With apologies to George Clooney, Brad Pitt and the rest of the gang, I’ve decided to dub my round-the-world odyssey Oceans 57 because I’m crossing every ocean. The 57 part? I’m fairly sure it’s not my IQ. It’s my age.
The Lancaster station is old and worn down by years of neglect. Though it’s relatively close to New York, Philadelphia and DC, it looks more like the Deep South in the 1960s. You’d expect to see a character from To Kill a Mockingbird sitting on one of the wooden benches fanning herself, because there’s no air conditioning. Or newsstand. Or clearly marked tracks.
Fortunately, a major facelift is finally underway.
No, I’m not the one getting the facelift.
BIG APPLE BITES
And this food footnote:
Next time you’re n NYC, don’t miss Sarabeth’s. Sarabeth is a well-known local foodie – you may have seen her jams in specialty shops.
Fifteen years ago, I lived above one of her restaurants but never made it in for brunch, because you couldn’t get near the place in the morning. This time, we wandered in in the middle of the afternoon and brunch was still being served. Lucky us. I had the best pancakes of my life: Fluffy, lemon-ricotta pillows. With powdered sugar and butter on top. Like floating on a cloud. Just writing about them makes my mouth water. A memorable last supper in the U.S. — for awhile.