It’s been a while since I’ve gone anywhere purposefully. The last time was Paris. Yes, I’ve had months off this past year looking for a job and getting back on my feet, Baltimore and here at home. But there was an underlying desire to work. Being unemployed is as stressful to me as being employed. (In Baltimore, I had the added stress of figuring out what to do next after leaving a job which didn’t fit me.)

So to take time off within the security of a job…and having the money to do so? Something to look forward to with utmost glee. Especially when you’ve worked your ass off to get there.

The money part was what determined the trip. No plane ticket, no car rental. So Mom and I went to Vermont, a six-hour drive from here. We originally wanted to go years ago, but it never happened. It felt awesome to finally do it, rather than talk about it.

We stopped first in Bennington and spent a few hours there.

I googled bakeries ahead of time and we beelined to Crazy Russian Girls. Their cupcakes have celebrity names!

I picked out Audrey Hepburn, a mocha cupcake piled high with European buttercream. It was less sugary, but a bit too much frosting for me. That is my common complaint with most cupcakes. There needs to be a precise balance of frosting with cake. A little less frosting, a little more cake. But the cupcake WAS scrumptious. We went there on the way back for a Lady Gaga for Dad (that combination makes me giggle) and other goodies.

We reached Wilmington and checked in at the hotel. Wait, I gotta back up….we went to Dot’s Restaurant beforehand. We meandered around, looking at various kitschy shops, but Dot’s really was the point.

There is nothing I cherish more than eating in a local joint. A family-style place with no pretention. Low prices and hearty food. And that is what Dot’s is. I ordered their prize-winning chili, and it was presented in a coffee mug.

Mom and I ordered blue-plate specials. When the waitress brought them out, I thought I was going to cry from all the comfort-food goodness on my plate. A large portion of pork with gravy on bread, corn on the cob, french fries, and cooked spiced apples.

I told the waitress about my feelings.

She replied sweetly, “Here is butter for your corn and napkins for your tears.”

That was my foodie Casablanca moment. Someone please scrape me up off the floor.

The next morning we went back.

I ordered the mixed-berry pancakes they’re known for.

My vacation was starting off with a bang. A luscious cozy bang.

We drove up Route 100, enjoying the scenery but not stopping much. We did stop for Calvin Coolidge. His birthplace is Plymouth. His family made cheese. We tasted the current version and bought some.

I looked around and was taken with the church he attended. A flag marks where he sat.

We kept driving and came upon Moss Glen Falls. I embraced the rush. Have you ever opened yourself up to a waterfall? You should.

We ended up at Waterbury, ate and poked around, and went to Ben & Jerry’s. Yes, haughty foodies, I went to the Ben & Jerry’s factory. A touristy cluster headache. But we toured. And sampled a new flavor. It was interesting to see the process.

We were in Burlington the next day. It’s a charming breezy town situated on Lake Champlain. On the recommendation of two friends, we went to The Skinny Pancake, a crepe place on the waterfront. There was a long line. On a Wednesday late morning. Thank goodness for that line, because it took me all that time to figure out what I wanted. Sweet? Savory? I vacillated and finally settled on a strawberry crepe with whipped creme. Mom ordered a ham, cheese and egg crepe with a side salad.

We walked around Church Street. An accordionist played heartbeakingly melodic music. Tears almost surfaced again. Where were those damn napkins???

We went on a Lake Champlain boat tour and ate at a lakeside restaurant when we came back.

We wandered up Main St. Mom looked through an antiques store while I scouted ahead for MORE bakeries. I’m a little obsessed, I know. I bought palmiers and exotic-flavored macarons at Mirabelle’s. Major sugar rush. Phew. Back to the motel for A/C and mind-numbing TV.

We decided on breakfast based on proximity the next morning. And it was a damn good choice. Libby’s Blue Line Diner was across the street. I ordered their sausage gravy and biscuit breakfast special.

Holy crap. Mom said that her breakfast was the best she had in a long time. When I finished, I sent back appreciation.

We rolled into Stowe, a small town with a lot of big-town trappings. We scooped up free books from the last-day library sale.

I went to Laughing Moon Chocolates and sampled their fudge. I bought some, along with a few buttercreams. Laughing Moon swirls letters on top to indicate what’s inside. Perfect.

We drove back down the 100, stopping for cider and cider donuts at Cold Hollow Cider Mill.

And at the Cabot Annex Store for cheese. Y’know I had to do it. So I did. I had my cow moment.

We stopped in Waterbury again for their farmer’s market. No foodie vacation is complete without one.

But the place we were aiming for, the climax of this trip, was American Flatbread in Waitsfield. I read about American Flatbread in Food & Wine years ago, and this was the focus of going to Vermont in the first place. Sure, AF is now selling their frozen pizzas in grocery stores. You can also eat it elsewhere.

But to really get it, you have to go to the source. Lareau Farm is along Route 100, with a large red barn, an inn, and outlying smaller buildings. Supper starts at 5 PM and you put your name on a waiting list. They don’t do reservations. We went on a quieter Thursday night, and there was no wait.

We ordered one of the specials. Chicken, beets with citrus vinaigrette, red kale and goat cheese. We settled outside and ordered salad and glasses of riesling. Fresh air always makes everything taste better.

Well, that wasn’t necessary. Because we had a food EVENT. Among the thousands of meals a person eats in a lifetime, few are remembered. This will be remembered.

The sunlight. The fresh breeze. My mother in her sunny yellow shirt. The pizza arrived fresh from the wood-fired earthen oven. It ARRIVED. And it was beautiful, glistening with purple beets and brown crust thickly puffed up.

We ate the whole thing except for two slices. We ate after our hunger was sated. Mom noted this was because “…you can’t bear the thought of losing the experience of it.” Exactly.

And the thing is, I don’t like beets. I’ve never liked them. I still don’t like them. I tried, I did. I picked off the rest and shoved them over.

“Mom, I’m not a major pain in the ass, just a minor one.”

Our dessert was blackberry-peach cobbler. I’m ending on that. Vermont, you kissed me.