Everyone has his or her own “Hamptons.” My Hamptons the first weekend of May included a Saturday of two art openings, two cocktail parties and a wedding. After that everything is a blur of getting out big issues of Dan’s Papers and a trip to Canada. Even my vacays have become jam-packed. So last week I didn’t go through my email folder labeled “Invitations” and just played it by ear over the weekend. Staycations make a lot of sense when you already live where everyone wants to be.
Friday night I did go to a party, though a very small one, at the Southampton Historical Museum’s colonial garden, Emma’s Garden. It’s located behind the 17th century Pelletreau Silver Shop on Main Street, Southampton. Emma (Woodward) herself was on hand to chat about her colonial-era crops and growing methods. The Fuji apple tree, which was donated by the Halsey apple farm five years ago, is a fabu little anachronism. (Fujis were first propagated in the 1930s.) The clean crunch of the clamshell pathways in the garden under my heels made me want to do some more walking, so I meandered over to 75 Main for a drink.
After the first sancerre I was flirting with 75 Main owner Zach Erdem with abandon, after the second I downed some of Southampton’s finest tap water and spent some time people-watching through the floor-to-ceiling windows before heading home. I flirt responsibly.
Saturday morning found me at the Sag Harbor Farmers Market. Our South Fork farmers dug their first crop of new potatoes last week—they are buttery, delicate delights. Of course I didn’t buy any because the only thing better than these potatoes are potatoes from my garden. I did buy some rhubarb, asparagus and greens. It’s getting to be too hot for spinach to grow, which means that the basil is coming in and that the cucurbits and nightshades are about to do their annual dance. So this weekend’s market will be all about summer squashes, and next week holds the promise of the first local tomatoes—take a break from reading to do your happy dance!
Remember naps? You hated taking them as a child but always felt better after you did. Hamptons summer naps with the windows open are among the best.
An afternoon of post-slumber cooking left me with a batch of onion pickles and a dinner of greens, new potatoes in mustard vinaigrette and asparagus all prepped. The main dish of marinated chicken was left to my husband the grill master.
As I listened to A Prairie Home Companion on WSHU, Husband practiced his accordion on the patio. This is when it struck me that everyone has their own Hamptons. No one
was having exactly the Hamptons that I was at that moment.
Husband put his accordion away and started to ready the grill for its “maiden voyage” this season. He came running into the kitchen and announced that the grill was full of bugs.
Ah, summer in the Hamptons.
About five minutes later he declared that the bug problem had been dealt with. I asked no questions and wished that he’d never mentioned the bugtropolis. This Hamptons moment called for a bottle of Wölffer Estate Vineyard’s Dry Rosé Cider. Ah…
Sunday brought a peaceful church service with beautiful pipe organ music, a lunch of cold chicken salad and a potluck dinner in our neighbor’s garden.
Morals of the Hamptons story: Find your bliss, follow your passion, eat local, drink local, relax local.
You can now follow Stacy on Twitter, @HamptonsEpicure.