No matter what they’re called, they happen to be one of my favorite ways to start the morning, and when I travel around the country, I make it a point to seek out the very best local places to find these breakfast staples. I personally don’t like a lot of extra stuff on or in my pancakes: whipped cream, chocolate chips, strawberry sauce, ice cream, hot fudge – in my opinion they are just ways to mask a boring pancake. A really top-notch pancake should be able to stand on its own, maybe with some simple blueberries in the batter, and always with a little help from butter and real maple syrup.
I am updating this post for the first time in two years. Things change: even the most fabulous restaurants may go out of business; some places that used to be good seem to fade in quality; and in my continued travels, I discover new places that I feel obligated to include in my list. So… here are my latest rankings as of October, 2022.
I recently spent a weekend in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina and during that visit, friends in the area invited me to join them for a wonderful event at Brookgreen Gardens, located in nearby Murrell’s Inlet.
When I’d cover the topic of hurricanes in the course on Natural Disasters that I taught for many years at my former university, I’d sometimes joke that these storms seemed to have an uncanny knack, an amazing ability to aim for highly vulnerable mobile home parks. Well, not unlike a Category 5 hurricane, I recently cut a swath across Florida’s midsection from the Gulf to the Atlantic, and while mobile home parks remained safe and untouched, every highly rated restaurant on tripadvisor.com was directly in my path. Hurricane Matt, the first unofficial storm of the 2021 Hurricane Season, left his mark on the Sunshine State. Let’s retrace the path of this culinary storm.
Just a half hour east of Memphis you’ll find the truly charming town of Collierville, Tennessee. A walk around its picturesque central square, and the myriad little shops and restaurants that surround it, will make you feel like you’ve stepped back in time to an innocent 1950s or 1960s sitcom back lot. Visiting earlier this month, with the square decked out in Christmas lights and decorations, I would have sworn I had been transported into a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie!
During an overnight stay in Dover, New Hampshire I was looking online for a good place to eat dinner, and my google search led me across the border to the town of South Berwick, Maine where I discovered an unassuming little restaurant called Fogarty’s.
The horror genre has never been a favorite of mine, and I typically avoid these types of TV shows or movies like the plague. However, about two years ago I happened to be curled up in a warm hotel room on a chilly New Year’s Eve, avoiding the crowds and the drinking and the sub-freezing temperatures. Flipping through the TV channels I stumbled upon a marathon of The Walking Dead on AMC.
The iconic Season 1 poster
The same view from Atlanta’s Jacskon Street Bridge
This past weekend I attended the Western Psychological Association conference in Portland, Oregon. This conference happens every year and is held somewhere in the western states. Some years it’s in an exciting destination like Palm Springs, Las Vegas, Cancun, Mexico or Vancouver, Canada. Other years we find ourselves in such lackluster destinations as Sacramento, Reno or worse yet, Irvine or Burlingame, California. Therefore, my students, colleagues and I are always excited when the conference is held in Portland, and thankfully this is the 3rd time in the last 10 years that Portland was chosen as the site.
I was born and raised in New Bedford, Massachusetts, about an hour south of Boston and a half an hour east of Providence, Rhode Island. Although I left New England in 1980 for graduate school in Virginia and subsequently southern California, it is still “home” to me, and I make visits back there several times a year, with a cross country road trip every summer and every Christmas. Because I have made the trip so many times, I begin to feel like I’m already on home turf by the time I reach Pennsylvania, but crossing the border from New York into Connecticut, one of the six New England states, means I’m “home”.
After my first visit south of the Mason-Dixon line some 40 years ago, I joked that now I understood the reason that the South lost the Civil War. They were obviously too full from all their amazing foods to be able to fight at full effectiveness. Despite the fact that I was born a Yankee, I lived in Virginia for a couple of years and I’ve traveled through the southern states often. From the Carolinas to Texas, I find the people to be among the warmest, most welcoming and polite I’ve ever encountered.