take me to lake winnepesaukee
In one of my favorite books, after a character is asked what the meaning of life is, he leans back in his seat, stares off in the distance at a bird standing wing-deep in shimmering, sunrise-kissed water, and says:
“I’m not certain, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with lakes and other people.”
There’s really no geographic feature more important to me than Lake Winnepesaukee. My cousins, brother, and I spent our childhood coming to the lake to visit my grandparents a few times each summer, each weeklong visit spent blissfully bouncing between tubing, water skiing, playing in the yard, reading fantasy books, and watching TV. And, of course, eating. Food was a crucial part of family vacations as a kid; meals acted as pillars throughout the day, maintaining the structural integrity of the warm together-ness that typifies such trips. Every breakfast, lunch, and dinner felt special— pancakes and bacon, sandwiches, Indian food cooked by my grandfather; waffles, burgers, Pizza; cereal, hot dogs, dinner at a local restaurant; and always, always, ice cream from a fantastic little spot in town.
As kids, our most sacred places felt infinite. Things were perfect, and we didn’t know they were perfect, so impermanence didn’t exist. From then until infinity, we believed, our lives would be casually beautiful, re-enforced by the pillars of family meals and drenched in the cold water of the lakes, rivers, and oceans we called home. Taking trips to somewhere that used to feel infinite as a (slightly more) grown human with a developed sense of impermanence is absurdly frustrating, in that while things feel as happy they used to, they don’t feel as certain as they did when we were too young to understand the concept of certainty at all. A trip to the lake this past weekend had much of this unproductive nostalgic melancholy— but, thank god, the food was the same, and the meals acted as pillars once again to support the euphoria of a trip to the lake that once acted as an infinite reservoir of peace.
Phew. With that out of the way, here’s what I ate.
The Wicked Loon
The Wicked Loon is a new restaurant in Wolfeboro, so I was skeptical— until I saw them bring out our order. This restaurant surpassed all expectations. Nic and I got the miso caramel-glazed wings, the chicken Caesar salad, and the dragon shrimp tempura. All of them were phenomenal. The shrimp tempura tasted sweet and tangy, and the batter texture was great— but the real gem of this dish was its presentation. It was sculpted into a tartare-style tower. It felt exciting to eat. The salad was really great; I know some people look with disdain upon Caesar salads, but I genuinely cannot get enough of them. The Wicked Loon went with a classic, un-surprising take on the dish, and I wasn’t at all dissapointed with what they came up with. Finally, the wings had a decent texture meat-wise, but the glaze was absolutely a smash hit with Nic and I. The miso-caramel combo brings the best aspects of candy to the best aspects of spicy chicken wing sauce, and I’m here for it.
Bailey’s Bubble
You can’t tell from that grainy, strange photo I took in an ice-cream induced haze, but Bailey’s Bubble is the greatest ice-cream institution in the world. The teenagers staffing the counter work with some of the most impressive operational efficiency I’ve ever seen, and the Wilcox ice cream never fails to hit the spot. I’ve tried a lot of order combinations, but there’s something about black raspberry and chocolate cake with peanut butter cup toppings that just brings me immense joy. Combine this with a dockside view of the departing boats and a band playing in the lakeside gazebo, and you’re set.
Garwoods
Garwoods on its face isn’t remarkable. But there’s something about it that is just so compelling to me; it’s a nice restaurant that has a beautiful lakeside view, overpriced but pretty tasty food, kind staff, and the hustle and bustle of every single family’s lake vacation. I always go with the Asian Chicken Salad. It’s a salad with generic “Asian” ingredients, like fried wontons, cabbage, and a fantastic soy miso sauce. During my childhood, the salad was my go-to when I went to lunch with my grandpa. Now it takes me back.
One day I’m going to be nostalgic for the meals I eat right now, probably. And I’ll also probably regret spending so much time being nostalgic for the meals I ate five years ago. Please let me know if you’ve been able to solve that godforsaken paradox.