Kramer on the Byways of France
Deep in the heart of French wine country, in the town of Chablis, there’s a restaurant called, Le Syracuse. Sorry. I tried to go there two Mondays ago, but much like France itself in August, it was closed.
On a long, long ride to nowhere.
Gone is James E. Strates. Wade Shows is the new midway man in town. We wish them luck at the Great New York State Fair. And we hope to finally see some rides that truly reflect Central New York.
Scott Congel is a pay-his-own-way guy. Straight shooter — just like his Old Man. You’re going to love this guy, West Seneca.
Hello, West Seneca? Are you there?
Part of the Problem? No, CNY Can Be Part of the Solutions
I like children ... to a point. I’ll even go a step further and say that anyone who lacks a soft spot for kids at risk needs help themselves.
There’s nothing wrong with eating gas station pizza other than it proves your human.
Who has the best gas station pizza in Central New York?
Coastal Maine was the perfect place to decompress from the rigors of family life.
Maine gets in your blood, and I’m not just talking about the bee venom. My wife Leigh and I just returned from a week there -- no kids! -- and I can’t say enough about the place. Scenic. Wild. Quirky. Certainly the no kids factor skewed our opinion a little. Had we gone to Paterson, N.J., I’d have a similarly glowing report as long as Miranda and Lily were at their respective sleep-away camps and not sharing our hotel room.
I’m counting on you to overlook the discrete differences between my “regular” column and this new ethically compromised version.
This column was bought.
Kramer’s 1969 Buick is still fussing about wanting a new owner after a visit to the Bouckville Classic Car Show.
What you should do if you’re assaulted by a beaver.
You’re gassing up at Hess or waiting for your pager to buzz at Panera and suddenly it happens: You’re attacked by a rabid beaver. Will you know what to do?
To counter a community-wide build up of unreasonable expectations, I’m featuring this floor plan of my personal signature home.
While it’s a lovely event, the annual Parade of Homes can intimidate. All that beautiful new furniture and cabinetry. Those ingenious floor plans blissfully free of clutter. And light … so much light. Upon returning home to the deeply imperfect domicile where one actually lives, there’s an understandable temptation to reach for a gas can and a match.