For generations, survival has been a major preoccupation during the winter on the East End.
Fad diets are not actually an attempt to diminish waistlines. When Dr. Atkins died I drew a cartoon of Mr. Potato Head pushing him. The doctor had slipped and fallen on the ice and, at the height of his fame, he was gone. I felt bad about my sketch, but then the Atkins diet had done just about as much harm to potato farmers as NAFTA had.
The East End’s original comfort food was also a dish of thrift.
After a deluge threatened to erase near-perfect fruit, the East End’s winemakers had to cope.
Farming isn’t always pretty. That’s why we’re often glad to be kept in the dark about our food’s genesis.
Fresh beer is the best beer.
The Milk Pail keeps the cider flowing deep into winter.
A Riverhead rancher is reintroducing America’s largest mammal to the East End.
Good honest bread takes time, but it warms the winter soul.