Andy HoffmanWe must have passed The Cup and Saucer dozens of times driving on Vermont’s Route 100 near Wilmington. Route 100 runs the length of the state north south, one of the most scenic drives through that beautiful landscape. I could say that the lovely farms, rolling hills, and ski-sloped mountains obscured my attention from the little roadside restaurant, but the covered minigolf course next door really captivated me. I still haven’t played it, because I couldn’t figure out how to get balls and putters, but some day Deb will indulge me a round.
We sought out The Cup and Saucer (https://www.facebook.com/ThecupCnS) one morning this past October. Once or twice a year we stay at the house belonging to Deb’s relative. They use the house for skiing and their little town’s well-known Fourth of July celebration. When they haven’t rented it out, they allow us to stay there, largely in exchange for adjusting the windows by season, keeping the water running, and alerting them to pending catastrophes. One fall, we heard squirrels bowling in the eaves. When they wouldn’t let us join them, we called the handyman to scatter the squirrels and close up their entrance.
We have several favorite breakfast places in southern Vermont. There’s Up for Breakfast in Manchester and Dot’s right in the center of Wilmington; we haven’t yet found a place we love in Brattleboro or Townshend, the other nearby – meaning less than half and hour’s drive – population centers, but we keep looking. The Cup and Saucer came up though idle research and we decided it seemed worth a visit.
The restaurant occupies an old building a bit north of Wilmington center, surrounded by an unpaved and pot-holed dirt parking lot. A small sign eventually caught our notice. Getting into the Cup and Saucer stumped us for a moment; neither door, at opposite ends of the building, indicated an entrance. A true Vermonter – plaid shirt, grey bushy beard, work pants – emerged from one door and observed our quandary. He said, “It’s right in here!” As a regular, I suspect he referred to the place as simple The Cup.
I have never encountered a breakfast place set up like The Cup. A table-high counter described an elongated oval that ran nearly the length of the building, with perhaps thirty stools around it. The cooking took place to the side and in full view, with one grill for pancakes and potatoes and another for the egg dishes. The menu the waitress handed out had about a quarter of their offerings. To get a full sense of their interesting egg dishes you need to wander around the restaurant and read the many whiteboards, blackboards, and display papers scrawled almost illegibly. Just to get a complete taste we will need to go back several times. No complaints there. The food itself exceeded my very high standards. I had an omelet, Deb had a benedict, and we split a pancake for which we did not have to ask for real maple syrup.
And the place, probably because it presents itself so modestly, thoroughly delights. Perhaps during the ski season the tourists come, but for our visit we seemed to be the only non-locals. The staff knew everyone by name, except the older man who came in for a quick stop, but it turned out that his daughter worked there and they had come in for a quick introduction to everyone. A group of four older ladies took their customary seats, and then one or two of them briefly joined other patrons for a health report or discussion of town politics. Though we clearly knew no-one, the waitstaff treated us with warmth and kindness, refilling out water and coffee regularly. I’m looking forward to our next visit, hopefully next May.