Apple Dumpling Gang of One

Before leaving The Green Dragon, I considered buying an apple dumpling.  I'd tried to get one at Reading Terminal Market on our last trip to Philadelphia, but the booth selling them had closed early that day.  I didn't buy a Green Dragon dumpling, though (pictured above), because it looked so juicy I was worried it wouldn't travel well (and I wasn't hungry enough to eat it on the spot).

Later in the day, though, we visited the Farmer's Market in Bird-in-Hand, PA.  It's quite a place, with plenty of good eats displayed wall to wall in the market's permanent building.  There, I found a "drier-looking" dumpling and made it mine.



I ate my dumpling the next day, warmed in the microwave and topped with vanilla ice cream.  I expected the dough to be a bit more delicate and/or flavorful, but the sweet, baked apple was very nice.

I'd like to find a good recipe and try making some apple dumplings myself at home.

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That's a "Yes!" to yard sale snacks.

This yard sale in Pennsylvania had a table off to one side at which 3 Amish women (a mother and her daughters?) were selling baked goods.



I bought a large peanut butter cookie.  It had a nice flavor but was slightly dry.  I had to eat it in one sitting, as the chocolate on top was melting in the heat of the day.  Not bad as fuel to get me to the next bargain-hunting spot.

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The Green Dragon: Even More Edibles

Pickles. So many pickles.  I bought pickled garlic, and was disappointed to find the brine was sweet.




Peanut brittle.  This stuff was special. 




Peanut-butter filled pretzels.  Subtle in a swell way.



[What is The Green Dragon?] 

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Homemade Root Beer

Another new find for me on this trip to Pennsylvania was homemade root beer.  We bought several bottles from an Amish Farmer at The Green Dragon.  It tasted yeasty and sweet but wasn't at all fizzy.  Was it supposed to be carbonated?  I'm not sure.

I keep having positive root beer experiences in PA.  This state does the stuff right.

p.s. The same farmer was also selling the best strawberries I can recall ever having tasted.  We'd already bought strawberries at another booth (big mistake), but he offered us free samples.  So sweet and soft and juicy -- and red to the core.  Wow.

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This is how much a pie should cost.

Now, look.  I live in New York City, but I'm a midwesterner by heritage (and a west-coaster by birth!).  When it comes to my taste buds, I like to imagine I'm eating through life with an eye toward both down-to-earth sanity and aspirational luxury.  I don't need everything I eat to be beautiful, trendy, or perfect.  Still, I can appreciate good food, I have enough income to pay a fair-to-inflated price for dishes made by others every so often, and I know how much work it can be to create an amazing mouthful.

This established, I am horrified at the price of whole pies around here.  Pie-men (I mean this as a genderless term) in NYC ask a lot for their creations, and I think it's gotten out of control.  For example, I have a lot of affection for a Brooklyn establishment known as Pies 'n' Thighs.  I treasure their "chicken box" dinner close to my heart.  But their whole pies cost $30.  Yeek, I say.  Yeek!  That's expensive. 

I've bought, eaten, and made a lot of pie in my lifetime.  I'm willing to pay a fair price for a good one, too, but frequently the $30 pies of the world (and I'm not talking about pies from Pies 'n' Thighs specifically because I can't afford them) do not measure up to the down-home simplicity and pleasing flavors of, say, an Amish creation retailing for $4.25 (as advertised in the photo at the top of this post).

I took the picture up top at The Green Dragon to remind all of us that a delicious pie need not break the bank.   I mean, I'd pay more than $5 -- I don't want to rip off any pie-bakers -- but I doubt the Amish women selling these pies were doing so at a loss.  I know people selling homemade pies will have to charge more than that per pie if they don't grow their own fruit, but there's a lot of room for fair pricing between $5 and $30.

I'm taking a daring, political stance: Accessible pie prices for every man, woman, child, and person who does not identify as male or female!

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The one that got away

Sometimes the cheese stands alone because all the other cheeses know they aren't worthy.

Yesterday, Erin trend-scouted and shared an amazing cheese sold at the Union Square Greenmarket. Her cheese instincts are good. My sample revealed I've found a new love. This (pictured above) is literally the spiciest cheese I've tasted to date -- a truly hot pepper jack cheese with bits of red pepper and other spices I can't identify. Made in Lancaster County, PA, it had a lingering fresh-cheese sourness and bright bite supported by a slightly vinegary tang. The heat lingered and burned at the back of my throat, but the flavor was also rich and warm. Erin said that she was told the batch had turned out spicier than intended this week; next week's batch won't be so hot.

I thought about my slice for a while after I ate it, foolishly asked myself if I really needed a brick of the stuff myself, sat wanting some more for a little too long, then got up and walked briskly across the street to try to buy some I could take home. Locating the table in the middle of the market, I could see no spicy cheese in the case before me. My heart knew. I hardly needed the (Amish?) gentleman behind the table to tell me that he'd sold the last brick of it thirty minutes before. Alas. It just wasn't meant to be.

As I returned to work empty-handed and dejected, he called after me, "I guess your hair will have to stay the same color for another week!" Well, that's really up to me, sir. Not the cheese. But I will see you next week.