Maple Dilemma

I thought I’d share a little story from the past week
that, in hindsight, reveals part of why I write a food column.

The Spoonstress and I spent a lovely weekend at a wedding in Vermont. The scenery was beautiful, the rivers and nights were freezing (reminded me of our wedding) and the event was filled with interesting people. At the superb Eaton's Sugar House I ate a breakfast like this that required three plates and, in a separate trip, a slice of maple pecan pie to rival that of Fork & Spoon fame.

As part of the wedding, we got goodie bags with two tiny bottles of maple syrup (1.35 oz). But thanks to Friday's foiled terrorism plot, no liquids were allowed as carry on luggage on our return flight. I had a decision to make.

Now I really wanted those bottles of Vermont tourist booty, but I never check bags. Can’t remember the last time I did. Maybe coming back from a year in New Zealand. And I also hate to waste anything edible. The Spoonstress suggested giving them to the airline's ticket counter agent, but she wasn’t all that nice.

So I grit my teeth and did what every self-respecting Forkster would do--risked a sticky bag and a waste of possibly ten minutes at the baggage claim to get that syrup home. I know...The Few, The Proud, The Food Writers.

12 hours later, I was vindicated. I awoke to a note from the Spoonstress. Our milk had turned. I made a bowl of emergency oatmeal and doused it in maple goodness.