When I close my eyes and think of my favorite place in the world, I am on my porch in the mid-Hudson Valley, watching a fat groundhog peering out of his hole, wondering if he can nip on the roots of my Christmas trees before I chase him away. Or I am dipping my bread into the thick, soupy kale sauce of the gnudi di cavolo nero at GioBatta Alimentari, my favorite local restaurant, in nearby Tivoli. Or I am in my car high above the Hudson River, purple mountains ahead, the curving riverbanks behind me.
I spent the happiest days of my childhood at a Russian bungalow colony near the town of Ellenville in the Catskills. Surrounded by kids who spoke my language, I found I felt more at home in the country than in the city. I learned to love nature and farm-fresh eggs (which my father would drink raw), and to recognize the mad glint in a hungry groundhog's eye. A dozen years ago I bought my house, not far from where I spent those summers growing up, and since then I have split my time equally between this rural part of the state and New York City. While the deep winters can be gray and a walk to the nearest dry cleaner is impossible, living upstate brings me more joy than the city has in decades. With each year, the amenities, especially the burgeoning selection of food and drink, continue to grow, especially since COVID-19 brought legions of fleeing city dwellers north (along with property prices I can only describe as satirical).
This story is from the September - October 2023 edition of Condé Nast Traveler US.
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This story is from the September - October 2023 edition of Condé Nast Traveler US.
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