Holy Cannoli

We try and get out the door early today for our big trip over the mountain to Stowe, and a stop for breakfast in nearby Jeffersonville for breakfast. We are ready and downstairs by 8:30. We leave at 9:45.

I just don't get it.

There's another delay on the way. We stop at an interesting looking store touting maple-related products. I'm thrilled to be able to say that I now have completed my holiday shopping. Sadly (or happily, depending on how you look at it), I have not purchased much for myself ... with the exception of cheese. I bought two lovely wedges in New Hampshire, carting it (possibly illegally) into Canada, from, refrigerator to refrigerator, before we consumed it here in Vermont. Yesterday, I added a soft cow cheese to the mix from that weird dairy farm with nobody around. I picked up cheese curds today, for Gram. Okay, for me, too ...  in addition, two Cabot varieties -- a "limited edition" sage and a garlic and herb -- as well as a brie from this darling farm store. Yes, a brie.

France doesn't own rights to the stuff, you know.

All of this highlights a distinct problem I have: cheese addiction. I even brought some back when I went to Italy last year, having a serious internal struggle with how I might smuggle boar meat back into America in my bra without getting arrested.

I love food, and cheese makes my top ten list.

Clearly, Jess and Sheri knew exactly the place to get a fix for that sort of problem: The Mix. I'm not much of a breakfast person, not because I don't like breakfast, I'm just not that into breakfast food. If I need to do brunch at home, my standby is Domku for scones. I like scones, and admit freely that not even a 12-step program could break my addiction there. I've even brought some cardamom and cranberry mix with me to make them for the girls. The Mix? This place could change my mind. As if the breakfast flatbread wasn't enough, there was the most unbelievable French toast -- creme brule french toast, to be exact -- loaded with tiny, luscious blueberries.

It. Was. So. Damn. Good.

The drive to Stowe was incredible. It felt like driving through a paint tube. Stunning, with the road narrowing to one lane as it wove around house-sized boulders and hairpin turns that created blind corners you can't even imagine. Fun, scary ... awesome.

We stop at one little stretch of stores in Stowe long enough to see the price of a bracelet: $895. Yeah. This is a drive through sort of place. We enjoy seeing the ski resorts and even made it up to the Trapp Family Lodge for a stunning view. Sadly, I expected something different. Maybe singing and dancing?

Next, it's the cider mill for awesome cider doughnuts and hot apple cider. We even watch them press for a while, too, which is pretty cool since the last place I remember seeing that was in Michigan, about two decades ago, at Uncle John's Cider Mill. The process then was a bit more antiquated. We take our cider and sit down to play a game of checkers. Just when I think I've got Grandma surrounded, she comes up from behind and whips my behind.

Take that, young 'un.

Actually, after one of her more impressive moves, in which she jumps two of my defenseless pieces, she proclaims, "I think that was fun." So simple and sweet ... it's hard to be a sore loser with this ultimate display of grace. I just can't stop smiling at her. 

Then, it's on to a Mecca of sorts ... for the ice cream connoisseur: Ben & Jerry's. We have to wait a bit before we can get tickets for a tour, so we spend the time reading about the company. It is amazing how socially responsible and Vermont-focused they are. The girls say you wouldn't even know Ben, a gazillionare, who lives near Burlington, walks around in a flannel, and drives a plain old car co-piloted by his Labrador (everyone has a dog in Vermont -- I think it may actually be a requirement.) I'm very impressed, and it inspires me to think more deeply about our mission for We The Eaters.

The tour is actually really interesting. The guides are funny, telling people to keep "moo-ving" along, and making other udderly ridiculous bovine-related jokes. Seeing the factory floor is pretty impressive, with all the worker bees waving at us while they put out today's flavor: Milk & Cookies. At peak production, the plant churns out 250,000 pints a day. We help do our part by sampling some on the way out. I discover that my favorite flavor -- New York Super Fudge Chunk -- is actually Number 6 on the top ten flavors list, followed by my second fave, Phish Food at Number 7.

Thank goodness. I'd hate to be visiting either in the flavor cemetery up the hill, complete with gravestones emblazoned with poems commemorating those flavors that just didn't make it, like "Sugar Plum" and "Economic Crunch."

Poor Gram. As if her pre-existing waddle were not bad enough, we're both waddling a little after all the food we've had today.

It's a lot to pack in to one day, and with a few stops in search for farm fresh eggs, we're finally on our way home, where I plan to make breakfast for dinner: frittata, roasted rosemary and garlic baby potatoes ... and scones.

If you can't beat 'em ... eat 'em.

After another lovely conversation at dinner, where we talk about relationships gone wrong, love and loss, we Skype Adam so the girls can meet him and the dogs, and then finish the night with a marathon session of Chopped watching.

Thankfully, the dessert basket with the cocktail weenies does not make me hungry again.