Spectacular Views and Slow Food
Source: The Portland Press Herald
Salty sea air, red brick buildings, cobblestone streets, beaches and striped lighthouses characterize the quaint, coastal city of Portland, Maine. Brimming with New England charm, Portland effortlessly meshes the natural beauty of its woody, pine forests with the sandy shores of its coasts.
Last summer, I spent the Fourth of July weekend in Portland visiting one of my high school friends named Meg. In the evening, we set out a picnic blanket at The Prom (the Eastern Promenade), a grassy park that runs along the water’s edge. Little islands with what looked like miniature forests dotted the surface of the water as we looked out over the horizon. As the sun set, the sky transformed into a dreamy swirl of rose, lavender, and baby pink. The colors were only intensified by the mirror image reflected on the surface of the water. We ended the night watching fireworks as we dug into a buttery apple crumble with vanilla ice cream from one of the food trucks lining the strip.
The following day, we ventured to the iconic Palace Diner, located in the neighboring town of Biddeford. Palace Diner is a renovated 1927 Pollard train car turned eatery, one of the two Pollard cars left in the entire US. A piece of history, its exterior boasts bold black and red paint, and the name of the eatery runs down the length of the car in stout gold letters. The interior is narrow and tight. Half the length of the car contains the kitchen while the other half is one long counter with booth seating for 15 people. Quirky artwork covers the metal walls as well as a sign that reads “CASH ONLY.”
Meg opened the door, one foot inside the car the other on the step, her body still in the doorframe, and requested seating for 3. The hostess/waitress/all-in-one behind the counter said, “That’ll be an hour and a half. Can I take your name?” Meg replied with her name, as I stood there astonished. “That’s pretty standard,” Meg assured me.
We walked into town to pass the time, stopping by a charming coffee shop-bookstore hybrid. Oat milk iced lattes in hand, we perused the stacks for a while before hopping back into the car. After driving through windy roads and picturesque residential streets, we arrived at Biddeford Pool. No sand in sight, the shore is composed of round, smooth, palm sized rocks in various shades of gray. The caverns created by the tidal pools filled and emptied with deep blue ocean water as the waves ebbed and flowed.
After admiring the natural beauty for a while, we returned to Palace Diner, where we finally grabbed stools and pulled up to the counter. We first ordered a slice of their brown butter banana bread, warmed on the grill and slathered with extra butter. The griddle had created a slight crust on the surface of the banana bread, causing the natural sugars to caramelize.
Not much longer, our main orders came out from off the griddle. I had ordered the buttermilk flapjacks and the palace potatoes. The buttermilk flapjacks were fluffy and cooked perfectly with an even golden brown. I savored each pillowy bite. Something about them felt nostalgic, reminiscent of when my dad would take my sisters and I to breakfast as a child. The palace potatoes did not disappoint either. Little Yukon gold potatoes cooked and smashed to create a crisp exterior, covered in sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.
Stuffed from the carb overload, we were desperate to head out. It was upwards of 90 degrees that day, and we had been sitting inside a train car for over an hour with no air conditioning. We returned to the coast, finishing the day relaxing on the beach.
My weekend in Maine reminded me of life’s simple pleasures, providing me a chance to slow down from my fast-paced NYC life, appreciate the natural beauty and fresh air, and indulge in a plate of simple but excellent food. Perhaps good things do come to those who wait.
