Recently my cousin Chris moved from Cape Cod back to the Hamptons on Long Island. She invited the Lovely Louise and me to visit and asked if we could load up the truck with some of her furniture and bring it with us. So we loaded up the truck and we moved to … the Hamptons.
Louise and I have never been to the Hamptons, although we’ve heard tales of the incredible oceanfront estates and celebrities who have overrun the place. Yesterday we drove down Further Lane, which allegedly has a lot of the big estates. What I saw was a lot of perfectly manicured hedges and large gates with driveways that disappeared into the distance. Not a mansion in sight.
Okay, let’s drive around downtown and see if we can spot Jerry Seinfeld, Alec Baldwin, or maybe Steven Spielberg. Nope, not today. Never mind; make a quick trip to Montauk and have a bit of lunch. Lovely landmark restaurant called Gosman’s right at the entrance to Montauk harbor. Order up some food and beer and sit and watch the boats go by. Prices aren’t too bad, and the food is nothing to write home about, but then again, it’s a tourist place with a great view, so the food doesn’t have to be Gordon Ramsey approved.
Out at the tip, there’s a famous lighthouse that we thought we should see. When we arrived it cost $8.00 to park and the lighthouse was closed. I get to keep my $8.00 and we head back to East Hampton, where every other vehicle is a Range Rover. I’m told that the Range Rover dealer in the Hamptons is the largest in the United States and sells more than all of the other dealerships together. I believe it, because as we drove down Route 27 through town, I saw seven of them parked in a row on Main St. I haven’t seen seven Range Rovers on Cape Cod in the last ten years, and here are seven of them right in front of me. I’m not sure I should be driving my 2014 Toyota Tundra through town. They probably have a special bypass road that keeps people like me from ruining the center of town.
Back to my cousin’s house, where it was time for a snack. She’d bought this special clam dip from a local purveyor and wanted me to try it. I opened it up, grabbed a Ritz cracker, and did the dip dunk. It looked more like dog food, but I popped it in my mouth anyway. Interesting flavor. I’m not sure what it was, but I know it wasn’t clam. I know clam, and this wasn’t it. Nor can I see a single clam bit in the mixture. When she asked how it was, I just nodded my head, hoping I wouldn’t actually have to speak. Then she told me the little eight-ounce container cost $22.00, and I started to choke. I’d forgotten, this was the Hamptons, where the yogurt comes in cute little glass jars and cost somewhere between $8.00 and $12.00 a jar. I took a picture of the yogurt so you can see exactly what I’m talking about. It’s the picture at the top of this blog. I can’t wait to go to the local grocery store and see how much of a second mortgage I’d have place on my home to buy a week’s worth of food.
I must give the Hamptons credit for one thing: I love good food, and last night we ate at home. I cooked up some sausage on the grill, and Chris made a tomato and mozzarella cheese salad with fresh basil. Boil up some corn, and we’ve got ourselves a feast. The last time I had corn this good was when I used to grow it myself. The tomatoes are unbelievable—so sweet and juicy. I could eat like this every day. The food and produce may be expensive, but damn, it sure is amazingly fresh and delicious. Okay, I could cook and eat here.
Today my niece, Sarah (whose name I’m probably not supposed to mention), is coming to visit so she can help her mother pick out a new dog from the local pound. Given where we are, I’m pretty sure all of the dogs will have pedigrees going back hundreds of years, and the “donation” to adopt will be thousands of dollars, but maybe not. We’ll just have to see. Chris can’t actually take a dog yet, because yesterday we discovered a baby fawn curled up in her backyard. As Louise and Chris cautiously approached, it stood up on its wobbly legs and stared at them. Chris called Animal Rescue and was told that the mother had probably left the baby there in what she considered to be a safe place, and was somewhere nearby keeping an eye on it. She was told that in a few days the baby would be strong enough to move off with the mother and everything would return to normal. At the moment, however, we had a crisis. The lawn was due to be mowed that afternoon, and we all had visions of this giant lawnmower running over our little Bambi. But with a quick call to the lawn guy, the crisis was averted.
Good thing, too. I still hate what happened to Bambi. Damn you, Disney.