After going to the Hobart Antique Mall we realized that directly across from it there was another sign reading Antiques across the road. We decided to explore this further having no idea what it was. The sign out front seemed even older and more worn out than the Hobart Village Antiques but there was cars in the lot so we held on for the ride. The entrance was a little weird but we found it and then walked into one of the bizzarest places we’ve been yet. Suddenly we were surrounded on all sides by antique clocks, all ticking. At the risk of dating myself I felt like I was walking into a scene from Hook but unlike the kid in that movie I didn’t have a baseball bat and a bad influence instead I had an immediate panic attack. Ticking is one of my triggers that brings me right back to grade school when some teacher thought it was a great idea to teach children math through timed tests. So we all sat with our multiplication tables and and who got to sit next to the loudly ticking egg timer? You guessed it! Me! I never did learn my multiplication tables and to this day I find timed tests to be child torture. Recently I’ve gone back to learn my math with DuoLingo and was more than horrified to find part of its lessons are again, timed tests. No ticking but still as anxiety inducing.
I swallowed hard and walked in anyway knowing I was being neurotic, these are grandfather clocks, not Acme bombs, and no one’s asking me math questions. Just put on your big kid pants and deal with it.
This place was a two level post and beam barn filled in every corner with grandfather clocks against every wall and in the middle of the room? Tables with smaller mantle clocks. All in pristine condition, all ticking, all reading a different time! So now not only was I sweating hard from panic I was also struggling not to twitch from the chaos of none of them being set right. This is an autistic person’s nightmare, honestly, so much so I noticed I wasn’t taking any photos of individual clocks so I closed my eyes, breathed a moment, and allowed my instinct to drag me to the most interesting looking clock. It had an elaborate wood inlay pattern, the likes I’d never seen before. I took a moment to take a picture of that before walking up the stairs which was decorated with clock faces, so many clock faces.
By the time we made it to the second floor my companion was quietly talking. These clocks are neat but expensive he lamented. He looked at the price tag on one which was over a grand. I blinked, happy to be focusing on something other than the ticking, and said well yeah, the one you picked has a mahogany inlay. By now the shop keep had come up and started talking to us. Ask any questions, he welcomed. So my companion asked about Newport Rhode Island and apparently back in the day they had a few famous clock makers and he pointed out those clocks as we riffed about what an odd place colonial Newport was. One of these clocks was made of solid walnut, I nodded and said, “When we still had walnut trees” which seemed to delight the shop keep who confirmed the sentiment. Black walnut still exist in the United States but are near extinct due to diseases and pests that thrived in the pine forests we planted after cutting down every old forest hardwood tree that existed here. There are conservation efforts going on right now to grow more and the public can help. This is one of the reasons I want to own land – to be a custodian of some of these precious trees, grown from nuts acquired through these programs.
We also got to see a reproduction piece of furniture from the John Brown house that was the most expensive piece of American furniture to be sold at auction. It was indeed beautiful.
I asked what the oldest clock was and he showed us a grandfather clock built in 1610. It was English and spent most of its life in England and France. Strangely enough it was the one clock I took a singular photo of with the ornate wood inlays. I’d been drawn to it for a reason!
We thanked the owner for the history lesson and said we’d refer anyone looking for an antique clock here! Hell, if we ever end up with the old farm house of my dreams I’m not guaranteeing that won’t be us someday. You know if this blog ever goes viral and we end up with clock money!
This week it was time to amble around a few places a little closer to home than usual. I had no idea this one even existed but it sounded promising, I mean when you put village and mall in the title it implies something of decent size. It closed at 5PM though so we went to this one first after waking from a stress-induced coma. This would be the perfect little outing to take our minds off of *vaguely gestures at everything.*
When we got there the sign was very beaten and battered, clearly well aged, and almost covered by a mud-spattered snowbank. Tis the season! The parking lot was confusing and seemed to go right past someone’s driveway. And the building? Just as decrepit looking as their sign. I muttered, “We’re about to be serial killed, aren’t we?” To which my companion tried to lighten the mood by pointing out we weren’t the only car there. THANK GOD.
I was expecting the worse. Really, like another Cookie’s. But low and behold as we walked in the change in scenery was stark! Inside the rooms were well lit, perfectly painted, and all sorts of well thought out displays. Lots of room for each object to really shine and mixed among them all were these “replica” furniture made from what I can only assume was local trees and branches. You know, perfect if you’re going for that rustic look.
I didn’t even look at the price tags on this place because everything looked so clean and proper I knew it’d be out of my budget. And the things we found were very unique! One was a cast iron horse from a child-size carousel made in the 1920’s. It had lost all its coloration over the years and looked just as desperate and wanting as the old cast iron pans you see everywhere. But if you were looking for carousels of better quality there was a whole room of them! We also found a gorgeous French bronze clock depicting a naked Promethius in chains, I guess being punished for that whole giving fire to humanity scandal, a series of French posters, a series of signed prints from artists I wasn’t familiar with, some old probably haunted portraits, the customary smattering of possessed dolls, and a Victrola with a wooden horn! I’ve seen lots of phonographs in my day, some with horns, but never wooden. MY GOODNESS.
We left without buying anything but hey, if you’re in the area and happen to be monied and love purchasing some very unique antiques this place is well worth a little lookie-loo.
On yet another jaunt into the great blue yonder we happened by Fab Finds listed as an antique store. Though quaint and charming I wouldn’t have personally categorized it as such. It was more a country decore kinda of place with well arranged displays highlighting a number of quirky babbles, folk art, wall hangings, and a smattering of furniture. The place had a deffinate vibe. Think country chic meets grandma core with a few degrees of fairly moneyed queer kitch. Lots of bedazzled things, lots of little ponderous objects that seemed their own statements of confused wonder. I took a photo of a cherub head looking ominously from the center of the room. One of my companions took a close up photo of the same cherub and it looked… innocent. It was a fun and spontaneous game of Perspective!
Would I suggest this place? If you happen to be in or near Foxboro and this is the vibe of your abode sure! Check it out. Otherwise maybe not. It was VERY niche.
Keene is such a cute little hippie college town that I love to visit and see what else I can find. Puggy’s has been on my list for a while but every time I try to find it something distracts my attention. Well not this time!
It’s listed as an antique store but that’s not really the feel I got when I walked in. I mean sure, I was immediately greeted by an absolutely delicious collection of classic 1960’s rock vinyls but beyond that this store was more a hippie shop. It had Greatful Dead tee shirts, a corner for cool shiny rocks, a bunch of fidget toys, and yes some retro toys and another room full of more antique-y things which for the most part were joyfully bizarre. This seemed like a little bit of everything and it was run by an adorable old hippie woman who clearly knew everyone on a first name basis. An unlikely cornerstone of the community which makes me so happy to see as I feel in the American landscape these gathering places are increasingly rare.
So if you live in Keene or nearby deffinately check this place out. Also check it out if you’re into classic rock vinyls because there were four separate vendors specializing in this and they had a delightful assortment. Bowie, T-rex, Deep Purple, local legend Country Joe and the Fish. I could drop SO MUCH money here buying vinyls!
I have driven by this antique mall hundreds, if not thousands, of times as I travel to Keene for various errands but I never stopped in because the outside of the place looks confusing and uninviting. These days this doesn’t bother me, I’ll still poke around, buy in previous years I wasn’t so adventurous. This time around I decided it was time and drove into their dirt parking lot that promised antiques through various signs. I parked near a door I thought was the entrance but alas it wasn’t and I had to hop and skip around a number of icy puddles around the building to get into the correct door. I wasn’t expecting much but this place turned out to be huge and filled to the brim with all sorts of neat things.
There were a few probably haunted dolls, oodles of absolutely bizarre knick knacks, a delightful smattering of cast iron, a herd of Breyer horses (appaloosas to be exact,) two black Raggedy Anne dolls, a depressed Gothic Raggedy Anne doll, a series of old toasters that looked like they’d work better as inciniary devices, and some fun vintage hats and clothes including a lacy Victorian child’s nightie that looked fit to be buried in. You know, ghost clothes.
This store also did well what it didn’t have – no N@zi bullshit, not a single item I could find, no “Chinamen” type bricabracs, no weird Native American stuff clearly made by white people, and no mammies! Hell, I only found one racist doll that looked like a Yeti doing a minstrel. At least he had character.
Every time I go to a place like this I tell myself I need to educate myself on what’s actually valuable so I can start a career in picking. I sometimes flip through cases of old vinyl records hoping to find gold but this place oddly didn’t have many vinyls. And my phone had no internet or reception in the building so I couldn’t even look it up if I found something. I was however really drawn to this particular cast iron cauldron I found. It was $125 and I couldn’t really justify spending that much but boy it was weird and beautiful. After I got home I looked it up and found out it was an early piece from Fall River Massachussetts, produced at a mill that burned down in the 1920’s after nearly a century of production. There was a mint condition one selling on ebay for seven and a half grand. WHAT?! I didn’t even know cast iron could have that kind of value! I mean this one wasn’t in mint condition as it was clearly used and loved with chips along the rim but there’s a huge gap between $125 and $7,500+! So I went back the next day and bought it. And while I was looking through this place again I found a cast iron ladle in another booth and they looked so fetching together it came home with me too. I guess I’m probably an honorary witch now.
The cashier was sweet and asked if I had an old house to put my new purchase in. I smiled broadly and said, “Not yet!” But I do have a terrible fondness for houses from the 1700’s, especially shakerbox style, and if it still has a fireplace this cauldron would be a hell of a showpiece to put in it. She warned me such places are money pits, she knows because she owns one, and I laughed. I know, but it’s worth the ghosts that probably haunt them. I know these days my daydreaming might seem a bit childish when the world feels like it is collapsing around me, but it’s these moments that make life worth living and memories of these moments no one can take away.
Anyway… If you’re looking for a large place to pick through and maybe find your own treasures check it out! It’s not only large but there’s two other antique stores across the parking lot. Make a day of it and be happy.
Why not follow up a ghost hunt at the Lizzie Broden Inn with a stroll through the cemetery she was buried in a few days later? That’s absolutely what we, two lovably morbid history buffs, did today.
I had Oak Grove Cemetery on my big list of cemeteries to check out but I had long forgotten why until I was reminded this morning. Ooooh yeeeah, it’s where the Bordens are buried!
I was expecting another sprawling garden cemetery oozing personality in the form of varied monuments and when I drove up to the gate of this place I really felt this what it must be. Big iron castle-looking gates, an actual parking lot beyond with several cars, and an information center inviting you to check out their cemetery tour QR code. But that wasn’t necessary because there were giant white arrows on the pavement leading to Lizzie’s grave. This place certainly knew who to cater to! This is the first time in all my cemetery jaunts that I have seen a grave so well marked for tourists. And it was only a very short walk which was great because it was cold as a witch’s tit today.
Curiously Lizzie is buried in the same plot as the father and step mother she likely ax murdered. She was found innocent at the time and lived a long life afterwards but there’s proof here she never quite got away from the stigma of the crime in the form of her name – changed from Elizabeth to Lizbeth. I don’t think dropping the E helped much to be honest. She’d eventually move from the family home to her own mansion across town where instead of socializing with an entire town that was giving her the cold shoulder she prefered instead to host theater actrices from afar, more than a few of which she likely courted. In those days she would have been known as a spinster, today we probably would say something more along the lines of lesbian.
Lizzie Borden to me stands as a bit of a tragic figure. Forever memorialized by a children’s jump roping rhyme forever naming her as a killer and she probably was but I think if she were tried today she’d be seen in a little more sympathetic light. There’s quite a few historians who give her father more than a little side eye for potentially being not just a miser and all around horrible person but also one who may have been grooming his own daughters. I saw the crime scene photos – there is nothing left of the Borden’s faces, to me that suggest some serious pent up rage, built up from decades of abuse and held back only by the strings of a corset. Lizzie may still see her time as we grow as a society to have a better understanding of criminal psychology. We could recast her as a folk hero of the Me Too Movement for taking charge of her own destiny in a time when that was near impossible for a woman.
But back to the cemetery, would I suggest it to my readers here? Maybe, if you are into the Lizzie Borden story. Otherwise probably not. Although the cemetery was sprawling there were remarkably few monuments that looked unique enough to get my attention – less than a handful of statues, a couple masoliums, a single Celtic cross. I will note however there was a rather large murder of crows watching us from creepy bare trees the whole time which seemed fitting.
It’s been a while since I’ve gone out to eat and why not do so before a ghost hunt at the Lizzie Borden Inn? Such was the case when we wound up at McGovern’s.
The parking lot was pretty empty but I guess we were there near closing so that was probably why. Inside it was warm and cozy and had all the usual decore – and a random swordfish taxidermied on the wall which I think gave it character.
The menu was quite large and had a lot of sea food. Most was very recognizable but I was at a loss of what “Sea Legs” were, perhaps the tender loins of a shipwrecked pirate? Why does my brain always jump to cannibalism? I asked my companion and he said he had no idea what sea legs or the appetizer named potato pillows were. I wondered if they were anything like the soapy pillows I once ordered because I can’t speak or read Spanish and phonetics are all I got. I decided to ask about the sea legs, he decided to just order the potato pillows and see.
Apparently sea legs were not from a pirate but rather a crab. Pity, no long pork for me. However, I do like crab… so that’s what I ordered. My companion had the chicken parm with stuffed shells and we both shared the potatoe pillows which were baked potato skins with bacon, green onion, an impressive amount of cheese, and a side of sour cream for dipping. I learned a few years ago I have Irish ancestry which might explain why I’m never ever going to complain about potatoes. They are the food of the gods and this was no exception.
Of course our entrees were nothing to sneeze at either. I got mine with mashed potatoes with gravy and some very sweet butternut squash that seemed heavy on the brown sugar. Again, not complaining, sometimes diabetic comas are just the natural consequence of living. My crab was nestled on a plate of buttery cracker crumbs with a side of dipping butter. My ancestry also has a lot of poor farmers in it so my probably unhealthy affection for butter can also be easily explained. FOOD COMA!
My companion was also enjoying his dish with some crazy over stuffed shells and a generous heap of tomato sauce. We were both too stuffed for dessert. All and all it was a damn good meal with a very friendly staff.
I had been told about Moonstone Beach last summer, or perhaps even before that. Rumor was that during the off season it was a decently isolated beach that was perfect for gathering pretty rocks and I am a sucker for pretty rocks. Especially since I have a fish tank and an excuse to bring them home now!
So on this blustery Monday afternoon I headed out into the 39 degree weather forgetting that ocean = wind. I had attempted to come to Moonstone Beach once before but the road leading to it was flooded that day and if there’s one thing I won’t do with the Prius it’s drive into puddles of unknown depth. Today however I lucked out. I drove into their odd parking situation (no parking at the end of the road and only to one side on the rest of it) without taking the Prius swimming.
A pick-up truck drove in at the same time but no one ever got out of the car. I did! And wandered onto the beach. WOW was it coooooold!!! The wind was fierce and nonstop, waves were crashing on the shore and foaming up the beach and there were the promised rocks. Millions of them in all colors shapes and sizes, the vast majority completely smooth from the ocean’s battering. Next time I set up a new fish tank I’m totally bringing a bucket out here and picking a bunch up!
I tried to take a few artsy photos as this beach was made for such a thing but the wind was so cold my fingers were hurting and my face was bright red. The solitude of the beach almost made it seem colder.
The beach appears to be open year round but perhaps I’d suggest visiting it on a warmer day or at least in more layers of clothes if you’re insane enough to go in the dead of winter like I did. I wasn’t there for long but I believe I’ll be back to take more time feeding my need for gorgeous photography and pretty rocks of course. I’d heard whispers of finding the occasional agate or other vaguelly more valuable rock here. There was certainly a bunch of beautifully polished quartz in both white and rose sitting next to speckled smooth lumps of granite. I really don’t know much about geology so I couldn’t say what the rest were but I’m sure some rock hound out there might be able to.
Today there wasn’t any shells so to speak but there was the delightful rumble of the clattering stones as they were washed in and out on the waves. This was the sort of communing with nature I so desperately needed and it filled my soul with the greatest joy.
As I got back into my car and settled in to drive off another young woman drove in. Our eyes met through the car windows and we both gave each other only the biggest of smiles. It was a sweet and wholesome moment to end my trip out here.
All and all I think Moonstone was a wonderful place for a rock hound or introvert to poke at during the off season. I suspect in the summer its probably too peopled for my taste but to each their own!
If you grew up in New England you deffinately skipped rope to the sound of gleefully morbid children singing, “Lizzie Borden had an ax, gave her mother 40 whacks, when she saw what she had done she gave her father 41.” Before counting to the sound of the rope slapping the ground. The Lizzie Borden story is forever written in infamy – a grusome crime that was never officially solved. Was Lizzie, who was found by a neighbor burning a bloody dress guilty of such of crime? Or was the maid who claimed to be asleep in the house, or Lizzie’s sister Emma, or the mystery guest or uncle who showed up to town just two days before? Character reports of the murder victims painted them increasingly cruel over the years so whose to say who had an ax to grind with them? The people at the time did put Lizzie on trial (while heavily sedated by doctors to calm her nerves) and they found her innocent because ax murdering is just not something a proper lady of the time was capable of! Lizzie moved on, bought a different house across town, became a patron of the arts, took on the occasional mistress, and died a spinster, forever shunned by the people about town. And the house.. it remained more or less the same until someone decided to make it into an inn. Of course times are tough so it’s had to get creative to pay the bills. In addition to being an inn it also converted the barn to a gift shop and now hosts regular ghost tours and hunts. It sounded like a fun place to poke around.
We arrived early in hopes of finding parking and lucked out. There is a very small and hard to find parking lot but it only is comfortably big enough for four cars or so.
The tour started at registration in the little gift shop which was filled with all sorts of brutal memorabilia, the usual magnets and postcards scattered among black cat plushies and bloody ax pillows, and a whole corner devoted to ghost hunting devices – everything you could ever want in that department from simple EMF meters, to REM pods, to spirit boxes and more. Under glass at the counter there was a fun display of pottery fragments and metal things from the era that had been dug up on the property. Tonight the group was large consisting of I believe 19 people and the tour guide of course. Most of these people seemed to be young goths and couples looking for an interesting date night. I would expect no less. There was also one other family there with a small child who seemed quiet and content. We had come ourselves at the request of a very excited teenager and here we were!
After checking in we were led to a small kitchen and we all gathered around to be told the cliff notes version of the tale but this time it included the neighbors, relatives of the Bordens, who also witnessed murder in their household when the mother dropped her three babes in the well before slitting her own throat with a razorblade. Two of the children drown in the well while a third scrabbled her way out and survived the ordeal. Was it another attempt at a whole family murder at the hands of the husband or was this really the murder/suicide of a woman stricken with post partum psychosis in the days before medical science even had an inkling of such a thing? I guess no living person will know but we were told the children often skip on over here to talk with guests. And finally we were told of Max the cat who died at 21 just a week after his owners sold this house and moved. His paw prints and ghostly visage still showing up from time to time.
From here we were all given EMF meters to use and allowed to choose from a whole host of other ghost hunting goodies – spirit boxes, yes or no lights, dowsing rods, a thermal scanner, REM pods galore, one of those devices that puts green dots all over the place, headphones, cat toys that lit up when touched. We were given a brief instruction on all of them before being split up into two groups, one which got to go into the creepy basement first and one which got to play around the first floor where Andrew Borden met his fate. The top two floors were of course reserved for inn guests . And then we were basically off to free range and do as we pleased, as long as that wasn’t playing with a ouijia board!
Of course by now we had one super excited teenager and one who found the experience a little too scary at first – not appreciating the ghosts answering during device demonstrations nor the bloody manniken corpse on the couch at the site of the murder. But we encouraged her to get involved and ask questions of the yes/no light which would light up green for yes, red for no, and with quite a bit of coaxing she really warmed up to the yes/no box, so much so that in a few minutes it was just herself and I asking it questions and it was going off steadily, although at times it’d light up both red and green which was a bit confusing. That being said the lights were oddly comforting in their responses and she was able to see the ghosts here appeared to be of the friendly variety. Meanwhile my companion and the other teenager were in the dining room playing with dowsing rods and having just as much success. Hilariously both the dowsing rods and yes/no box appeared to prefer just the two people they were talking to keeping us separated into pairs for the time being though I did pop my head for a moment to see the dining room whose table had actual crime scene photos that despite being in black and white were no less horrific. There was just no recognizable face left on either corpse. That… that’s some potent familial rage there.
Other guests were in the other rooms playing joyfully with their chosen devices and apparently doing as well with them as us. I was pleasantly surprised. I sort of expected this to be a pretty boring tour-kind of exercise where we might hear one or two words on the spirit box so we could all oo and awe and come home but the amount of activity going on here was wild. I would have been happy with just that but on hour two we were instructed to switch with the other team and so we entered the creepy basement where we were shown a face in the bricks above a wash basin, a thermal photo of Max the cat’s ghost, pawprints in the paint also ascribed to Max, the luminol-sprayed and glowing blood stains that dripped from the floor above, and a room that was once used for seances and ouijia board readings.
At this point our whole group started in the room with the wash basin but it’d only be a moment or two before all three of them left me behind to poke at something else. So I found myself in a room with the yes/no box, a REM pod, a cat ball, an EMF Guage, and a set of dowsing rods at which point the yes/no box started going mental and blinking both lights without request, the REM pod started its high pitch squealing, the cat ball lit up, my EMF reader spiked all the way up, and just for shits and giggles I took out the dowsing rods which no matter where I stood just continued to point at the REM pod. What am I supposed to do with that? With everything going off and nothing stopping I resigned myself to find something else to do (mostly because the screaming from the REM pod was burrowing into my autistic brain and was irritating me more than I can express.) I left to find the teens both alone playing with the headphones and radio in the seance room. I made my way in and sat down. One held the earphones close to her head and stated words that she could hear as the radio flipped between stations. The other asked questions for a time but it got a bit mean-spirited and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I thought at first one may just be trying to scare the other with repeated words like, “death,” “die,” and “cemetery” but by the time it said, “go into the street” the mood didn’t seem jokey. Nonetheless teen two got up and demanded they get a turn with the headphones while teen one spooked out of a seeming trance and claimed to remember nothing of what they’d said. I shifted but continued to observe to make sure nothing got too out of hand. Teen two put the headphones on and started in on the same spooky malarkey. Teen one did not appreciate this and I think may have been a little spooked as well when they got up and put a stop to the whole experiment. Teen two left to see what everyone else was up to as teen one picked up the flashlight which had two settings – UV and normal light. They wanted to see the bloodstains so they put on the UV and directed it at the ceiling at which point it switched on its own to regular light. Annoyed they asked if we could turn out the light so we asked the guide coming around if that’d be alright. He agreed but the flashlight continued to switch. At this point the guide was curious and confused as we were. He took the flashlight and tried himself and it didn’t respond but upon handing it back to teen it switched three more times. He said it’d never done that before. None of us really knew what to make of it so we wandered off to see what my companion was up to. He was in a third room in the basement, in the dark, smiling the biggest grin I’ve ever seen him wear. His EMF meter was lit all the way and a group had formed here and was asking questions which were apparently being enthusiastically answered by the ringing of a little service bell. They believed they were talking to the drown children and were playing games with them. So at this point there’s three rooms in the basement and basically all of them were seeing an insane flurry of activity all at once. That is not what I expected! But the crowd was jubilant and we were all having a good time – until one young man sat in the seance room and put on the headphones. He immediately heard, “I hate you” and ripped them right off. So clearly whatever lives in that room is a turd to everyone. I felt a bit better for not yelling at the girls for being mean to each other as it really seemed to be just an angry ghost. I didn’t think I’d ever be saying that!
By now the night was winding to a close and our spooked teen was thoroughly involved and had a lot of fun but was still concerned about bringing something unwanted home. To appease the household spirits they gave a toy frog they had in their pocket to the tour guide to place in the room upstairs where guests had left all sorts of toys for the ghost children. I left my own tidings in the form if a tip to our gracious host for the evening who I must say wore a period top hat very well!
All and all it was a very exciting night and we were all absolutely tuckered out from all the activity. We did not get to go back to the gift shop which is a shame as we would have bought souvenirs but I did get a special memento in the form of a weird light/mist in one of my few photos which was coincidentally was in the same room as all the devices going on when I was in there alone.
Soooo, would I suggest a ghost hunt at the Lizzie Borden Inn? Absolutely! And having gone on one perhaps we shall join a ghost tour someday to learn more of the history. This place was a wild ride for sure!
This could quite possibly be the best place I have ever eaten. Dear God, did we find a winner with this one!
My companion had chosen this place because he wanted soup and he liked what they had on their online menu. When we got there, we realized there was live music (which was good!) as well as an assortment of games and Shakespearean books set aside each table in case we needed something to do while waiting. It was a typical Boston-styled pub, dark and loud, and I knew a place serving pub food was going to be my downfall. So. Much. Comfort Food. And a tin ceiling! Which was also really lovely. I watched out the windows at people walking by the Christmas tree across the street.
Of course, we were on vacation, so we ordered a ridiculous amount of food and tried it all starting with a molten cheese fondue pot that was served with pieces of baguette, kielbasa, broccoli and fingerling potatoes. Oh my God, those were all AMAZING. My favorite was actually the potatoes! This was an appetizer and we’d already eaten ourselves silly. We then had our soups, my companion had the French Onion and I went with the Hungarian Mushroom. He said his was pretty standard fair, wasn’t that impressed with it, but my mushroom? OH! It was so rich and earthy! It just felt like it was feeding my soul. I ate every drop despite already being full from the appetizer.
My main course was Chicken Pot Pie and my companion got Guiness Stew. Both absolutely checked off every box conceivable for comfort food and was exploding with flavor. We even exchanged a bite and his was as good as mine if not better! Very robust and beefy. Everything was a hit here and the service was quick and friendly and the live music playing just completed the whole ambiance. WE ARE SO COMING BACK HERE.
