An edifying view.

Last weekend, I paid a very brief visit to Boston and Cambridge. We stayed just off of Harvard Square, and my run on Friday morning took me down to Memorial Drive, where the views of Harvard's distinguished buildings are only interrupted by crew teams rowing through the frame. Pretty idyllic, right?

And not a bit chilly, to be honest.

They have Manhattans in Boston, too.

And I highly recommend the one they pour at Drink, Barbara Lynch's cocktail bar on Congress Street. It was ridiculously well-balanced and satisfying.

Plus, they make sure you have plenty of water to go with your booze, which is, in my opinion, the mark of a place that wants you to enjoy your drink as opposed to wallow in it.

Drink
348 Congress Street
Boston, Massachusetts
617.695.1806

I scream for peanut butter sundaes.

As former denizens of New England, Miles and I were both thoroughly indoctrinated into the church of Friendly's at a very young age.

You think I exaggerate, but I do not. Ice cream is something of a religion in New England; the abundance of dairy farms combines with the fervent embrace of a short summer season to create a frenzy for frozen, creamy goodness. The region is chock full of local, artisanal creameries. I remember, for example, my brother's deep and abiding passion for the banana split at Kimball's in Westford, Massachusetts. And there are two local ice cream places within walking distance of my aunt's condo in Bristol, Rhode Island.

All this local goodness, and Miles and I wind up at Friendly's. I know, I know.

Friendly's, for those of you who've never had the luck to visit it, is a hamburger and ice cream chain with outlets found mainly in the Northeast - but who, in the last ten years or so, have begun to sell their ice cream in grocery stores around the country.

For me, Friendly's was always, primarily, a place for dessert. My dad would take us there as a Sunday afternoon treat, or I'd go with fellow community theatre cast members after a late-night dress rehearsal or to celebrate an opening night. It was a treat, a special occasion kind of place, and it was there that my love of peanut butter sundaes was born.

Friendly's, you see, has this Reese's Pieces sundae that I remember as pretty much the best thing ever. The peanut butter sauce is a warm, salty counterpoint for the rich hot fudge (Friendly's has real fudge sauce, not syrup) and the cold vanilla ice cream. All of these things remain awesome, but I'm actually kind of over the Reese's Pieces themselves. When eaten at room temperature, they are as delicious as ever, in that peanut-butter-plus-chemical-emulsifiers kind of way. But dotted in a sundae, they are frozen, rock hard, and practically tasteless.

Not that this stopped me from enjoying my sundae to the utmost; I just ate around them. I am, after all, an expert in the field.

Just call me Mary Lennox.

One of my favorite books of all time is The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett.* Growing up, it seemed impossibly exotic, full of foreign lands (India, England) and secret spots. In fact, I think one of the reasons it's such an enduring story is that Mary's search for a place of her own and her discovery of the tucked away and forgotten garden resonate with something very human: the quest for that which is hidden.

As a child, I was obsessed with secret passages, hidden gardens, and overgrown paths. I'd roam our hundred year-old house, feeling the walls for catches or painted-over door frames, and explore the wooded park near our home, in search of abandoned encampments. This thirst hasn't abated.

As a result, I expect, I found myself enchanted by Maudslay State Park, an old Newburyport estate (home of the Moseleys) which became a park in the mid-1980s. The park is right on the river, and the estate's old gardens (some maintained, some running wild) dot the property. There are also the remains of two old houses - the foundation of the original 72-room mansion as well as that of the smaller (but still respectably-sized) home the Moseleys built for their daughter.

The park's visitor center was closed on Sunday afternoon, so Miles and I found ourselves exploring the woods, fields and gardens unguided. We contemplated every path, wondering if we'd found the service driveway, or the path created to impress visitors to the estate. We stumbled on kitchen gardens, arbors, greenhouses long since missing their glass roofs, and overgrown thatches of rhododendron - those were everywhere.

It was all I could to stop myself looking for a nosy misselthrush and a poorly-buried key.

*It should also be noted that Miles & I met 12 years ago performing in a production of the musical version of The Secret Garden. Yes, we are officially old.

Sundays with Miles.

Back when Miles was still living here in New York (He and his partner, Hall, now own and run a gorgeous lodge in New Zealand.), we used to spend many a Sunday afternoon drinking coffee and working on the Sunday Times crossword puzzle. When I did not perform as well as I should have on our joint puzzle effort back in June, I decided it was time for some intense puzzle training.

I started doing the puzzle, daily, with some friends from work. And so, when Miles declared that we were going to Fowle's for breakfast and the crossword, I was ready.

I bought a Sunday Times from the newsstand side of the store, we sat down at the counter and ordered, and got down to business. Breakfast for Miles was yogurt and berries; for me, it was scrambled eggs and corned beef hash. Hey, people - I was on vacation, and vacation, to me, means nothing so much as fried potatoes for breakfast. Yum.

Once we'd shown the puzzle who was boss, we headed out for a walk along the waterfront. It was a beautiful day, the sun sparkling like mad on the river. We decided to explore a bit, ending up in Oldie's, one of those classic New England antique barns. The pickings were plentiful, but there was no way I was carrying a cast-iron skillet all the way home with me.

Our ramble also included a trip to Miles's favorite toy store, where I found eco-friendly toy cookware - and it wasn't pink! Gender neutral and environmentally friendly, guys! I was so excited, I took multiple pictures. I'll only make you look at one, though.

Memory lane, à la Miles.

My trip to New England with Miles had a primary purpose: nostalgia. Lots and lots of nostalgia. Miles, you see, was born in Massachusetts, and lived with his family in West Newbury until junior high, when they moved to Richmond, Virginia. Miles hadn't been back in years, and invited me to tag along for the fun.

I took the bus up to Boston and met Miles at Logan, where we hopped in our rental car and sped up to Newburyport. Newburyport is an adorable seaside town north of Boston. It sits at the mouth of the Merrimack River, ideally situated as a port for trade with northern New England (hence the name, I imagine).

After we'd checked in to our hotel (The Garrison Inn - super cute, though in need of a little touching up), we headed off on foot through downtown Newburyport. Our destination? The Grog.

The Grog lives in Miles's memory as a family dinner destination - but, above all, it lives as the home of delicious clam chowder. He warned me ahead of time that The Grog's chowder was not terribly thick, and was far more buttery than the usual suspects. But, he assured me, it was delicious.

After a five-minute walk through cobblestone streets, we arrived and were seated at a little table in the bar. We each ordered the chowder (a cup for me, a bowl for Miles) and sandwiches (a burger on an English muffin for me, a Cuban for Miles) - and beer, of course.

The chowder arrived about five seconds later, piping hot and accompanied by oyster crackers. And I am not exaggerating about that piping hot bit, either - after the first, scorching bite, I had to let mine cool down for a few minutes before diving back in.

The chowder was indeed brothier than your average New England version, but it was still delicious. Swimming in sherry and butter, it was full of flavor. The clams were soft and toothsome, not tough and chewy, and the chunks of potato were well-seasoned and just the right texture. It was easy to see why Miles held this soup in such high esteem - though he claims it's not quite as good as it used to be.

Perfectionist.

I'm off - again!

Dear readers, it has been a travel-heavy summer for this Manhattanite - and this weekend is no exception! I'm off to Massachusetts and New Hampshire this weekend. I'll be staying in Newburyport, exploring Plum Island, and making a pilgrimage to my old stomping grounds up in Exeter (where I went to high school) and Portsmouth.

Any recommendations for food or fun? Leave 'em in the comments! And, obviously, I'll be back with a full report next week!

Phillips Exeter library photo courtesy of atelier/Ed Brodzinsky. Portsmouth photo courtesy of Philip Case.