I ain't Irish, but I like to party.

My last name is not Murphy, but of German origins. It just so happens that if your name is Murphy, then St. Patrick's day seems to be your day. The states represented on this journey were Louisiana and Georgia. The Celtic sun was shinning brightly on all the Irish with not a cloud in the sky. The adventure had no real destination, instead letting the gastronomic winds of St. Patrick guide the vehicle to where it belonged. Gusts blew us across the Hudson river towards the mountains that entertain our eyes everyday from the food school. Moving through New Paltz, and past the Guilded Otter we came to a bridge, and crossed it. Across the bridge, a right turn presented itself, and we took it. Heading down the road, the signs leading up the mountain pointed towards Mohok Mountain and this was the path we took. The Spring sun was just laying down behind the mountain, but once we hit the top, she woke up for a little while longer. Traversing down the other side of the mountain, the road ended. And at the end of the road was a building, an esoteric southern hippy looking building, so we parked. Egg's Nest was the name on the sign and we walked in, almost. Behind the restaurant was a patio that we explored, but found it not open, nor had been for a while. Inside was just as phunky as the outside, paintings of flowers on the walls, several different rooms, and nice people (for the most part, it is the North). Christine was our host, as she kept bar here for the past several years. The Egg's Nest was established in 1973 by a gentleman with the last name of Murphy. He had been a waiter at the resort up the road, saved up a cache of cash, and opened his dream with not a "nest egg," but his "egg's nest." Clever. So we reveled in the glory of St. Patrick's day with some artichoke dip, turkey terrific sandwich, and green ice cream. We departed our unintentioned destination with southern eloquence, and headed back to the food school. Riding through New Patlz, there was one more beacon which called out on this holiday, the used bookstore. It was there that Galileo did his best impression of the Indigo Girls, a sight never before seen, and hopefully never again. It was an adventure carved out by southern gastronomic adventurers north of the Mason Dixon Line. Happy St Paddy's Day.