A triathlon in Luray brought me down to VA last weekend. Downtown Luray is about two blocks long, but it’s a cute two blocks: some shops, a cool outdoors apparel store and a few restaurants, including this one, Gathering Grounds Patisserie & Cafe, where we went for dinner.

The decor is quite charming and cozy.

I’ve mentioned this in previous posts, but the night before a race, you generally don’t want to eat foods that are spicy, heavy, or out of the ordinary… basically anything that could potentially upset your stomach. Keep it simple, get your carbs in, and call it a night. Save the foie gras and pickle sandwich for after the race.

I started with a very nice tomato basil soup.

And moved on to the baked pasta.

Truthfully, it wasn’t anything special and the pasta was rather overcooked and mushy. But as pre-race food it worked just fine.

On the way home from the race I stopped at Manassas National Battlefield Park. If you have any interest in American history, particularly the Civil War, you owe it to yourself to visit. Between their iPhone app, the visitor center, and the ranger-led tours, you’ll learn a lot. The area’s also quite beautiful and the battlefield looks relatively unchanged from 150 years ago.

Afterwards, in my search to grab a bite in Manassas, I saw this sign:

Two reasons why this piqued my interest: 1) a recent episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” had Larry and Jeff eating at restaurant called Palestinian Chicken; they made it look so good that I’ve had chicken on the brain ever since. And 2) the logo bore an uncanny resemblance to the fictional Los Pollos Hermanos fast-food chain on “Breaking Bad.” Two inane reasons to stop at a restaurant, and the two reasons why I sauntered in.

I can’t vouch for the fried chicken, but it looked damn good; practically everyone was ordering it. I opted for a grilled chicken sandwich with a side of sweet plantains and a sinfully refreshing horchata drink.

Tasty stuff, and that white dipping sauce makes the chicken sandwich.

All in all, a very good weekend in Virginia: a little racing, a little history, a little eating.

Gathering Grounds Patisserie & Cafe
55 East Main St.
Luray, VA
540-743-1121

Pollo Campero
7913 Sudley Rd Ste 101
Manassas, VA
703-368-1824

Fitting words to describe Central Market in Lancaster, PA. I’ve written about the market a few times, and that’s because I have such a soft spot for the place. I lived in Lancaster from 2002-2004 — during those two years, the market was a regular fixture of my weekend routine. I loved roaming there, and I’ve missed it terribly since I’ve been gone.

So you can imagine how quickly I bounded out of bed on Saturday morning to drive up to Lancaster. I was excited to attend my friend Denise’s wedding (I’d post a pic of the beautiful bride on her wedding day, but I think she’d kill me), and I was pumped to get to Central Market before changing into suit and tie. Ultra pumped.

Rolling into the city is a mixture of nostalgia, comfort and familiarity. All the street names come back to me. I know where to go without using the GPS. Even with the arrival of new stores and the disappearance of others, the area looks and feels the same.

Here’s the outside of the market.

And inside, the view from one of the new additions, a second floor eating area.

Ground level view.

First stop was a no-brainer: The S. Clyde Weaver stand for a bag of Lancaster beef jerky.

Shoo-fly pie, a Pennsylvania Dutch favorite.

I loaded up on so much produce that I barely had a free hand to take out my wallet.

One of my favorites, the spice stand.

It’s the same guy working there, and the spices are in big jars, like an herbal apothecary. Everything is so cheap compared to the ridiculous prices at the supermarket; a big bag of bay leaves cost me a mere $.50.

Saif’s Middle Eastern Foods where I used to buy spinach pies and samosas.

Picked up one of the wildly spicy samosas and damn near burned my mouth off. It was too hot actually — I think they went a little nuts with the spice.

The Amish Family Recipes stand — couldn’t resist picking up a Blubarb Jam (blueberries and rhubarb) and a bottle of hot sauce.

There are a few new additions to the market, like the salad and African foods stands, but the chicken, seafood, meats, cheese, fudge, bread and crafts stands that I knew — all still there.

Grabbed a fat burrito from Senorita Burrito and lumbered out with my bags.

The next morning, it was back to downtown Lancaster again, this time to Rachel’s Cafe & Creperie.

They do some nice savory crepes for breakfast, like this Western omelette crepe with a side of chive hash browns.

Then, before heading home, one last stop on Franklin St. to the Vietnamese grocery store, Viet My.

Where there’s a woman inside preparing banh mi at a small counter. Am I passing up a banh mi? Uh, no.

With bags of Central Market produce in tow, I headed home.

On the drive back, I thought about why I love the market so much. The obvious answer is the variety, quality and price of the products. More than that though, is the sense of community and continuity. You run into people you know there. Vendors address you by name; some of them have been there for decades. The market’s a special place to many people, and it’s remained that way for over 275 years. That’s unique. It’s nice to know that in our disposable society, some things keep on ticking.

Central Market
23 N. Market St.
Lancaster, PA

Rachel’s Cafe & Creperie
309 N. Queen St.
Lancaster, PA
717-399-3515

Viet My
550 N. Franklin St.
Lancaster, PA
717-393-0338

I was in Philadelphia last Saturday — and no trip to Philly is complete without a pilgrimage to Reading Terminal Market; it’s almost mandatory. Of course, everyone else has the same idea. Throw in cold weather and the holiday shopping crowd, and you’ve got a recipe for mass congestion.

The market was so jammed that I only managed to fire off a couple of pics, because any time I stopped, I blocked the flow of traffic, and people glared at me. It was like being a shark; you had to keep moving.

What’s Philly without guys chopping beef for Philly cheesesteaks.

I stood at this stall for a long moment, feeling a wave of nostalgia for my Lancaster, PA days.

By far, the busiest vendor was DiNic’s. They’re supposed to have an incredible roast pork sandwich. But with a line 30-deep snaking completely around the stall, my patience ran thin, pork or no pork.

Instead, I made my way to a seafood vendor.

For clam chowder.

And a crab cake sandwich.

Soup and sandwich for under $6. And I didn’t have to wait until sundown to get it.

Really, if you’ve never been to Reading Terminal Market, you must go (and get the Bassetts ice cream). Allow yourself plenty of time; be systematic — start at one end and wander up and down each aisle so you don’t miss anything. And let me know if you snag one of those DiNic’s roast pork sandwiches.

Here’s wishing you all a very Merry Christmas!

Reading Terminal Market
12th and Arch St.
Philadelphia, PA
215-922-2317

A busy schedule put a cramp on the food exploration, and I really can’t say I ate anything of note. Did have one interesting experience to share, though:

I was taking a lunch stroll through D.C.’s Chinatown in search of a quick bite. Perusing the restaurants along “H” St., I stopped at one window to check out the menu of a basement restaurant. Nothing terribly appealing, your typical Chinese-American fare. I began walking away. A man popped his head out the door:

“You want Chinese food?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, that’s okay,” I said.

“You come for lunch.”

“That’s okay, thanks.” Started to walk away.

The guy bounded up the stairs like a cat. “Very good Chinese food.”

“Yeah, I’m just looking around,” I responded. Still walking.

Now he was following me down the sidewalk. “Very good lunch. You come eat.”

I was getting creeped out. Why did this guy want me there so badly? What was going on in that place? I imagined the outcome: me giving in, walking into the restaurant, and the next thing I know I’m tied to a chair in a back room with a gag ball in my mouth like Bruce Willis in Pulp Fiction.

Lying through my teeth I said, “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.” Then I scurried away. And I could feel the guy’s eyes burning a hole through the back of my head.

Anyway, after almost being a part of Chinese human trafficking, I settled on a small spot where there was a man in the window making lai mein, or hand-pulled noodles. Fresh noodles sounded great on this cold day, so I went in.

Even by Chinatown standards, the place was a little grungy. I often write notes on my phone to help me remember restaurants later, and this is what I wrote: “Is it clean? Dingy.” It was the sort of restaurant where one really doesn’t want to see the kitchen, for fear of what might be found.

But the food was cheap, and it arrived fast. (Remember how for the Beijing Olympics the Chinese had finished building the venues like two years ahead of schedule? My people are efficient.) I ordered one of the $6.50 noodle soups that came with the freshly made noodles.

This jarred condiment sauce was sitting on the table. I’d never had it before, but it was really good — some sort of mix of scallions, ginger and garlic.

And here’s the noodle soup, with chicken and bok choy.

The broth itself was nice, and with the fragrant green sauce and sriracha, it certainly hit the spot. But those noodles? Handmade? I’m not so sure. They were too soft and pliable, nothing al dente going on. Tasted no different than anything you’d get from a package. Maybe I got the bad batch, who knows.

So that was my D.C. Chinatown experience. This much is clear: no matter where you travel, Chinatowns are never boring.

Chinatown Express
746 6th St.
Washington, D.C.
202-638-0424

Did some decent eating while down near our national’s capital.  First, a block from Union Station (D.C.’s Grand Central) is a laid back and inviting coffeehouse called Ebenezers. (No pics — my camera was too deep in my luggage). Plentiful seating and a good stop-in if you have time to kill before catching a train or bus. Had a tasty pesto chicken sandwich with peppers and onions, and a “morning glory” muffin with carrots and nuts.

Last night I was in Silver Spring, Maryland, and after a quick Yelp search dicovered a little Vietnamese spot called Lotus Cafe.

These summer tofu rolls with peanut sauce got the appetite going.

It being a chilly night, I’d come specifically for a bowl of pho, the Vietnamese noodle soup.

So good.  Pho is all about the quality of the broth, and this broth was delicious, deep and humming with flavors of star anise and cinnamon. My bowl came with thin slices of eye of round, bean sprouts, basil, cilantro, onions, jalapenos and soft rice noodles. A good bowl of pho warms and soothes from the inside out. The customer at the next table summed the pho up best: “I have a cold so this was perfect!”

On the way back to the hotel, a quick detour into this ice cream shop, Moorenko’s.

They have some unique and interesting ice cream flavors, like creme fraiche, prune armagnac, and even Guinness.  Here’s my cup of peach melba — peachy with small pieces of fruit.

I would have liked the place a lot better had the sullen employee behind the counter not tempered my enthusiasm. This guy was icier than an Olympic luge track. Yeesh. If you can’t muster up a smile about ice cream, perhaps another profession is in order.

And now here I am on the bus coming home. We just pulled into a Delaware rest stop, and I ran in to get some food.  I’m munching on a Quiznos sub (first Quiznos ever) and Popeye’s rice and beans (didn’t get the fried chicken even though I really wanted to). Sure beats the cafe car on Amtrak.

Ebenezers
201 F Street E
Washington, D.C.
202-558-6900

Lotus Cafe
8077 Georgia Ave.
Silver Spring, MD
301-588-8888

Moorenko’s
8030B Georgia Ave.
Silver Spring, MD
301-565-7804

Now, having been a few times, I’ve learned something else about Montclair — it’s an attractive town with an enviable number of ethnic restaurants. Among them: Ethiopian, Greek, Jamaican, Thai, Peruvian… there seems to be a little of everything on the main drag.  It’s impressive — and makes me slightly jealous.

And there’s Vietnamese! Well, okay, it’s not actually in Montclair, but minutes away in the next town of Bloomfield. I found this place on Yelp when I was looking to grab a bite before a meeting.

The shopping plaza itself is interesting — it’s called The East West Plaza, and is like a tiny Asian enclave, with an Asian bakery and an Asian supermarket.

I wouldn’t classify Binh Duong as a hole-in-the-wall, but “no-nonsense” and “focused on food over ambience” sound about right.

I placed my order and the food came out practically straight away.  First the hot-out-the-fryer spring rolls, which I rolled in the lettuce leaves and dipped in nuom chac sauce.

And then my noodle bowl of grilled chicken, vermicelli noodles, crunchy veggies and more nuom chac.

The noodles were a little wet — they could have used one more shake in the strainer. Other than that, this was just what I appreciate about Vietnamese cuisine: textures, flavors and freshness. The cost of the noodle bowl?  $6.50.  That’s a good deal.

It’s fair to say there are abundant dining options to choose from on my next trip to Montclair/Bloomfield.  It’s just too bad Peter King doesn’t live there anymore.  We could have talked football and eaten Vietnamese.

Binh Duong
61 Belleville Ave.
Bloomfield, NJ
973-680-8440

I spent Columbus Day weekend on Martha’s Vineyard; as the weekend drew closer, my mind fixated on clam rolls and lobster rolls, two quintessential New England summer foods that quite honestly, I don’t know where to get around here.

Before hopping on the ferry out of the Vineyard, I made sure to get my fix. From what I’d read, The Net Result in Vineyard Haven had good seafood.

It’s a seafood market that also sells food to go.

The lobsters in the tanks were enormous.

You can’t go to New England and not have a New England clam chowder (yes, that was a double negative). You just can’t. I know I’ll sound like a homer, but chowder tastes different up there.

It was tempting to order both a clam roll and a lobster roll; ultimately I decided not to be a pig and opted for the lobster roll.

The good: Generous portion of fresh lobster meat, light dressing of mayo, very little filler. That’s really all you need for a lobster roll. Keep it simple, let the lobster stand on its own.

The bad: This jumped out at me immediately — a cold bun. Big flaw. Placing beautiful lobster meat on a cold bun is like serving filet mignon on a paper plate. You’ve gotta butter and toast that thing.

Disappointing bun aside, it was just nice to eat chowder and lobster under sunny skies. A last hurrah of summer.

The Net Result
79 Beach Rd.
Vineyard Haven, MA
508-693-6071

I loved every minute of it.  Well, except for constantly feeling like I had to pee on the bike. With about six miles left in the run, the emotions started kicking in. I thought back to July — lying in the back of an ambulance on the way to the emergency room, wondering if my season was over, or worse.  Now I was going to finish this race.  It was beautiful.  This one meant a lot.

Since this is a food blog, I won’t bore you with all the race details. Instead, here’s a sampling of photos from the weekend: some race, some food, all amazing.

Danielle made this sign (“Ironman 70.3 or Bust!”) and placed it on the car window for the drive up.  A pleasant drive, though the radio stations are slim pickings at certain spots along the way. And they play the same songs ad nauseam.  For the record, if I ever hear Uncle Kracker’s “Smile” again, I will intentionally perforate my own eardrums.

The Westchester Team in Training crew, body marked and ready to roll.  No, those numbers on our arms aren’t our ages.

Good thing we don’t live in Syracuse or this place would be out of business. Displaying this sign to 2,000 hungry triathletes is like inviting Homer Simpson for all-you-can-eat at the Frying Dutchman. And we all know how that turned out.

Pre-race dinner at Asti Caffe in Syracuse’s Little Italy. We would run down this same street the next day, and I remember briefly looking over in a haze and thinking, “Hey, there’s Asti Caffe!”

It’s a bad idea to eat anything heavy or potentially stomach-upsetting on the night before a race, so I went conservative with chicken piccata and a side of angel hair pasta.  Good piccata, full of big capers and artichokes.

One last photo before we all head back for a good night’s sleep. Or, as good a sleep as you’re gonna get when you have to wake up at 3:30 am.

Race morning.  Wishing each other good luck.

Fast forward to 1pm — made it!  Five hours and forty minutes of fun. I crossed the finish line, checked to make sure all my limbs were functioning and immediately got in line at the food tent for a plate of grub: steak sandwich with peppers and onions, banana, grapes and cookies.

Danielle and I greet each other near the finish line. Terrified that I’m going to drop the food and have to get back in line.

Now I know what it’s like to be a baked potato. Marathoners wander around in those tin foil capes after races and I’ve always wondered if they work. They do. Tremendous warmth and insulation.  Line the inside of a Snuggie with a tin foil cape and you could climb Everest in that thing.

Post-race dinner at Empire Brewing Company in downtown Syracuse.

Critz’s pumpkin ale.  The positives about fall: football, apple picking and pumpkin ale.

Cup of gumbo.

When Dawn asked what I was ordering, I said “a big-ass burger.” “Big-ass” wasn’t on the menu, but the Tumbleweed burger was — with BBQ sauce, smoked gouda, fried onions, chipotle mayo and garlic mashed potatoes.

We split an ice cream sundae.  That went down easy.

But not as easy as lunch the next day at Wendy’s.  You’re damn right I said Wendy’s! Spicy chicken sandwich (fried), chicken nuggets (fried) and french fries (most definitely fried). Lunch of champions.

There was a strange man there who seemed baffled by the entire Wendy’s experience and kept returning to the counter. He came up with his bowl of chili, and I swear to God, asked for “an extra scoop of Guatemala.”

Finally, that sign on the car? We changed it for the trip home.

Asti Caffe
411 North Salina St.
Syracuse, NY
315-478-1039

Empire Brewing Company
120 Walton St.
Syracuse, NY
315-475-BEER

I went up to Syracuse this past weekend with my friend Danielle for a triathlon training camp.  We’re both doing the Syracuse half Ironman next month, and this was a chance to get on the course and see how much suffering we’re in for (the answer is a lot).

Fortunately, we also ate well along the way.  Here’s a summary.

Friday
Like I said, the drive up should have been four hours, but accidents galore on 87N backed us up in a big way Friday evening.  By the time we reached the Middletown, NY area, we were both famished.  A jaunt down the main drag turned up every chain restaurant known to man.  We came upon an Italian restaurant and ventured in. Yikes. Not only was the place a ghost town (at 8:30 on a Friday night), it also had an antiseptic, nursing home smell.  We ventured out.

And found a diner.

When in doubt, always choose a diner.  Limitless menus, 24 hour, large portions, consistently bustling, interesting people-watching — you can’t go wrong.

You can barely make out my turkey dinner under all that gravy, but it’s there, and it even came with my favorite, matzo ball soup. Thank god for diners.

Saturday
Wanna break the ice with someone from Syracuse?  Ask, “Hey, what do you think of Wegmans?”  The Syracusans I’ve met display a fervor for this supermarket chain that borders on cultish.  They love Wegmans.

Now I do too.  Let me set the scene: We had just spent the past six hours churning through choppy lake water, battling endless hills and vicious winds on the bike, and topping it all off with a run. We’d burned through countless calories while subsisting on energy gels, sports drinks, bananas and bagels. It’s difficult to explain how badly you want real food after sucking down gel after gel after gel. It’s like in Survivor when a contestant wins a reward challenge and gets to eat a full dinner while everyone else huddles around a campfire roasting grubs.

Well, Wegmans was our reward dinner.  Danielle and I raced over there after training camp was over, and there should have been harps playing and pearly gates, because this… was heaven.

I snapped the above photo and the cashier and her friend burst out laughing. “Why are you taking a picture??” she asked in curious amusement.  ”I’m from out of town and have always heard about Wegmans,” I answered.  She clearly thought I was nuts.

Danielle was all about the Wegmans subs, picking up a turkey with the works.

I fixed myself a container of hot food from the buffet.

I realize it’s a supermarket buffet and regular food, but I can’t convey to you how hungry we were. At this moment, this made me as happy as anything from a four-star Manhattan restaurant. It tasted that spectacular.

Sunday
Along with Wegmans, you also can’t visit Syracuse without stopping at Dinosaur Bar-B-Que. And yes, we have a Dinosaur in Harlem, but the Syracuse location is the original.

Total mob scene, but somehow Danielle and I managed to get a table without any problem.

Dinosaur makes its own barbecue and hot sauces, and they’re set out on the tables.

We shared an appetizer of crispy fried green tomatoes with grated Parmesan.

Our server also mentioned one of the specials as “pork wings.” What in the world does that mean??  When I jokingly questioned it, she didn’t have much of a response.  I don’t think she knew what they were, either.

Danielle’s pulled pork sandwich:

Those three round objects are salt potatoes. I’d never heard of them before, but they’re a big deal in upstate NY.  Small white potatoes boiled in salted water?  I’m not sure, but they are good.

My plate of epic deliciousness, the Tres Hombres: brisket, pork ribs, pulled pork, cole slaw, cornbread and Cajun salt potatoes.

It was a huge plate of food, and I gobbled up every last bite, dipping the meat in Dinosaur’s Wango Tango sauce — barbecue sauce with a kick of habanero.

On the drive home, wouldn’t you know it, more traffic.  That’s what gas stations are for: bathroom breaks and junky food. Behold a Toll House chocolate chip cookie sandwich.

Finally, I should mention Danielle’s parents.  Not only were they gracious hosts who let us crash at their house, not only were they forgiving when I accidentally flooded their basement while taking a shower, but they even sent me home with food.

Danielle’s parents grow gorgeous vegetables and herbs in their back yard, and her mother packed me up a goodie bag of freshly picked produce:

Tomatoes, peppers, parsley and basil (the cucumber is from Danielle’s grandfather).

The first thing I did when I got home?  I made a pot of sauce.

I’m not kidding you, this was possibly the best sauce I’ve ever assembled. It had nothing to do with my cooking, and everything to do with the ingredients. The freshness and vibrancy of flavor were off the charts. I could taste each individual ingredient in a way that I never can when I make sauce normally.

When it comes down to it, that sauce may have been the best thing I ate all weekend.

Dinosaur Bar-B-Que
246 W. Willow St.
Syracuse, NY
315-476-4937

My dad would love the Mega Mussels Linguini I ate last weekend in Long Beach. Some friends and I were at The Whale’s Tale, one of the many restaurants that dot Beech Ave, the main drag in town.  It doesn’t look like much from the outside — kind of like your typical dive bar.  Looks can be deceiving.

My friend Phoebe’s fiance Steve asked if I liked seafood.

“LOVE seafood,” I answered.

“The mussels linguini are awesome,” he said. “The sauce is spicy, kind of like a fra diavolo.”

Fra diavolo… Ding!  Cue the Pavlov’s Dog reaction.  That was easy  – I had no more use for the menu.

But first, a cup of New England clam chowder. (And yes, it’s the middle of a hellaciously hot summer and I ordered chowder.)

As a snobby New Englander, I tend to look down on New Yorkers’ attempts at making our chowder, but I’ve gotta give props where props are due: this was excellent. It was chunky, the creaminess was spot-on, and the flavor of briny clams unmistakable.

And here’s the Mega Mussels Linguini (a very reasonable $14), which I requested to be “extra spicy.”

You can’t even see the linguini under that mountain of mussels, but it’s there, along with a tomato sauce that had a definite kick to it.  Just right, not too much.  The linguini itself was a hair overcooked; more than made up for though with that great sauce and the generous portion of mussels.

We had a basket of garlic bread on the table, and I used the last few pieces to scoop up the extra sauce.

Never mind that I was sweating now like I’d just run a race.  No matter. If you’ve got to sweat a little for a spicy fra diavolo, then so be it.

The Whale’s Tale
916 W Beech St.
Long Beach, NY
516-432-9587