It's hard to say "leaf peeping" without giggling.

Well, we're neck-deep in "leaf peeping" season here in New England. It's not quite peak foliage yet, but we're getting there, so it's time to batten down the hatches and prepare for slow drivers, directions-seekers, and people who just want a Mich Light, but only after hearing what we have on tap (happened to me again yesterday). I'm not really complaining, as the "peepers" (giggle) keep the tips a-streaming in, but dear God. A Mich Light (or, heaven forfend, Ultra)? Listen to the voice of reason (me), and have an Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter. It's fucking brilliant, and you and I will respect each other in the morning. Sigh.

But, you can see why people are flooding across our borders to have a looksee. It's very pretty.


The highlight of yesterday's double shift was pouring my first real Black & Tan. Oh mercy me, it was fun. And... AND the dude (who's actually a chef) said it was the best Black & Tan he's ever had. Perfect halves, perfectly separated (looked like they were made of gelatin), perfect finger's width of head. I really outdid myself (such that I fucked up his second one... too much Guinness). I didn't take a picture, but there were witnesses. It was a thing of beauty.

In other news, today was Gus's first foray into the great outdoors. Observe his Gusness, surveying his new kingdom:




It was a trying week for Gussy. He was unceremoniously stuffed into a carrier (not the same one as before, mind you, but he still escaped it... should have named him Houdini) and brought to the vet on Monday. He got locked in the attic twice, and then I cruelly lured him outside to explore. Though, I turn my back for two seconds and he disappears into a crawlspace (I assume.. he may have just disapparated) under the porch. Oops. He eventually emerged, covered in dirt and cobwebs, only to find another crawlspace in our creepy cellar a few hours later. Needless to say, he's been quite intrepid in his exploration of the farm.

In other news, the "companion oven" in our bitchin' stove has a proofing setting. That means I can let bread dough rise in a warm, draught-free environment. Pretty hot, right? I've put it to the test and it's pretty awesome. Dad and I have agreed that we'll call the oven The Piano, after the wood-fired oven of Jacques Pepin's apprenticeship. It's quite a bit fancier, but given how we regard it, it seems appropriate.

So, if anyone comes up here peeping at leaves (teehee), stop on by. I've got loaves of Molasses Oatmeal Bread.