Finally, at long last, work has begun on our future kitchen! The other half hatches the ideas, we confer, executive decisions are made, I supervise when I’m not napping. Actually, if it weren’t for the other half’s tireless efforts, nothing would be done.

We had built a bump out wall in the ‘great room,’ mostly to house a new third window for light and grandeur when we peel back the ceiling to the attic. To accommodate the kitchen/island, we had to build the kitchen first and snake the gas line to the oven before we could close up the walls. It’s a chicken and egg conundrum. Soon though, we will have a finished countertop gas stove, separate electric oven, but bare walls. Yep, it’s a fixer-upper.

Recently we have scoured the Hamptons for a great many gems, and lo and behold, the harder you look, the more ye shall find. For our wedding two weeks ago, we collected a bunch of local delights and presented them to our guests. In fact, we have been overwhelmed with the bounty of the Hamptons of late. I really need to catch up on my postings.

Once a week, I venture to Westhampton for work, and finally one day last month, the other half met me for a bite at Eckhart’s Luncheonette down the road. I’d always wanted to eat here, but the rule of luncheonettes as opposed to diners is that the former closes soon after lunch. That’s really a shame because there’s a dearth of good diners to begin with in these parts, and sometimes, you really just want to bask in that authentic Americana glow.

A snippet of their own description: This original old fashioned soda shoppe style luncheonette combines yesteryear decor with today’s cooking. The original setting of tin ceilings, wooden fans, tiled flooring, mahogany booths, marble counter tops with a tile basin which holds old fashion soda jerk handles, root beer barrel and coke machine is surrounded by mahogany wood cases filled with an eclectic array of antiques. A magazine rack is filled with antique magazines and newspapers. The original wooden phone booth still stands along with a 1920s cash register. Much to see and enjoy while dining on fresh delicious food.

Like our favorite diner in New Jersey, Eckhart’s also has a naturalistic mural on the back wall, which you should see for yourself: The right side of a mural depicting Catalina Island, California painted in in the back of the luncheonette. The left side of the mural showing Avalon, which today is used as a movie theater/hall. The story is that many years ago a local man was in need of food and drink, but did not have the means to pay for it. My grandparents traded his craftsmanship for theirs. Today, we are left with this work of art and he was left with a full stomach.

This place has the works: the local family lore, the display of old knicks and knacks, the no nonsense attitude, the tasty burger and crisp fries. It has everything that’s lacking in the brand-spanking new fancy big-name chef-owned LT Burger (diner) in Sag Harbor. I would come here every week after work if I could if the logistics were in alignment. I even found a new thing to try: gravy burger, which is a hefty burger served with brown gravy on the side. I could get used to being here.

There were once 13 tribes that lived on Long Island. They had cool names. Now there’s one left in Hampton Bays, the Shinnecock Nation; they had a powwow this weekend to celebrate the departure of all the summer tourists for the season. I had to work, so I didn’t see most of them.

Today is an East End holiday: Tumbleweed Tuesday. I’m celebrating by having a day off work!

The reservation on the outskirts of Southampton village is usually closed to the public except for this event. We were eager to peek inside. There’s lots of mowed grass and trees, and Habitat for Humanity-style houses sprinkled here and there. A large ceremonial log cabin perches near the front entrance.

I wanted some fry bread. Needless to say, the hospital cafeteria does not provide  the most appetizing treats. Though I did glance at a patient dinner tray the other night and it looked surprisingly palatable, like one of those shellacked plastic display meals – some sort of breaded baked meat, an ice cream scoop of skin-mashed red potatoes and a veg, all smothered with a thick brown gravy.

Leave to us outsiders to take this as emblematic of Native American cuisine. Sure it’s delicious, but if it is equivalent to concentration camp food, then what is the real traditional foodstuff of American Indians? I didn’t see any cookbooks at the one book vendor at the powwow.

Essentially, a powwow is an arts n’ crafts fair, akin to the commercialized street fairs that abound Manhattan in the summertime. This one just has a focused theme, here represented by native woven rugs, things made with feathers, things made with wampum (a purplish shell), and lots of burning sage. I couldn’t tear the other half away from the medicinal salve booth. There was a booth sponsored by Minnetonka. Dream catchers and drums littered the giant meadow. Then I spied a coffee stand.

Turns out there’s an organic, local coffee stand right under my nose every day on my drive to work on Old Montauk Highway. The beans are imported, but they are roasted right here in the Hamptons. Behind the Indian row of cheap cigarette shops and Carla’s Kitchen, which some consider an eye sore, there’s a modest building in the back where Thunder Island Coffee lives. The flavor of the roast was better than the other organic coffee stand at the powwow, which is based in Mastic.

They were also selling bags with modernized, cool, almost hipsterish native designs. At $9 for one pound of coffee, that is definitely a great way to support local!

When I heard Hoboken flooded during the hurricane, I suddenly became wistful for my time up to the armpits with pasta. And Cafe Michelina, which we didn’t have a chance to try before we were whisked away to the paradise of the Hamptons. After rubbernecking the aftermath of Irene in the village of Southampton, we found a few stores taking advantage of local cabin fever by opening up in the late afternoon.

We chose La Parmigiana over Sean’s Place, both of which looked like delicatessens. Any hint of ethnicity in food is preferable, most of the time. Besides the fact that Sean’s was packed, the line stretching out the door, we figured La Parm might have more interesting offerings. And it did.

Not only do they sell a full selection of cold meats, cheeses and salads, they also carry imported Italian foods like spirochetes of white pressed powder that you drop in water to make it bubbly, and make their own salad dressings in the attached restaurant that channels the Maestro Guido. A real red tablecloth joint, if you know whaddyai mean… Great smells were coming from the open kitchen that lines one side of the room. Tins were filled with fresh grated mozzarella. Heyyyaa! In the back, there’s even a small pizza counter. What more could you ask for, ehhhh?

We ordered from the deli (octopus, palm hearts, hot soppresata, mozz) and ate our umami foodstuffs in the restaurant. Everything was up to par, except the strangely fluffy and dry cookies and benign tiramisu. We’d gladly go back just to get that special Jersey feeling, and you don’t even have to make us an offer…

The Hamptons is made up of tiny hamlets and villages, of which North Sea is our favorite. And its General Store is on an isolated stretch of road across from OutEast, a breakfast and brioche burger place. We were starving one night at 8pm, coming home from oogling the Sebonac golf course, when we realized nothing else was open.

They have homemade giant whopper-sized chicken pot pies in this unassuming deli. And a full menu of Mexican treats, though I do have to admit DeJesus Deli tops this place in terms of ethnic cuisine. If only I had an oven, I could crisp up the crust. It certainly contains enough lard to have super duper flaky potential.

Frozen pies are available for those endowed with a kitchen. The lady behind the counter nuked ours, but it was still quite tasty. The crust became QQ. Inside, the roux was just thick enough. The flavor was so delectable that the other half picked out the potatoes and ate the rest. Now that, is a true seal of approval.

Here comes the sweet pitter patter of Hurricane Irene’s 600 miles of drool. She obviously wants to come eat all the Pueblan goodies offered at DeJesus Deli and Grocery. Yeah, rocking out to Manu Chao and chomping on four varieties of perfectly moist and unctuous tamales in our boarded-up house is my idea of of good hurricane eats.

All the stores on the drive home closed early, and the windows in Southampton village are wearing plywood shutters or taped up to ward away the hex of unidentified flying objects. The other half scooted to the deli in the pre-storm rumble. Along with our two cheese pizzas from Boccacini’s, the only half-way decent pie place in town, we are hunkering down but good.

This ain’t a bad way to end a 6 day, 78 hour work week: a comforting, hearty, flavorful melánge of masa, longaniza, beans, rice, pickled chiles, and even potatoes. Thank Supreme Being for the cuisine of the landscapers of the Hamptons.

There’s lots of love floating around these days. The Hamptons is brimming with it. Hence the bumper to bumper traffic. We crawled to Montauk yesterday and of course we made a pit stop at Ditch Plains Beach, home of the Ditch Witch and other assorted food trucks.

I guess the permits don’t allow service after 5pm, so the Witch had split. Montaco was still putzing around, serving beverages. We were still full from eating in town, but you can always make room for food truck food.

We ordered the cucumber limeade with a side of chile mango. The beverage was very refreshing, just a touch savory. I dumped the spicy mango juice into the cup. Eureka, a new and improved version was born. Hecho con amor, that’s what it’s all about.

Ingredients:
cucumber
lime/lemon/orange
chile powder or dash of Louisiana Hot Sauce
sugar or simple syrup (white, brown or palm)
vodka or aged rum

1. Juice some cukes. Or if you like a smoothie, blend some cukes
2. Juice some lime/lemon/orange, depending on how sour you like
3. Melt some sugar in water 2:1 ratio
4. Mix the above to taste, spike, if needed

In the white-washed world of the Hamptons, the hospital I work at is the United Nations. We bring the minority quota. My boss is all about diversity. Even Mister Gamey, the ever-diplomate, says he feels uncomfortable here (until he ate the BBQ, that is). I just find it frustrating as hell to not be able to get my Asian groceries and treats.

Bhangra Master to the rescue! There was some Hindi holiday over the weekend and she brought Indian sweets for me to sample. Now beggars can’t be choosers but I knew there was something about the faux Tootsie Roll with the green center I didn’t like: it’s made with cashews.

The square fudge-looking thing with a halvah grainy texture, on the other hand, is quite tasty. It reminds me of ethnic shortbread. The texture is crumbly, like smooth fine sand. It’s not too sweet as many South Asian desserts I’ve tried on Roosevelt Ave, and it is enough like Macao pastry that I find it comforting to my soul. The best thing is, without a kitchen, I can still make it on the Waring Pro electric burner I just bought!

Adapted from Indobase

Ingredients:
1 cup Besan (chickpea flour or other assorted rough grain)
1 cup Sugar (insert palm sugar here for marvelous caramel flavor)
1/2 cup Ghee (no ghee in the Hamptons, good ol’ butter should do)
1/2 tsp Cardamom Powder
1/2 tsp Cinnamon
Nuts (I like Brazil nuts)

1. Toast flour in pot until fragrant. It’ll give the sweet a nutty aroma and taste.

2. Add ghee. Mix till smooth. Add sugar and nuts.

3. Remove from heat and stir in cardamom and cinnamon powder.

4. Oil a large tray.

5. Pour the mixture and spread.

6. Allow the mixture to set. Cut into small squares or diamonds and serve.

Can I be obsessed with hush puppies at a meat mecca? How can fried bouncy puffy balls of cornmeal perfectly spiced with jalapeño bits and sprinkled with sea salt be the star of the show at the best BBQ joint not only in the Hamptons, but all of New York? They are that good.

Townline BBQ is one star in the battalion of the East End restaurant conglomerate that includes Hamptons favorites like Rowdy Hall and Nick & Toni’s. It’s just on the way out of Sag Harbor, officially in Sagaponack. The vibe is all wooden beam down-home country, communal tables and booths. It’s a nice time warp where snobbery is checked at the door.

The only hint of the high-end are the Boos block tables. The meat speaks for itself. We sampled it all, pulled pork, burnt ends, pork ribs and beef brisket. An order of short ribs was accidentally left off. Guess that means we gotta go back. The chicken wasn’t free range, merely organic. The other half poo-pooed it. I’ll have to sneak it in next time.

The pluses: fatty ends on the brisket, the regular and spicy BBQ sauces mixed together, QQ rib meat, Martin’s potato bread (aka crack) and don’t forget about the perfect hush puppies. I wonder if I can find out the recipe…

The minuses: collards were bland but al dente, cornbread was rough and tumble.

Down a feast down with strong black unsweetened tea. My stomach is still weeping tears of joy that such a place could exist in the Hamptons. It’s beyond a gem, it’s a whole treasure trove of carcinogenic fleshy goodness! I’m eyeing the whole roast pig on the catering menu for an event in the near future.

You want the Hamptons in all its glory? You got it! At Jack’s Stir Brew Coffee in Amagansett, the look, the smells, the sounds, the upturned noses, it’s all here, and it’s fantastic. Oh, and the coffee is the best we’ve encountered in the East End. It’s as smooth as the man himself.

This past weekend was my birthday BBQ. We wanted to break-in our newly dug-out firepit, lovingly leveled by the other half. The main feedback was how good the food was. Ironically though, all we served were raw assemblages of fruits and vegetables in the form of salsa, guacamole, salad and spiked beverages (‘Course there was wood-smoked/fired meat, but that was later). The secret? Everything was purchased locally, on a farm, and organic.

Jack uses organic everything. And you can taste it. He also stocks the best local staples, Ronnybrook treats, Nunu chocolates (which unfortunately were wilting at the counter due to the popularity of the place, plus it was pouring rain for two days which didn’t help the humidity factor inside). It was like I was in Williamsburg and the Hamptons at the same time! Could I be morphing into a Hamp-ster?

If Jack were a brand, he’d be an urbane yet beachy Starbucks meets J.Crew on the weekend meets Ralph Lauren in Vermont when he’s not playing polo. The bagels are boiled, as confirmed by Jack, who we met. It was almost as good as a real celebrity sighting. The bagels actually come from down the street, at Hampton Bagels. They are just QQ enough for the other half, and not too dry when toasted and slathered with cream cheese from the Hudson Valley, according to Mister Gamey.

The other pastries outpace anything at The Golden Pear Cafe, a South Fork chain with the old money gauchiness that Jack, of the baby boomer generation, would turn his back on. This is the place where ex-frat boys go when they are hungover the next morning. The lighting is kind, the future trophy wives abound, and cool permeates while the coffee percolates.

I particularly enjoyed the counterplay of old driftwood against the stark white walls. That’s the look we are going for at our lil’ beach bungalow. Jack’s collection of lobster and crab buoys were making me salivate. On weekdays, when it’s not busy, the baristas make pretty swirly patterns in the foam. You see, Jack was really a science geek who invented a machine that makes his shade-grown, fair-traded coffee taste even better. He babies the beans to coax out their sweetness. And squeezes out every cent from them, as he does his customers. $5 for a small cup of Jack? Just tell us a good story and make it look nice.

We’re well nigh into the swing of Ramadan. My Muslim co-worker greets me each evening at the beginning of the shift with his big plastic baggie full of nosh, home-cooking just waiting to be gobbled down at sunset. He looks hungry.

Intractable night float – that’s what I call what ails each of us by the end of the first week of the 6pm to 6am shift. First we lose track of what time and day it is, then we lose our appetite. By 2am I am usually starving and/or dead tired, but I have no desire to eat. Near the end, I could only tolerate pretzels, fruits and vegetables. Everything else was just unpalatable. The rest of the time I was asleep. At the end of last month, I lost 5lbs, basically from eating healthy next to nothing.

It’s been two weeks back in the land of the living and only this weekend I’ve started eating again. After awhile, the appetite roars back and I’m craving very fatty and sweet things. Two nights ago, I ate two slices of cheese pizza at 10pm at a place recommended by Teacher Lady. I could taste the soulessness of the processed flour, and the obsequious texture of the soft oozing cheese. It was like my mouth was operating on autopilot against stark emptiness, a giant culinary void.

On my last night in the land of the living this month, we went across the street to the marina. It houses a dockside cafe connected to the office. We’d heard rave reviews here and there. I was excited to nosh on some fresh, raw seafood.

Canal Cafe is the kid sister to the enormously popular Tiderunners across and up the way. Both sit along the Shinnecock Canal. We bellied up to the bar since the wait was 45 minutes for a seat outside amongst the yacht-sized boats. As I eyeballed the menu, I was becoming dismayed that there was nothing raw to be had. This place seemed no better than a bar with greasy fried bar food.

Finally on the specials menu I spied the Ponzu tuna. The rest of the accoutrements were hard to make out in that scribbly script. I asked for it, barely grilled, please. The other half decided on the Red Thai mussels. They have Palm beer on tap here, so it gave me hope.

My Ponzu was monstrous slices covering a large mound of Sriracha-coated wheat noodle. The fish wasn’t top notch, but it was close enough to satisfy my yen. The mussels swam in  a thick coconut spicy broth, accompanied by starchy enough mildly sourdough bread.

Anything that says key lime also gets us. So for dessert we had to try the key lime cheesecake. This double layer slice was average, but pretty good by Hamptons standards. The meringue top held the zest which spiced the pie. The bottom was slightly lumpy, the crust just a touch burnt. The piece de resistance was the whipped Cool Whip on the side.

I’ll be seeing you on the other side of daylight.

Rarely does a place live up to its own billing. But Dunkirk’s Deli has been there for us since the first day we barreled into town with no kitchen to cook in and no fridge to preserve things even if we had a one-pot boiler. Nothing much has changed except we stopped coming every day. Nowadays, usually just Sunday morning, we come to rekindle that special feeling.

Self-proclaimed ‘the Local Favorite,’ Dunkirk’s has the feel of a corner bodega that specializes in breakfast egg sandwiches. It’s not as good as my all-time favorite place across from the Columbia University subway stop at 168th Street, but it stands up. Man, that guy really knew how to make a fluffy scrambled egg and not smash the roll into smithereens.

Dunkirk’s is a big space right on Main Street, simply furnished with the bare essentials: several bar height tables and stools sprinkled around plastic Adirondack chairs. I plop myself down while the other half places the order which for me is always two eggs, sausage, cheese and light hot sauce. The normal amount usually drenches the roll. The counter person always place the sandwich order to the back kitchen before asking for the rest. We also approved of their home-brewed unsweetened ice tea and lemonade, Arnold Palmer-style.

The place encapsulates the essence of Hampton Bays, which is a hamlet of Southampton (originally called Good Ground) but is more blue collar than blue blood. This town is where the real, down-to-earth locals spend and do their time, and buy cheap smokes from the Native American pit stops on the way east, near the reservation. One of the counter guys also works in the afternoon at the Italian deli across the street.

If you’re rich and you want to hide, you hibernate in Sag Harbor. If you want to be seen, go to East Hampton. Montauk is also blue collar, just a classier version. Once, I treated a patient who was of means, and yet had a dream of driving an old Ford pick-up truck on her ‘farm’ in Montauk. You can read all about these strange creatures in the Cockeyed Guide to the Hamptons. It’s other half-approved.

Most of the patrons at Dunkirk’s are construction or trade types who pop in before work, around 7 or 8am. Around 9am come the summer locals, families and old men with only time on their hands. Many take advantage of the newspaper rack by the door and browse the day’s paper while waiting for their order to be fulfilled. I often wonder if they sell any papers at all. The doors close for the day at 3pm.

They serve lunch here too, burgers and such. There’s The Dunkirk, which is two burgers between two grilled cheese sandwiches and the works. All for $9.95. There’s no Hall of Fame for the consumption of this monstrosity yet, but there should be.

Walt, the owner of Channing Daughters Winery is a sculptor by avocation. He rescues tree trunks from destruction and re-imagines them as art pieces. Bhangra Master visited last week and signed up for the wine club. I wondered if the wine could be any good, given that my previous experiences in the South Fork were less than stellar.

So we came for the art, but stayed for the wine. It’s the first time we have liked all the wines in the flight, even the extra one the other half picked from the sales display. All have great noses, floral and light, especially the White Envelope, which is reminiscent of jasmine flower. Perhaps it’s the way the wines were blended, with the knowledge that the cooler temperatures in the South Fork required longer ripening time, or the smell of honest art in the air, Channing Daughters was quite the winner.

In the back of the winery is a massive lawn filled with Walt’s work. A workshop in the corner and a viewing treehouse smack in the middle, along with a white yoga tent were the only other accoutrements. It’s a mini-Storm King, but without the attention to landscaping and placement of the works. But it is a great injection of art into my otherwise currently culture-free life.

The sculptures are mostly whimsical, like the wine produced here. Our host took great care in explaining how the grapes were chosen based on the region in Italy that was sandy like the East End. The rosé was exceptional, just the right bridge between a white and a red. They also have a skin fermented white, which has a more rich, golden hue than regular whites.

The sculptures were made from recycled wood, but they don’t believe in reusing the grapes. Usually a first press becomes the reserve wines, i.e. the especially expensive ones, the second press becomes the normal priced and the third press the cheapest table wine. They pride themselves in the fact that they only press all their grapes once, and that you can squeeze them afterwards and still get a cupful of juice. This is all a roundabout way of saying, we make only good wine.

The other half inquired about layperson grape stomping a la I Love Lucy. The answer was: Keep asking.

200th post!

Art and Harry are two brothers with adjoining farms. Art does cheese, cows, and turkeys for Thanksgiving. Harry does a bit of everything else: chicken, pig, veggies, baked goods. Mecox Dairy and Fairview Farm in Mecox are two great farms brought to you by alt-Hamptons, the crunchy granola DIY side. There really is real life beyond privet privacy hedges.

Harry and we got to talking about all sorts of animal parts. We do have an empty freezer in the garage waiting to be filled with local flesh. The best price per pound comes with a bit of hands-on labor. So when the next batch of chicken is ready to be dispatched, we will be there with our wringing hands at the ready. Come winter, a half a 300lb pig will have our name on it. Harry also makes sausage, pancetta and guanciale. I just want all the innards and blood for the best dinuguan ever.

The farmstand is simple, a wooden structure in the shade at the front gate. Art was off manning the booth at the Sag Harbor farmer’s market, shilling his homemade cheese. We found him there and asked for some goodies from his cooler. He had several cheeses for tasting. The other half enjoyed his cheddar, and we both liked his Sunrise, the cheese with funk.

Art also slaughters his own Jersey dairy cows for meat. He thinks that Angus breeds are so ‘evolved’ that they can’t digest grass, only corn derivatives. Again I asked for the offal. Art ages the meat by hanging it at the slaughterhouse for two weeks. Bacteria Gone Wild. So next month, our freezer should be fat and satiated , humming a happy tune long into the night.

At last count, there were 41 vineyards in the North Fork of Long Island, and 4 in the South Fork. So far, we’ve patronized about 10 of them. Of those, the other half approves of 2. Though the life of a wine-tasting aficionado is rough, we will work very hard to make our way through the 30 or so we have left to try.

During our wedding weekend in October, we will return to our favorite so far, Shinn Estate Vineyards, where, if we had cash leaking out of our ears, we would spend the night at their adjoining farmhouse and munch on local fare served up by the vineyard owner and sometime chef. The closest thing we can get to that are the weekend library wine tastings where you sit at rough hewn benches with 20 other people in the intimate winemaker’s lair and sip on reserve, limited batch-run bottles paired with haute hors d’oeuvres.

With our resident wine snob out of town for the weekend, it is up to me to introduce you to the other winery of our liking, Clovis Point Wines, situated at the head of the onslaught of vineyards along that northerly stretch.

What’s great and unique about this one? It’s a balance of a beautiful setting and fine wine craftsmanship. While Old Field vineyards is most picturesque of the ones we’d sampled so far (it’s all rambling farmland sprinkled with free-ranging geese and chicken), Clovis Point’s tasting room is in a modestly refurbished potato barn with enough exposed beams to give it a country feel. Some over-sized tasting rooms dressed in contemporary marble (i.e. Osprey’s Dominion) reek of consumerism and poor design taste.

The artist in me appreciates the rotating groupings of paintings hanging on the walls at Clovis Point. They are mostly on loan from a bunch of older ladies of the area who may or may not be willing to sell their work. There are galleries of landscapes in various styles, and still life of solitary fruit. They lend an air of elegance to the surroundings, and somehow make the wine taste better.

What about the vino?! Unlike most vineyards out here, Clovis Point buys most of the their grapes from surrounding farms, culls the best grapes and mixes combinations of varietals to come up with wine cocktails. The two owners act more like investors, relying on their winemaker to work his magic. The result? The best cabernet franc in the area, which is the prized local grape. Their other wines, reds and whites, are also equally well thought out elixirs, achieving a balance in aromas and taste. There is also a depth to them that is serious but not too heavy. It’s well worth a visit every season to see what new tricks they have up their sleeves.

The non-celebrity Hamptons is epitomized by the hamlet of North Sea. It’s a neighborhood just north of Southampton filled with smaller cottages and beach houses nestled in pockets of unkempt greenery. There’s tiny beaches and winding country roads galore, with inlets and creeks where no tourist roams. We love the beach at the end of Towd Point Road, just where the bay forms North Sea Harbor. The water is aqua green gorgeousness.

Beyond that, there are also farmstands with real local produce. We like North Sea Farms, a small farm market that is stocked with Hamptons-made baked goods, various sundries and homegrown chicken. It is just too cute and cuddly. Unlike most farmstands that are off a major street situated amongst the fields of produce, North Sea Farms is smaller, like the best version of your neighborhood deli.

This place is perfect to come to for a leisurely breakfast picnic by the trees outside before dropping off trash at the town dump nearby. Yes, we have to pay to throw away trash in the Hamptons. Your garbage is worth more here than anywhere else in New York.

If we didn’t have a neighbor down the street with a chicken coop selling his massive brown eggs out of a cooler on the honor system, we would totally buy them here. Gotta support the local-est.

The local big names are represented here. Tate’s Bake Shop has a large section, Blue Duck Bakery as well. Aldo’s Coffee of Greenport specially roasts a blend for them. Ronnybrook Dairy is ‘imported’ here too. Then there are kitschy touches of country charm. Folks, this is homespun at its finest. Who knew Americana could be found smack in the heart of the Hamptons?