A Day at Hunter Mountain

Living in New York isn't easy, but there are many benefits. One of them (for us ski-lovers): being able to escape for a day in the mountains. Last year, we didn't perfect the ski day trip, but this year, we think we've got it right.

Our tips:

1. Don't take the ski bus. It's a super early start and then you take a stupid route through Manhattan so it takes forever. By the time you get there the queues are terrible and you won't be skiing until late morning (last year we weren't skiing until after 11am having caught the bus at 6am). It will also take a painful amount of time to take home (over 4 hours, with a journey that went through Times Square). Instead, rent a car, or better yet, borrow a friend's (thanks G!).

2. Get up early. Yes, our Saturday morning alarm went at 5:15. But we made it from Brooklyn over the George Washington Bridge in 25 minutes. And we were on the slopes by 9am.

3. Bring your own lunch. Hunter Mountain isn't a culinary hotspot. And it isn't super cheap either.

4. Ski early to early. It only gets busier as the day goes on, and the snow gets worse too. Plus, after the 5am alarm, you'll be exhausted by 3pm.

5. Stop at Phoenicia Diner on your way home. It's 10 minutes out of your way and those pancakes are worth driving far more than 10 minutes for.

6. Order the pancakes at Phoenicia Diner. Plus whatever else you fancy. But don't forget the pancakes.

7. Get a good playlist ready for the drive home. It won't be as smooth as your journey out.

One more close-up of those pancakes. Just because.

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Love Lane Kitchen, North Fork

Apologies for yet another ginormous silence. Things have been busy in these parts. A crazy week of work and work events ended with a long weekend (four days - probably known as a proper vacation in this country), with maman and papa out on the North Fork of Long Island. Then there were a couple of days back in the city, filled with ice cream and post-work drinks, and then maman and papa caught us up back in NYC and we've had another wonderful (and long) weekend of sun, blue skies, and so, so much food. Anyway, there's my excuse for the extended lack of words written on this little space of the internet, but fret not, I'm back.

We rented an adorable house on AirBnb for our stay on Long Island. It was tucked away in Mattituck, on a goose-filled inlet, and only a two mile jog/cycle ride/drive from the beach. And it was less than a mile to the best pancakes I've tasted since we moved to the U S of A. These said pancakes can be found at Love Lane Kitchen.

Before we arrived at North Fork we only had to do five minutes of research to discover that Love Lane Kitchen's lemon and ricotta pancakes were made of magical unicorn substances. So, after a slow jog to the beach and back, our main priority on our first North Fork morning was to get ourselves in front of a couple of plates of those pancakes.

Accompanied by iced coffees, fresh juices (from The Giving Room in Southold, just down the road), and limitless coffee, maman and I tucked into the fluffiest, lightest, zestiest, lemon and ricotta pancakes, covered in maple syrup, extra berries, and in my case (because I'm the greediest) a few knobs of butter. We obviously went back for more, later in the trip, and for some reason I didn't beg for the recipe. I fear that when I'm on my deathbed, this will be one of my biggest life regrets. 

While maman and I worked our way through all of our pancakes, papa limited himself to eggs with kale and avocado (too much raw kale for anybody's liking), and B went all out and had cheesecake stuffed French toast. I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell you that cheesecake-stuffed French toast is a wondrous meal which everyone should be treated to regularly, especially when on holiday/vacation.

If you ever stay anywhere on the North Fork don't drive by the pancakes. Your trip will be 100 times better if you stop for a serving (or four) of them.

Love Lane Kitchen, 240 Love Lane, Mattituck, NY 11952

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Scandilicious: Cinnamon Spelt Pancakes

I think the first word I said on Sunday morning was pancakes. I'm not sure I said much else until I'd eaten a pile of them.

We were short on plain flour but had lots of that spelt stuff sitting in the cupboard, so stumbled (via google) upon Signe Johansen's recipe for cinnamon spelt pancakes. It was a fortunate stumbling. 

The nutty flavour of the spelt, the warmth of plenty of cinnamon, the bubbly texture and the sheer quantity of batter, meant B and I whiled away a very happy Sunday morning in our pyjamas working through pancake after pancake after pancake. 

We raided the kitchen for anything we could find to heap on top. Frozen berries became a berry compôte after a little bit of sugar and a rather lot of heat were added, fresh raspberries, yoghurt, double cream, lemon juice, runny honey... I wish every morning could be a Sunday morning so I could linger over pancakes for breakfast for hours. 

The recipe can be found here. Give them a go next time you wake up and know that it's a pancake day.

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Kaiserschmarren

After some rather delicious kaiserschmarren at Boopshi's the other week, B continued on his bugging of me to make these kaiserchmarren he had spotted in the FT many weekends ago. And for some reason he had decided they were to be breakfast. I didn't tell him about the splash of rum; it was a Sunday after all, so no harm done.

Fluffly, meringue-y egg whites folded in to the rich, bright mix, then bubbling gently in a deep pan, tossed, lightly golden, torn into almost perfect shreds, dolloped with some freshly made blueberry compote, dusted with icing sugar. Super delicious, super easy to work your way through platefuls of them. And then kid yourself that they're not too bad as the only sugar is whatever you scatter on top. Typical of the always rather health conscious Rose Carrarini.

Perfect breakfast, perfect brunch, perfect pudding. Any excuse. 

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