Rain Man

May 31, 2025 steveboilardLeave a comment

This morning I awoke in Great Barrington to pouring rain. It lasted all day, which, to say the least, put a damper on the day. Har.

Because of the weather I didn’t get out of the car as much as I’d have liked. So allow me to finish up my story of yesterday’s travels:

Around 4 pm I was passing the town of Chester, Mass. (pop: 1,300). A sign advertised a historic railroad depot and museum just a few blocks away, so I figured I’d make a quick stop. Alas, the station–which is beautifully restored–was closed for the day. Disappointed, I sat on a bench on the station’s front porch and began to consult my map to figure out where I’d get dinner.

*Chester Depot, which dates back over 150 years.*

Then a man approached me from a house directly across the street. Dave (for that was his name) turns out to be a long-time volunteer at the station who frequently gives tours. Since he lives across the street, he’s able to come out and greet visitors even when the place is supposedly closed. And so, for the next hour or so, I got a private tour of the depot.

The depot has been lovingly restored since it was acquired from the railroad in quite rough condition. After the railroad stopped running passenger service, the station was used as a maintenance and storage facility, which means the walls and hardwood floor literally took a beating. But look at it today:

The railroad and depot are notable for a number of reasons (believe me, I heard them all!) but most notable is that the station is situated at the bottom of a mountain. The rail line had a steep grade, so trains would stop here while “helper” engines were added to push or pull the train over the mountain. Another notable aspect of the railroad is a series of 10 stunning keystone arch bridges, built in the 1840s, that still carry trains over the Westfield River. Oh, and the railroad was surveyed and/or engineered by George Washington Whistler…that is, the painter Whistler’s father. (Everyone only knows Whister’s mother.)

At Dave’s urging I visited one of these keystone arch bridges, only a few miles from the depot. It’s picturesque and impressive from an engineering perspective.

Finally, I got back onto Route 20 and headed up that self-same mountain that necessitated the helper engines years ago. An automobile road over the mountain was added in 1910, though it was a primitive, difficult drive. Modern Route 20 parallels that original road, and arrives at the same 1,775-foot summit. And so, when I arrived at the summit, I encountered a stone cairn monument that was originally placed there in 1910. It was made from stones collected from roadway infrastructure from all over the world.

So much for yesterday. Today, as I mentioned, I spent the day driving through rain. But I did manage to make a couple of worthwhile stops. One was The Tepee–a classic roadside attraction from the Golden Age of road trips.

The Tepee is a souvenir shop that dates back to 1950. It’s the kind of place that my brother and I always begged our parents to stop at, so we could get Big Hunk candy bars, “perpetual motion” drinking birds, paperweights with the name of the state we were visiting, and suchlike.

The Tepee is owned by sisters Dale and Donna, who bought it from their father over a decade ago. So it’s definitely a family operation. Dale is the friendliest person you’d ever want to meet, and exudes a love for her business and her customers. She also really knows her Route 20 trivia, which kept me entertained for quite awhile. This place embodies the reasons that I value these road trips.

At Dale’s urging I took the US 20 “scenic bypass” that was the original route 20 alignment. It’s a little narrower and hillier than the new alignment, but it’s also greener and it passes through the village of Cherry Valley (pop: 2,300).

Cherry Valley is a cozy little town, nestled amid trees and hills. I stopped in at a used bookstore that, to me, looks like it came out of a Dickens novel It was built in 1840, and the current owner told me Samuel Morse (inventor of the eponymous Morse Code) developed his telegraph here in the late 1840s.

The bookstore owner (whose name I failed to get) told me that Cherry Valley used to be a thriving community until US 20 was re-routed, taking all the drive-through traffic with it. He told me the highway was moved in order to satisfy a powerful state legislator whose own property would benefit from the change. I have been unable to corroborate this.

Before long I crossed the state line into New York. Driving through this part of the country feels like going back in time.

*Old farrier/blacksmith along the roadside, dating back before automobiles. The owner gave me an affogato, God bless her!*

*1893 Burrow Chapel in Lake View Cemetery, Skaneateles, NY.*

Finally, I arrived in Seneca Falls, NY (pop: 7,000). It’s a pleasant town situated on the shore of Seneca Lake (the largest of the Finger Lakes). Seneca Falls was the site of the first women’s rights convention (in 1848), and it continues to play up that role with a major Women’s Rights Museum. It also claims to be the inspiration for the fictional town of Bedford Falls from Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. Among other things, the bridge where Jimmy Stewart’s character tried to kill himself was supposedly modeled on Seneca Fall’s Bridge Street Bridge (I’m not making up that name). I visited the bridge today, and I do see the resemblance…but I could say that about many other bridges as well.

*In the 1946 movie, George Bailey jumps off the bridge to save someone in the water. In 1917, real-life Antonio Varacalli jumped off the Seneca Falls bridge to save someone in the water.*

*“Bridge Street Bridge” in Seneca Falls.*

Finally, I stopped for the night in Geneva, NY (pop: 13,000). It is here I had my….

Brew of the Day

I got my BOTD Geneva’s Lake Drum Brewing. It’s one of the friendliest, most laid-back breweries I’ve been to. I ended up spending two hours chatting with the bartender(s) and a couple of regulars, while I worked my way through a flight of beers and the BOTD…which we’ll get to in a moment.

*Steve, Laura, Sam, and Aaron–my new friends at Lake Drum Brewing.*

But first let me describe this place. They brew their own beer (with about eight beers currently on tap), plus they brew their own cider, plus they even make a couple of wines. They have an extensive (and I mean massive) collection of vinyl records that they play on a turntable that resides in an old wine barrel.

They have patio seating for when it’s not raining, and endless free popcorn. But what’s most important is that they made me feel welcome, including me in a meandering conversation that touched on fishing, equine care, cross-breeding of cats, the best burger places in the region, music, foreign travel, and funding of the arts. Anyone in the food/drink business should take note: what gets people coming back is not what you’re serving, but how you treat your customers.

Anyway, speaking of serving drinks: today’s Brew of the Day was not a beer, but a kombucha. Now, I know kombucha has been popular for some years now, but I’d never tasted one until now. For those few of you (like me) that missed the kombucha train, it’s essentially fermented tea. Which maybe doesn’t sound that great, but this was refreshing and delicious. It was flavored with ginger and mint, and it’s just as refreshing as it sounds it would be. It’s got light carbonation, but almost no alcohol, so you could throw it back like iced tea on a hot day. I feel I have no standing to actually rate this drink, since it’s the only one I’ve ever had. But I enjoyed it immensely. I do worry, however, the Marianne’s Phenomenon could be at play. (I describe the Marianne’s Phenomenon in my memoir…but essentially it refers to one’s enthusiastic experience with a new food resulting in large part from being hungry or otherwise affected by the setting.)

Tomorrow’s BOTD will return to actual beer.

Breweries · cemeteries · Road trips

Family Matters

May 30, 2025 steveboilard2 Comments

I arrived in Beantown this morning about 6:30, got a good cup of coffee, and soon was in temporary possession of a Nissan Altima (which, I’m told, is specifically designed with an eye to the rental trade). Everything was moving along according to schedule.

Things gummed up considerably when I drove out of the airport and entered Boston’s rush hour traffic. It took me over half an hour to drive five miles. But finally, I was at Kenmore Square, right next to Fenway Park, and under the giant Citgo sign that gives this fair city light. This is where Route 20 begins (or ends, depending on your perspective.)

*Sorry; the giant Citgo sign is behind the green sign…which, for our purposes, is more relevant.*

I know there’s a lot to do in Boston. I know it’s a great town. In fact, it wasn’t that long ago that friend Vic and I made a visit that I wrote about in this blog post. But today is not that day. I’ve got a lot of miles to travel, and the focus is on the gentle, low-key life of everyday America, not on a teeming capital city of about 650,000 souls. So I spent most of the morning just trying to escape the metro area.

But eventually, the traffic began to subside and I found myself in the city of Worcester (pop: 200,000). It’s still a biggish city, but I spent a pleasant, quiet hour surrounded by smiley faces. Let me explain.

I was at the Worcester Historical Museum, which dates back to 1875. It recently moved to a stately brick building that used to be the headquarters of the Worcester County Horticultural Society. Upon entering I was greeted by the estimable Deb, who grew up in the town and has encyclopedic knowledge of everything that’s happened over the past 150 years. Oh, did I mention this year is their 150th anniversary, and I got in for free?

*Deb, demonstrating the famous Worcester Smiley Face.*

Among the firehose of factoids she shared, the one that made the greatest impression is that the humble and ubiquitous Smiley Face was invented in Worcester in 1963.

It was designed by a local artist named Harvey Ball, who was commissioned by an insurance company to design a moral-boosting image for their staff. If you were alive in the 1960s or 1970s, you know how the Smiley became a pop culture phenomenon. And of course it remains omnipresent today, adorning WalMart uniforms and, much more importantly, morphing into the emojis that adorn the majority of text messages.

*A tiny part of the museum’s Smiley collection.*

Deb wanted me to know that Harvey Ball never trademarked the Smiley, and so he never made anything off it other than about fifty bucks for the original drawing. But in the 1990s Walmart tried to copyright it, which led to a court (Deb couldn’t tell me exactly which one) decreeing that they couldn’t claim credit for Harvey’s work. Or something like that.

After visiting the museum I made a pilgrimage to pay my respects to Harvey Ball. I think you can guess where this is leading:

It was time to get back on the road, and once Worcester was in my rearview mirror, US 20 settled into the kind of road I’ve been longing for: rolling hills, a lane or two each direction, and a route smack-dab through the middle of numerous small towns.

Next up was the town of Indian Orchard, a small village on the outskirts of Springfield, Mass. Now, alert readers may recall that about a dozen years ago I discovered a large Boilard clan living in the northeast. One roguish member of this Boilard branch of the family tree was my grandfather, Henry “Red” Boilard. You can read about him here on my website. Anyway, Henry had an uncle named Adelard Boilard, who founded Boilard and Sons Lumber in Indian Orchard in 1936.

*Historic thermometer hangs in my garage, but I’d never visited the store.*

So, since US 20 goes right by Indian Orchard, I figured I’d pay a visit to the old family business at 476 Oak Street. The building still stands on the same site, but as of a couple of years ago Boilard and Sons got purchased by Koopman’s Lumber. The name of the business changed, but next to the front door there’s this plaque that acknowledges the lineage.

I went into the store hoping that maybe someone remembered the old Boilard family. I explained to the man behind the counter that my name is Steve Boilard, and that I’m related to the family that founded the store. Was he familiar with the history? The guy, whose name is Bob, did indeed know the history and explained how the family ran the place for over 85 years. I asked him if any family members were still involved with the operation. He said, “Well, there’s me.” His name is Bob Boilard…Adelard Boilard’s grandson. Talk about burying the lede! I guess that proves he’s a Boilard after all.

*Me with Bob Boilard, who’s demonstrating the famous Boilard enthusiasm.*

Bob gave me directions to the local cemetery (another Boilard trademark) and suggested I pay a visit to Adelard Boilard. Soon I was at Saint Aloysius cemetery…but finding Adelard would be like a needle in a haystack. As luck would have it, I ran into a cemetery employee named John, but he said the formal directory was in another part of town, and it wasn’t open today. At my obvious disappointment, he lowered his voice conspiratorially and said, “Well, we can see if maybe there’s anything helpful in the garage.”

He led me into a dark and dusty building, and asked me when Adelard died. “December of 1981,” said I. John then produced a worn and dusty journal and flipped the pages to December. It had records for all burials that month. No Boilard. “Sometimes they didn’t get recorded,” he explained. But as I was about to turn away empty handed, he said “Wait–these are recorded by date of burial, not date of death.” He pulled out the 1982 journal, and turned to January:

The journal included DaVinci-code-like notations next to the name, which John then used to locate the grave on an ancient plot map.

And with that information, my friends, I was able to locate the Boilard marker, under which are buried Adelard, his wife Lillian, and several other Boilards.

There’s one more postscript to this story: when my Aunt Mary (one of the east coast Boilards) learned of my Route 20 trip, she told me there’s another relative I need to visit in Indian Orchard. Phyllis Emet (nee Boilard). Phyllis’ grandmother was Adelard Boilard’s sister. I guess that makes Phyllis Adelard’s grand-niece? (Somebody please help me with this!) Anyway, Phyllis is 90 years old and has encyclopedic knowledge of the Boilard family history. I spent a delightful hour getting filled in on family lore.

*Me with Phyllis, keeper of the Boilard secrets.*

After visiting with Phyllis I stumbled upon some interesting (non-Boilard) history in the town of Chester (pop: 1,250), but I think I’ll save that tomorrow as this post is getting long and the jet lag is kicking in. I will end with the…

BOTD

I had my dinner and my Beer of the Day at a place called Barrington Brewery in the town of Great Barrington, Mass (pop: 7,200). I didn’t realize until I saw the bartender’s polo shirt that I’m in the Berkshires. It’s admittedly a very nice environment around here.

On the bartender’s recommendation, I had a pint of the Barrington Brown Ale (5.4 percent alcohol, which barely exceeds the alcohol you’d get from the brandy-flavored chocolates your grandma kept in a dish at Christmas time). After all my other great successes today, I should have known my luck couldn’t hold out. This ale is the color of Lipton Iced Tea, and it’s similarly uncarbonated. It has no discernible strong flavors at all. The mouthfeel is positively watery. It reminds me of dishwater, with notes of dirty straw and potato peels. The finish evokes soggy Cheerios. This is a spectacularly forgettable beer. 1 star.

bridges · California history · cemeteries · Road trips · trains

Big Wheel Keep On Turnin’

January 11, 2025 steveboilard1 Comment

The weeks immediately following New Years often can be difficult. The Christmas lights have come down, leaving a murky winter gloom throughout the land. It’s a time of chilly weather, short days,and family budgets decimated by holiday spending. Christmas vacation is over and it’s time to get back to the regular routine, made somewhat less enjoyable by my foolish New Year’s resolutions, which this year involve an ill-considered reduction in whiskey consumption. January, to me, is the real Humbug season. Spring won’t be making its arrival for another 68 days, though who’s counting?

So I figured a trip to southern California might at least allow me to catch a little sunshine. What’s more, my nephew Graham recently informed me, over beers, that near his house in Altadena (pop: 43,000) sits just a stone’s throw from the remains of a historic mountain railroad that dates back to 1893. The Mount Lowe Railway (for that’s its name) was gutted by several fires in the last century, but some ruins remain and the view from the top of the right-of-way is said to be impressive. The whole thing frankly sounds right up my alley, so I dutifully purchased a book about the railway, conducted some research, and began to plan a trip for next week.

You probably see where this is going: Tragically, wildfires this week wiped out Altadena, including, I’m sad to say, my nephew’s house. Can you imagine? You’re minding your own business, and suddenly, just a couple of weeks after Christmas, a Sheriff’s deputy knocks on your door and tells you to evacuate. A few hours later virtually everything you own is gone. It sure puts my puny problems into perspective.

So, with a prayer for the thousands of people displaced (and an unknown number killed) by the southern California fires, I decided a trip to the Southland isn’t in the cards right now. Instead, I figured I’d stick closer to home. And so this morning I saddled up the Speedmaster and headed south on Highway 49, which is one of my favorite routes. It’s a scenic, two-lane road that endlessly twists through the oak-studded Sierra Nevada foothills. And it passes through innumerable old Gold Rush towns that still somehow evoke the 49er spirit of tenacity and patience.

During today’s ride I stopped for a few hours in the town of Jackson (pop: 5,100). All my prior trips to Jackson have strictly been to purchase huge quantities of maple bacon from Swingle’s Meat Market, which calls itself “The Carnivore’s Toy Store.” They really lean into their identity, with taxidermied heads of elk, bison, deer, and something that looks like a water buffalo. Anyway, today I decided to see what the rest of the town has to offer.

Like many towns along Highway 49, Jackson sprang up during the Gold Rush. It’s home to the Kennedy Mine, which was among the deepest and most productive mines in the country. It operated from 1860 until it was shut down during World War II. Many features of the mine are visible to this day. I was drawn to the four enormous, wooden tailing wheels that had been placed on the low hills to the south of the mine. Those wheels stood about seven stories tall. Here’s a few photos of them today.

The story behind them is fascinating. Like most hard-rock mines, the Kennedy Mine extracted gold from rock by first pulverizing the rock into fine sand and then separating out the tiny grains of gold with a chemical process. This process left behind tons and tons of silty wastewater called “slickens” that over time fouled nearby streams and ruined local farms. Local farmers threatened lawsuits and eventually a settlement was reached: The Kennedy Mine would send its slickens to an impoundment basin a half-mine away. To get there, the slickens would have to get over a couple of hills, and that’s where those giant wooden wheels come in: They were each fitted with 178 buckets which lifted the slickens up to raised flumes and over the hills.

*Undated historic photo. The Tailing Wheels are inside the four buildings.*

You’ll note in the photo above that the four tailing wheels were contained within corrugated-metal buildings. After the mine closed the metal was sold for scrap and the wheels were exposed to the elements–Hence their condition today. But one wheel has been restored and is enclosed within a modern structure.

I really can’t explain why I became so fascinated by this primitive technology. But after spending a good hour hiking around the wheels, I went to the Amador Historical Society’s large scale model of the mine and tailing wheels. There I spent another hour chatting with Docent Gary about All Things Mining.

*Docent Gary, dressing the part. Behind him is a 1/12 scale model of one of the tailing wheels.*

Of course, there are other things to see in Jackson. It’s actually a rather charming town, with a busting historic main street, several historic cemeteries, and a restored, large hotel from 1852.

Speaking of historic hotels, I had lunch at the Hotel Leger in Mokelumne Hill (pop: 800). The Leger was rebuilt after several fires, most recently in 1875. My server told me the ghost of George Leger (1815-1879) still haunts the hotel. When I hinted at my skepticism, she told me she had “absolutely seen and heard things to make me a believer.” She also solemnly informed me that the hotel had been featured on Discovery’s Ghost Adventures in 2018. So that pretty much clinches it.

*Dining room of the Hotel Leger. The stone walls are original. Is that ectoplasm in the corner below the wainscoting?*

I ended today’s travel in San Andreas (pop: 3,000). There’s not a lot going on here beyond a short, historic Main Street and a small bridge that caught my eye for its age (over a century old) and graceful simplicity.

*Thirty-foot long, closed-spandrel arch bridge over San Andreas Creek.*

The Main Street does feature a worthy historical museum. Among its many artifacts, I will emphasize two: One is the jail cell where Black Bart had been imprisoned in 1883 for robbing a stagecoach.

Also notable is California’s first courthouse..which sits entirely within the museum.

The story goes like this: There were no sawmills in California at the beginning of the Gold Rush, so all lumber had to be imported. This building was essentially a “build-it-yourself” kit of pre-cut camphor wood that had been shipped from China. It served as the Calaveras County courthouse in 1850, and later served as the post office. A placard assures me that it is not a reproduction, but the actual building (though it has been truncated to fit in the museum space).

There’s a footnote to this story as well: The building was shipped to California aboard the brig Frolic. I thought the name sounded familiar, and then I remembered that last year I visited the site near Point Cabrillo where the Frolic sank in the summer of 1850–just months after it delivered the courthouse building to Calaveras County. This time she was carrying porcelain and opium.

*Just weeks before she sank off the coast of California.*

Tomorrow I am going to try out a downloadable driving tour app for the stretch of Highway 49 between Angel’s Camp and Jamestown. I don’t normally use travel guides on my trips, as I like to remain open to whatever catches my interest along the way. But this particular driving app is only a two-hour commitment and it seems pretty authoritative. So for twelve bucks I’m willing to take the risk. Full report tomorrow!

2024 Halloween treats · Breweries · California history · cemeteries · Halloween · Puns

Ossuaries

October 19, 2024October 19, 2024 steveboilard2 Comments

Just over a year ago the Missus and I visited the town of Evora in Portugal. One particular vision from that trip is seared into my memory: the Capela dos Ossos (Chapel of the Bones). It’s a small, 16th-century chapel that adjoins the Church of St Francis, and its interior walls and ceiling are decorated (if that’s the word) with the bones from about 5,000 corpses. It’s said that the Franciscan friars built the chapel using exhumed skeletons from local cemeteries.

This is what you’d call an ossuary–a building or container that holds skeletal remains. Why did the friars put the bones on display rather than burying them? The answer, I think, is found in a poem that hangs within the chapel. It’s attributed to the village priest, Fr. António da Ascenção Teles, and here’s an English translation:

Where are you going in such a hurry, traveler?
Pause…do not advance your travel.
You have no greater concern than this one:
That which is now before your eyes.

Recall how many have passed from this world,
Reflect on your similar end.
There is good reason to do so;
If only all did the same.

Ponder, you so influenced by fate,
Among the many concerns of the world,
So little do you reflect on death.

If by chance you glance at this place,
Stop … for the sake of your journey,
The longer you pause, the further on your journey you will be.

Today I visited another ossuary of sorts: Placerville Union Cemetery. The cemetery was founded in 1871, and is said to be haunted. (But what graveyard isn’t said to be haunted?) Notable (to me at least) is that the cemetery’s arched gateway was designed and constructed by the same guy who designed and constructed the one at my property.

This morning the cemetery grounds were haunted by actors portraying key historical figures from the region. I watched a performance by Dan Trainor who portrayed Sheriff James Madison Anderson. Sheriff Anderson had unsuccessfully tried to halt Placerville’s last hangings in 1889. It’s a gut-wrenching story, as Sheriff Madison ultimately was obligated to pull the lever that executed two men he’d come to respect. (To this day Placerville continues to embrace its official nickname “Old Hangtown”.)

*Dan and Cheryl Trainor, as Sheriff Anderson and his good wife.*

*Sheriff Anderson’s final resting place, just yards from Dan’s re-enactment.*

While I was watching Dan’s performance, I was standing near a stone that caught my interest. The Blair family emigrated to El Dorado County from Scotland in 1882, and their descendants continue to live in the area. Jennie Blair, next to whose marker I was standing, lived a full century that bridged many different eras in Placerville.

*Born before the Statue of Liberty; lived to experience disco.*

But let’s get back to Ossuaries. Look what I found at the local liquor store:

*Containing the mortal remains of myriad hops and barleycorns.*

I’d never heard of Ghost Town Brewing before, but evidently it’s a popular brewery in west Oakland, California. The name “Ghost Town” is supposedly an old nickname for the brewery’s neighborhood, which ages ago hosted two coffin manufacturing operations. It’s claimed the brewery itself resides in one of those coffin plants, but details are sketchy. Still, you have to admit this is a promising backstory for a Halloween libation review. You can read more about Ghost Town Brewing, and how it was founded by a metal band as their side hustle, here.

But for now, let’s see how this stacks up on our Treat Template (TM).

Conceptual Soundness: As noted above, Ghost Town Brewing has a spooky backstory, and all their beers are named and packaged to tap into (ha!) that same vibe. The main concept here is to make a “robust porter” — that is, somewhat darker, more flavorful, or more potent than your average porter. Recognizing that Ghost Town’s jam seems to be graveyards/coffins/death and dare I say the underworld, it seems they’ve reverse-engineered the ABV of this porter to match their spooky vibe:

And in case the name “Ossuary” and the “666” don’t get the message across, they emblazon the can with a photo that may well have been taken from that ossuary in Evora that I featured at the top of this post.

Overall, it’s a sound (albeit simple) concept: Make a robust porter and surround it with dark imagery. 4 points. (I’m sure this score is influenced by the fact that, as a rule, I like porters.)

Appearance: Like most porters, it’s dark brown with a respectable tan head. It’s shot through with a bit a ruby-gold. It presents as a very solid and meaty drink for a cold October night. Coupled with the graphics on the can, I think this has earned an appearance score somewhere between 3 and 4 points. Let’s give it 3.5 points.

Taste: This beer has a complex range of tastes. It’s very malty, as expected, and the hop bitterness is reined in, as you’d expect from a porter. But swirl it over your tongue and you catch hints of Peet’s coffee, graham crackers, dark chocolate, mild pipe tobacco, burned pizza crust, and fennel. Notwithstanding the 16-oz container, this is a beer meant for sipping. You want to savory the flavors; pairing it with some strong cheese, I imagine, would really help bring out those flavors. This is delicious. This is 4 points.

Value: A four-pack set me back 20 bucks. That’s five dollars a beer, which is on the steep end. I might expect that for an imperial stout, but at “6.66%” ABV, this can’t really justify such a high price point. I give it 2 points.

Total Treat Score: 13.5 points. Highly recommend you drink one on the next dark and stormy night. Or as you watch this 1970 short film:

MAIL BAG

Loyal reader Katelyn P shared this video in reference to my Oct 1 post about Starbucks’ Raccoon Pop:

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A post shared by Peanut the blind raccoon (@peanut_the_raccoon)

Would this qualify as cannibalism?

"A Dying WIsh" · 2024 Halloween treats · cemeteries

Not a Slam Dunk

October 6, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

That headline has multiple meanings for today’s post.

First, just to get this out of the way, I did not receive the Saturday ‘Visiter’ Award last night at Poe Fest’s Black Cat Ball. But I’m pleased to report the award went to a worthy recipient: Sherrill Joseph has been writing a book series aimed at a youth audience that features a group of young investigators that evokes the Hardy Boys. The fifth book of her series is centered on Edgar Allan Poe, and it garnered the award. I spent much of the day yesterday with Sherrill and her daughter Nicole, and I couldn’t be more pleased that she won.

*Sherrill and I promoting our SVA-nominated publications at Poe Fest.*

So, before we move on to the Treat of the Day, permit me to share a few photos from last night’s Black Cat Ball.

*Sherrill and I with Vincent Price’s daughter, Victoria (center).*

*Four of the authors at the Saturday ‘Visiter’ Awards: AA Rubin, Sherrill Joseph, yours truly, and Holly Knightley.*

OK, now let’s move from one not-a-slam-dunk to another.

Across the street from my hotel (the historic Lord Baltimore Hotel) was a Dunkin’ [Donuts]. I immediately recalled the delicious Spider Donut that I reviewed a couple of years ago. Could I experience the magic again?

Alas, the Spider Donut has crawled off Dunkin’s menu. The only “fall treat” they had on offer was a Pumpkin Muffin. Resignedly, I took the muffin and walked back to the hotel lobby to conduct this review.

Conceptual Soundness: C’mon. It’s an unadorned pumpkin muffin. It’s not a complicated concept, but neither is it especially interesting. 2 points.

Appearance of the Treat: Unlike the Starbucks muffin that I reviewed a few days ago, this is deeply cracked and misshapen. It looks like the unholy spawn of a bear claw and a Soufflé. The color is reasonably pumpkin-y, but I suspect the presence of food coloring. There’s no cream cheese or pepitas or anything to make this muffin special. They couldn’t even be bothered to use a seasonally-appropriate orange muffin cup. 1 point.

Taste: The taste is actually pretty good. There’s a slight pumpkin flavor, and it’s sweet, but not to the point of cloying. Unlike some grocery store muffins, this has no artificial or off taste.

The cake is very moist, to the point of being almost soggy. It would have benefited from another couple of minutes in the oven. The top has none of that slight crusting that I find so satisfying to bite through. Instead, the whole muffin just kind of collapses on contact. But then, somehow, each bite of this overly moist muffin ends with a dry, desiccated, crumbly finish. It seems to defy the laws of baking physics.

Overall, despite the decent taste, the eating experience is fatally compromised. The mouthfeel just doesn’t work, and the unadorned cake is so homogeneous that you’re sick of it by the time you finish. This is why breakfast cereals have crunch berries or marshmallow moons or whatever. 1 point.

Value: I paid $2.75 for this is downtown Baltimore. The price compares favorably to the Starbucks cream cheese muffin ($3.95). But you’ll recall that was a delicious treat; this is not. I’ll score the value at 2 points.

Total Treat Score: 6/16 points.

Now it’s time to leave Baltimore and say goodbye to Poe Fest. Tomorrow our seasonal treat focus will shift to Halloween candy.