New wave in Long Island's last resort
http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2008/jul/06/surfi [2008-7-7]
Tag : Long Peanut
When the surf picks up, I start paddling furiously. 'Go girl,'shouts Tony, and I catch a wave, spring to my feet and ride it tothe shore, letting out an involuntary whoop.
After a couple of hours, Ben and I head to the renowned Ditch Witchsnack van, which is plastered with anti-war posters and pictures ofBarack Obama, and I order the house special, a wonderfully sloppyguacamole, cheese and tomato sandwich. We lie on the sandy beach,which stretches for miles, watching surfers parade by with theirboards while groups of guys play boules and children buildsandcastles. Even Montauk's beach vibe is different from theHamptons'. There, people work out with personal trainers andthere's so much surgery on display you could be in Miami.
Later, we meet our friends and Montauk regulars Flo and Dom for abar crawl. Saturday evenings on this part of the island, they tellus, start at Cyril's Fishhouse, on the road to Amagansett. Thecrowd has spilt out of the bar to the car park, where we stand withthe local cocktail, a lethal concoction of Baileys, banana liqueur,piña colada mix and rum, served in a pint glass withoptional rum float. They taste dangerously like smoothies. Beforewe're tempted to have another and risk passing out in the car park,we move on to the Montauket Inn, an old clapboard bar-restaurant onFort Pond, ideally placed for sunset. The sun definitely does nothave his hat on this evening, but it hasn't deterred the hordesfrom gathering. A couple of pints and we're ready for the mainevent: lobster.
Duryea's Lobster Deck epitomises old Montauk. It's BYOB, thefurniture and cutlery are plastic, the staff rather rude. It's allabout the seafood. We start with mussels and clams, which comecompletely unadulterated with half lemons and clarified butter onthe side. Then our 700g lobsters arrive. For at least 10 minutes weeat in silence, apart from the occasional ecstatic sigh. They'reobscenely good. 'This is the best lobster I've ever had,' declaresBen extravagantly, dipping a claw in butter. (We establish laterthat it was only his third.)
As we finish, a storm that has already ravaged New York begins tostir the inky water. Sailboat masts clink, our cardboard wine cupsblow off the table, and an officious Russian waitress shoos usaway. As we leave we spot Harvey Keitel walking to his car.
Back at the Surf Lodge the rain has driven the party inside. Theplace is heaving - it feels more like a Manhattan club than acountry hotel bar. I find the owner, Jamie, standing by the door.'Whatever happened to our sleepy little surf shack,' he says,mournfully.
When we wake on Sunday morning, the lodge is quiet, its cheerfulcolours and West Coast-style decor - driftwood barstools,surfboards hanging from the ceiling - visible again, but Fort Pondis shrouded in mist. Still, there is no better hangover cure than adip in the sea, so we head back to Ditch Plains and find at least30 surfers bobbing in the water.
Many are men in their late forties and fifties who have surfed thisbreak for decades, but they are friendly rather than territorial;when one guy extols the virtues of his anti-shark device I decideto stay close. A set rolls in and we all paddle into it.
Ben and I brunch at John's Pancake House, a classic diner-stylejoint with a grimy patterned carpet. The tasty pancakes are an inchthick, served with eggs, bacon and maple syrup, and I manage tofind room for a side order of corned beef hash as well. I need itfor the bike ride we have planned before we go back to Manhattan -five miles up and down the green hills of Montauk Downs State Park,past Deep Hollow Ranch, the oldest in America and home to thecountry's first cow, to the lighthouse at the tip of the island.
Built in 1792 under the orders of George Washington, Montauk PointLighthouse was the first glimpse of America for generations ofimmigrants before they headed west to the mainland. It seemssomehow fitting that the scene is now edging back east, as if thedream has come full circle. Essentials
The Long Island Railroad runs from New York's Penn Station toMontauk, via Jamaica Station, about nine times daily, costs $30.50return and takes just over three hours ( mta.info/lirr ). Rooms at the Surf Lodge start at $300 a night; bicycle hire is $10 for an hour.
When the surf picks up, I start paddling furiously. 'Go girl,'shouts Tony, and I catch a wave, spring to my feet and ride it tothe shore, letting out an involuntary whoop.
After a couple of hours, Ben and I head to the renowned Ditch Witchsnack van, which is plastered with anti-war posters and pictures ofBarack Obama, and I order the house special, a wonderfully sloppyguacamole, cheese and tomato sandwich. We lie on the sandy beach,which stretches for miles, watching surfers parade by with theirboards while groups of guys play boules and children buildsandcastles. Even Montauk's beach vibe is different from theHamptons'. There, people work out with personal trainers andthere's so much surgery on display you could be in Miami.
Later, we meet our friends and Montauk regulars Flo and Dom for abar crawl. Saturday evenings on this part of the island, they tellus, start at Cyril's Fishhouse, on the road to Amagansett. Thecrowd has spilt out of the bar to the car park, where we stand withthe local cocktail, a lethal concoction of Baileys, banana liqueur,piña colada mix and rum, served in a pint glass withoptional rum float. They taste dangerously like smoothies. Beforewe're tempted to have another and risk passing out in the car park,we move on to the Montauket Inn, an old clapboard bar-restaurant onFort Pond, ideally placed for sunset. The sun definitely does nothave his hat on this evening, but it hasn't deterred the hordesfrom gathering. A couple of pints and we're ready for the mainevent: lobster.
Duryea's Lobster Deck epitomises old Montauk. It's BYOB, thefurniture and cutlery are plastic, the staff rather rude. It's allabout the seafood. We start with mussels and clams, which comecompletely unadulterated with half lemons and clarified butter onthe side. Then our 700g lobsters arrive. For at least 10 minutes weeat in silence, apart from the occasional ecstatic sigh. They'reobscenely good. 'This is the best lobster I've ever had,' declaresBen extravagantly, dipping a claw in butter. (We establish laterthat it was only his third.)
As we finish, a storm that has already ravaged New York begins tostir the inky water. Sailboat masts clink, our cardboard wine cupsblow off the table, and an officious Russian waitress shoos usaway. As we leave we spot Harvey Keitel walking to his car.
Back at the Surf Lodge the rain has driven the party inside. Theplace is heaving - it feels more like a Manhattan club than acountry hotel bar. I find the owner, Jamie, standing by the door.'Whatever happened to our sleepy little surf shack,' he says,mournfully.
When we wake on Sunday morning, the lodge is quiet, its cheerfulcolours and West Coast-style decor - driftwood barstools,surfboards hanging from the ceiling - visible again, but Fort Pondis shrouded in mist. Still, there is no better hangover cure than adip in the sea, so we head back to Ditch Plains and find at least30 surfers bobbing in the water.
Many are men in their late forties and fifties who have surfed thisbreak for decades, but they are friendly rather than territorial;when one guy extols the virtues of his anti-shark device I decideto stay close. A set rolls in and we all paddle into it.
Ben and I brunch at John's Pancake House, a classic diner-stylejoint with a grimy patterned carpet. The tasty pancakes are an inchthick, served with eggs, bacon and maple syrup, and I manage tofind room for a side order of corned beef hash as well. I need itfor the bike ride we have planned before we go back to Manhattan -five miles up and down the green hills of Montauk Downs State Park,past Deep Hollow Ranch, the oldest in America and home to thecountry's first cow, to the lighthouse at the tip of the island.
Built in 1792 under the orders of George Washington, Montauk PointLighthouse was the first glimpse of America for generations ofimmigrants before they headed west to the mainland. It seemssomehow fitting that the scene is now edging back east, as if thedream has come full circle. Essentials
The Long Island Railroad runs from New York's Penn Station toMontauk, via Jamaica Station, about nine times daily, costs $30.50return and takes just over three hours ( mta.info/lirr ). Rooms at the Surf Lodge start at $300 a night; bicycle hire is $10 for an hour.
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