Andy HoffmanShangri-La exists, right here in the United States. At least for a few months out of the year, after the snow disappears and the mud hardens into solid ground, southern Vermont steps up to take its place in heaven’s pantheon.
Green mountains, silver lakes, scenic overlooks from every acre, Vermont has it all. It also has a house owned by Deb’s cousin, who generously allows us to stay there when its empty. Since they have the place largely to ski and as a family retreat, we can always find a free couple of weeks. The house dates back a couple hundred years, when the small town of Wardsboro had high hopes of becoming something more than a smudge on Route 100. We adore the sleepy and forgotten aspect of the place. We write, we read, we cuddle, we cook, and we take walks to renew the blood flow so we can do it all again.
Many people would find the isolation troubling, as it takes half an hour by car to get to any town with a restaurant. As Wardsboro eased into yesteryear, other places progressed. The college town of Bennington has its charms and multiple tributes to Robert Frost, who, like Wardsboro, has faded. For people looking for something a little less ethereal, you can go to the gritty and hippie Brattleboro or the bougie Manchester. As a rule, the bourgeoisie make better breakfasts.
The rule hold true at several places in Manchester, but perhaps the best of the lot is Up For Breakfast, on the second floor of one the old buildings on Main St. People go to Manchester for a variety of reasons – the outlet stores, Northshire Books (a must see), or the Southern Vermont Art Center – but a visit there should always begin at Up For Breakfast. Up For Breakfast, a family-owned place, feels like a family. The waitstaff seem to love the place as much as the regulars. The kitchen innovates, part of the charm of the place, featuring a different sausage seemingly every day or making a Kahlua-flavored pound cake into French Toast. At the same time, they don’t neglect the classics, like the Red Flannel Omelet, featuring a generous position of their homemade corned-beef hash in a silky, fluffy egg casing. Deb and I always get a blueberry pancake to top off the meal, not matter how much we have eaten already. You won’t find a better pancake anywhere, and that goes double for their buckwheat version.
No disrespect intended to any other place on earth. Certainly oceans call out to me, and warmer temperatures, and more dynamic landscapes, perhaps even places more isolated than minuscule Wardsboro, but in order to buy into the game they have to toss a morning stop better than Up For Breakfast. Nominees?