Finger Lakes Day Two: Owls, Irving, and Ithaca

 Mallards on Keuka Lake

30 September 2016

I checked in on the lake at 9:00 a.m.

Vultures were keeping watch on a streetlight at the edge of the lake:

A solitary vulture perched on the buoy:

 Geese and gulls gathered on a sand bar.

They were staying off the lawn because of this guy:

So that people could walk on the path without stepping in goose poop:

Keuka Lake on an overcast morning:

Today we'd travel to Ithaca, stopping at a few wineries along the way and ending at the famed Moosewood restaurant. This was Jack's idea; I'd never suggest that he suffer such a crunchy venue. Like very good wine, he reasoned, very good food isn't easy to find in the Finger Lakes. More on that later.

Our first stop was Anthony Road Wine Company on Seneca Lake. I took part in the tasting this time.

We couldn't get close to the real vineyard, but there was a small garden with varietal vines that we could walk among, now that the drizzle had stopped. I took pictures of rotting grapes:

And of healthy ones:

These are Concord Grapes, the kind that make terrible wine and good jelly. They smelled sweet, even from a foot away. Jack wiped away the pale film on a grape. "That's yeast," he said.

Next was Red Tail Ridge, a few miles away, where an affable, charming, and chatty server held our attention. She told us about the straggly little Teroldego vine that she has named Irving and has given pep talks to, warning him that if he doesn't produce, he's going to be yanked. Apparently he and his brethren listened, because this year was the first that the winery was able to harvest its Teroldego grapes.

 

This is Irving.

Across the road, this beefy vine shows Irving how it's done:

We were close to the northern end of Seneca Lake, so we stopped in Geneva for lunch at a throwback luncheonette, where I was hungry enough to eat a muffin top and half the bottom too.

Next, driving in and out of drizzle, we headed down the eastern side of Seneca, to Red Newt Cellars. By now, I'd almost figured out the difference between fruity and sweet, and could distinguish an off-dry from a dry Riesling. I also sipped something that tasted like a green apple Jolly Rancher.

From there, the back of the car clinking with wine bottles, we drove to Ithaca. It began to rain in earnest as we walked through a blocks-long street fair, and in an out of bookstores (one with a snarky display of banned books).

We stopped in a candy shop, where I got another dose of owls:

I wish I could say that Moosewood served the best vegetarian food I've ever eaten, but I can't. I felt compelled to avoid the things I knew I'd like (salads, pasta), and go for the things that required thought and skill (a thick soup with mushy mushrooms and mushy tomatoes, and a stew with mushy squash and mushy peppers and flavors I've never much liked). It was good for what it was; I just don't much enjoy those sorts of things. The berry crumble I had for dessert was worthy, though.

We walked back through part of the street fair in the rain.

To get back to Penn Yan was an hour's drive through pitch-black roads and fog. It was a challenge, and when we got back to the hotel I was pretty much wiped out after a day of doing almost nothing.