Poor Ichabod Crane. At least I survived with my head.

My newest celebrity sighting.

Ghosts in the graveyard.

Eerily-lit working mill.

I don't like graveyards in the dark.

Happy Halloween Everyone! In honor of one of my favorite holidays, I thought I would recount a recent trip I took to Sleepy Hollow for some scary festivities.

It is always a treat to leave the island, but without a car I don't get that opportunity very often. So, when the when some girls from church decided to take a trip to Tarrytown, I was in. I really don't know much about Tarrytown, but I learned that right next to the village of Tarrytown is the legendary village of Sleepy Hollow. I was really excited; I had no idea that Sleepy Hollow was 1) a real town and 2) so close to New York City.



Sad to say, I must complain about my high school education. We studied American literature in 11th grade, but I do not recall ever reading any of Washington Irving's stories. Humiliatingly, I must admit, my only familiarity with The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was thanks to the Disney animated featurette. (Which, by the way, do they not show it so regularly during Halloween?) Nonetheless, despite my lack of knowledge of the tale, I was more than excited to make myself familiar with the legend.



The village of Sleepy Hollow threw themselves into celebrating Halloween and their most popular legend. The town reminded me of Stars Hollow--the fictional town in the TV show Gilmore Girls--where the whole town contributes to the fun. Of course Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow was all decked out in Halloween finery, but the main attraction was a haunted village in a park called Phillipsburg Manor. I believe this manor is part of a Carnegie or Rockefeller estate, but I do know that it is a historical attraction/interactive museum complete with a working mill and gift shop.

After arriving to the manor we walked down a path lit by old-timey lanterns and haunted by teenagers trying to scare their friends. I was a little concerned that this would be a scary-horror-filled haunted mansion. I don't like haunted houses except for the one at Disneyland because, really, that one is far from scary. Luckily, this was a family activity, so it couldn't be too scary for five-year-olds or chicken adults. (There is no shame in that.)

The wooded path eventually led us to a quaint farm yard with a barn, farmhouse, garden and the aforementioned mill that was "haunted" by villagers dressed up as ghosts from the colonial era and a troll. The first attraction was a storyteller who, while decked out in colonial costume, recounted the Legend of Sleepy Hollow and other ghostly folklore from the area.

Nearby I saw a vendor selling spiced donuts and hot cider. I'll be honest, I made a beeline for that stuff. It really isn't fall without a spiced donut and cider. Since fall hasn't really arrived in New York yet, I thought the donut and cider combo would at least help me feel like it has. (Seriously folks, I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt under my lightweight jacket...and it was nighttime!) Treats in hand my entourage and I walked around the rest of the village. We passed by the haunted barn where colonial-era ghosts were dancing traditional dances, a juggler, a pirate band, and a graveyard with punny headstones.

The highlight of the evening was a visit by the Headless Hessian Horseman himself...or someone dressed up as the ghoul. Sadly by this time the camera batteries died, so I don't have a picture of a headless personage riding by on a black horse and carrying a lit jack-o-lantern. But it was rather neat. Apparently he made a couple of appearances throughtout the festival, so we actually waited by a split-rail fence to see him. I imagine it was a lot like waiting for the Great Pumpkin to appear, except the Headless guy didn't give out toys.

After we made our way through the village, my friends and I went up to the Old Dutch Church to look at the incredibly old headstones. In fact, Washington Irving was buried there as well as the Revolutionary War soldier who, as the legend goes, got his head shot off during the war and now rides up and down Sleepy Hollow looking for a new head. So, folks, it appears that Mr. Irving did not just make that up--it exists. So maybe I really did see that actual ghost afterall.
Gladly, we did not stay in the graveyard too long. It is a little disconcerting hanging out there around midnight...especially in a town filled with spooky legends.

We made it back to New York with our heads fortunately, and I even bought a children's book with the actual legend. Now I don't have to rely on Disney for the details.

Not that I needed a reason to love them more...

As many of you may already know, I kinda like the band Keane. Ok, that's an understatement. I have actually entitled them Favorite Band For Life. I am sure I've mentioned this a few times, and perhaps have detailed the anguish and joy of recent concert drama. (If you are new to the blog, check out the archives and you will find the whole story.

Anyway, today while browsing news articles at my current freelance gig, I came across a story in the Chicago Sun-Times that makes me love this British trio just a little bit more:

NOT KEANE ON BRITNEY

Britney Spears asked the British pop trio Keane to write something for her; they've written songs for Gwen Stefani and the Pussycat Dolls, but the lads refused, says the Mirror in England.

"There are some things we definitely won't do," keyboardist Tim Rice-Oxley told the paper. And he poured salt into the wound: "Gwen, and Nicole from Pussycat Dolls, are phenomenally talented, and we wouldn't want to start diluting that level of musical quality."

I'm not sure how much I agree with them helping the Pussycat Doll girl because I am morally opposed to the girl-group, but you should all check out the Gwen/Tim Rice-Oxley song "Early Winter." It's a stellar song and is in the top 25 most played songs in my iTunes. It may have even broken top ten.

A jolly good meal

Fried Cod with a load of chips

It isn't fish and chips without some malt vinegar

So good I fell over while trying to take the picture

The Verdict: A good, solid thumbs up. But is that good enough?

Sorry for the delay Uncle Bruce!!

About a month ago my uncle Bruce sent me on a mission to try out a New York fish and chip restaurant featured on the Food Network. I happen to like fish and chips (see the post about the Chip Shop) and was more than happy to accept the mission. The fish and chip place in question is called A Salt & Battery, and is located in a part of Greenwich Village that some people are attempting to call Little Britain.

To be completely honest, Uncle Bruce, I had already eaten at A Salt & Battery. I liked it, but to give a more accurate review I did go back two weeks ago to try it again and take the above pictures. Here is my review:

Authenticity:

I grew up on Skippers and Ivar's fish and chips, and let me tell you, I have no complaints. But it certainly is nice to step inside a fish and chip place manned by our English-speaking friends from across the pond. I think that any fish and chip establish with Brits behind the counter speaks for its authenticity. After all it is traditional English fare.

Food:

I ordered the cod and also asked for a small side of chips and a ginger beer. I was a little concerned abou the batter because I recalled that the last time I was there it didn't stick to my fish. That is very important. This time I was not disappointed--the batter stuck! The crispy piece of cod was placed on top of a nice bed of chips. Real chips, real chunks of potato instead long thin fries.

Before digging in I splashed on the malt vinegar. The first bites were really hot so it was hard to ascertain the flavor at that moment. I did toss a few flecks into the tartar sauce. I am not a fan of tartar sauce, but this was good and tangy. My roommate Angie said it was the best she had ever tried. Once cooled, I ate wholeheartedly. It was good and greasy. I do wish they had seasoned the fish a little bit, however.

The chips were very good. I must say I do like potatoes, especially when fried (and mashed, but that's another story). They weren't as crisp as I was hoping, but fortunately not greasy.

I washed it all down with good ginger beer. The good kind that burns the nose. No, it was not real beer.

Summary

A Salt & Battery is a very small restaurant that maybe sits about six people. Angie and I were very lucky to get a place to sit. The menu offered an assortment of fried fish and seafood, meat pies and British soft drinks and ales. They even had fried candy bars. Next door to A Salt is a British market called Tea & Sympathy where one can stock up on Cadbury, tea and tinned food.

It was really good food, much better than Ivar's. I think you will like it, Uncle Bruce. If you geta chance to come to New York, you will have to eat there.

But how does it compare to Chip Shop? I think I like the Chip Shop a little better. The batter was better and thicker, and not as greasy. The chips were a little crisper. Plus the food was served on actual dishes instead of a disposable basket. However newspaper would be the authentic serving ware, but I guess us American might be a bit squeamish about using newspaper for a plate and napkin. I haven't been back to Chip Shop since early September so I may need to have a refresher meal.

However A Salt & Battery is one 30-minute train ride away, whereas the the Chip Shop is around a 45-minute, 3 train journey. Sometimes convenience wins over for the best fish and chips meal.

**Disclaimer!! I'm not a great photographer



This one's better

I swear this had no alcohol

Nostalgia

Many of you may know that I am not a soda drinker. I really don't love carbonation. I also don't drink a lot of juice. I like to drink water and soymilk (not together), and the occasional diet coke (usually only medicinally when I have a headache). So in a very rare moment at Whole Foods I decided to grab a bottle of Fizzy Lizzy carbonated juice. It wasn't just that I was hankering for grape soda--it was Yakima Valley Grape Juice. Like Proust's famed madeleine cookies, I was brought back to memories of my childhood.

All growing up my mom canned her own grape juice from fruit picked in the Yakima Valley. When my siblings and I were old enough mom and her friend Elaine dragged all the kids to the vinyards to go grape picking. I will be totally honest, this really wasn't a fun activity. After all it was work. Hard work with sticky grape clusters that were hard to pull off the vine, dust and dirt, and worst of all--bugs. Somehow the bees and yellow jackets loved to chase little girls covered in grape goo. At least how that seemed to me.

I am sure us kids complained a lot, and I am even more sure that we were told more than once that if we wanted grape juice we had to help out. Of course Warren, Byron and I got a bit of revenge and played with some cattails. While we played the cattails exploded and their cottony innards flew around and eventually got stuck on our grape covered bodies. I wish I had a photo of that.

How was the Fizzy Lizzy carbonated fruit juice? It was good, but not as good as mom's (or Elaine's) grape juice that we worked so hard to make.