ira Gooch and me, giving those apples what-for. Image courtesy of Chris Read.

…while everyone else gets distracted…building barns and such. Image courtesy of Benjamin Polloni.

We took a couple of gallons to drink fresh, but the rest of our cider is still sitting in its carboy, bubbling away. In a few months, it will be delicious and alcoholic. For more information about how to ferment cider, check out Leeners, which has information about pressing cider as well as fermenting it.

If you aren’t so lucky to have friends with unkempt trees that need picking, there are lots of orchards around that you can pick at for a fee, and some with presses that won’t give you nearly the workout that ours did.

Russell Orchards in Ipswich, MA, offers apple picking all season, as well as delicious apple products – try the Apple Cider Donuts – and occasional entertainment.

Also, try The Big Apple Farm in Wrentham, although pick-your-own for 2008 is finished.  You can still buy apples and apple products in the store there. During the summer months, they also have pick-your-own blueberries and raspberries.

Or, check out Red Fire Farm in Granby, MA, where you can press your own cider each year at their Fall Feast. This farm also offers a CSA for pick-up in Boston locations, which offers a nice infusion of locally-grown veggies all summer and fall for what turns out to be a very reasonable price.

Driving back to Boston with our cider securely buckled into the back seat, we knew that in a few weeks, the trees would be brown and the wind would be howling. Our cider will be even better then, hot and with a cinnamon stick.