I’d read that there was a donut shop near Wood Island that made Boston’s best beans, though only on Saturday and open only in the morning. I couldn’t recall the name or any other specifics, so this past rainy Saturday, I talked Vic into a wander with the plan of walking in the most obvious direction from the station and doubling around, block by block if necessary.
North is the most obvious direction and it will take you up Bennington directly to Betty Ann’s Bakery. It’s a huge old-fashioned shop, though the wooden cases were nearly empty when we got there near closing time at 11:00 am. They had five plain and three sugared donuts. These are real donuts: they’ve a decent tooth and heft, and though a bit bland and with a too heavily fried crust, are obviously made by someone actually mixing flour instead of opening an industrial package of pre-mix. The beans were in the back and we got a pint for dinner.
I like East Boston. Maverick is my favorite bustling “T” stop in the city, I like taking the subway to the beach at Revere, and there might be ok bird watching in the marshes along the way. I like the Blue Line trains rumbling in for “Wonderland”. Our walking tour of Bennington loosely followed the “T”, eventually reaching Beachmont. What I thought might be the sheds of a giant swap meet (oh, beating heart!) was, in fact, long horse stables.
I’m no gambler, but I enjoy an occasional day at the races. I like the mystery and ritual of it. I’ve been just enough races to kind of read the board and understand the announcements, but I don’t know how the old guys pick the ponies or what they study in the Racing Form. It was a sloppy day on the track and few people ventured out to see the horses gallop by. I took Vic out to explain to him the little I knew about the winner’s circle and that brief, quick pleasure of the horses on the track with the crowd behind you yelling their money on. It would be a more exciting world if we all horse names: Tickle Me Red, Kiss My Wind, Banshee Bridesmaid, My Peanut, and Judith’s Triffle were my favorites of the day. It makes me not mind Vic calling me “Ruthless Dictator”: it sounds like a good name to post with.
Let me tell you about the beans we brought home. They were the best pork n’ beans I’ve ever eaten. Sweet, a bit tangy, not too much sauce and tender, but definitely not vegetarian as I pulled out a delicious bit of meat, shreaded it and smacked my lips. Again: only on Saturdays, before 11 am, 4 or 5 blocks north of the Wood Island stop.
Your next mission:
Best. Pasta. Evar.