We have created a culture that claims to crave originality, but in practice, thrives on repetition and duplication. On television, we’ve witnessed seven Law & Order franchises, five versions of CSI and four out of seven NCIS iterations are still running on CBS. A variation of Ralph Lauren’s name is sewn into half a dozen different labels. There are more than three dozen Nobu restaurants around the globe. Absolut offers 12 flavors of varying drinkability (Can anyone swallow Absolut Vanilla?). Oreo has produced more than 80 takes on its once iconic cream sandwich cookie. There are already four Carbone restaurants, with more to come. And ’tis the season to order the ever-ghastly pumpkin spice latte at any of the 17,068 Starbucks located around the country. No wonder, when asking someone “What’s new?” one hears the all-too-often reply, “Same old same old.” 

It ain’t easy being unique. And yet freshness, singularity and the unexpected are the very qualities that make new experiences exciting and prime our senses for wondrousness. You should never stop searching for them, because when you find one, it’s impossible to keep from smiling.

Klocke Estate

Though the venue opened this past July with a low-key ribbon cutting as opposed to a more celebratory fireworks laden, weekend long gala, management can hardly claim a “soft” opening, because if you live within 30 miles of its mountaintop locale, you knew for months that the Klocke Estate was coming.

That awareness generated an unabated, unofficial motorcade ascending the long and winding road—itself wired for heat in icy conditions—up Klocke’s 160 acres of regenerative apple orchards and vineyards to its centerpiece: the BarlisWedlick designed restaurant/bar/distillery. 

Enchantment envelops the moment you get out of your car and look out from the back of the estate. The Thomas Cole-worthy vistas that face the Catskills are stunning. Though the days are getting too short to take advantage of it for a few months, sunset here is bliss inducing. But it’s not like Klocke suffers from a lack of captivating visuals. While getting a tour of its two massive, awesome (here the word has validity) burnished copper stills led by Klocke’s brandy-obsessed co-founder John Frishkopf (partnered in business and life with Brett Mattingly), it’s impossible not to imagine him, standing between these two magical contraptions, as a 100 proof Willy Wonka. 

But as glorious as the summit view and antique booze machines are, that’s not what had us swooning. If Frishkopf and Mattingly suddenly decided that the only items on their menu were Bumble Bee tuna and cottage cheese with canned peaches, I’d come back to Klocke in a heartbeat, because this place is gorgeous. At this point in his career, extolling the delights of Ken Fulk’s minimalism-be-damned interior design acumen is almost as redundant as praising Céline Dion’s bravura solo on the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Olympics. Sophisticated yet welcoming, elegant but enveloping, Fulk boasts the uncanny talent of knowing how to make indulgent glamour appear casually cool, like a Brunello Cucinelli cashmere crew neck. He also makes you want to renovate your house the moment you get home, so that your dining chairs are this comfortable, your kitchen island is lit with the glass globes over this bar and your bedroom walls are covered in the dining room’s slate grey iridescent crushed velvet. 

Luckily, Executive Chef Becky Kempter’s menu boasts options not easily upstaged. Not surprisingly, at Klocke, the intricate cocktail, brandy and wine selections are far more extensive than the dining options (order the house sweet vermouth on the rocks, probably the first time you have ever savored this wine on its own), so Kempter’s formidable task is to make each plated choice a standout. She comes close to achieving that with a savory focaccia that demands you slather on it as much garlic confit as possible and the hell with its breathy aftermath, a slightly sweet but smoothly satisfying chicken liver mousse that gets added zip from brandy-soaked cherries and sautéed cipollini onions, and a vibrant steak tartare smartly elevated by a gremolata spiked with white horseradish.

This isn’t fair, but I regularly regard scallops as a culinary swindle, because there never seems to be enough of them to satisfy a healthy appetite, or maybe it’s just because they look like bite sized canapés hiding out on dinner plate. However, Kempter’s golden discs are lushly succulent, their sweetness abetted by a chowder-like pool of corn and mushrooms, their nuttiness enhanced by shards of Tuscan kale. The black garlic rich au poivre sauce that bathes the sliced pork chop is spoon-worthy delicious, and the pork was cooked to the temperature requested, but the meat itself, though flavorful, was just tough enough to resist embracing its peppery veil. However, the thickly cut, meltingly tender sautéed duck breast is the stuff foodie dreams are made of, made even more irresistible by alternating each slice with one of its three invigoratingly diverse accompaniments: caramelized fennel, a peach based mostarda and a light leek soubise. Don’t overlook the sides of wilted greens served with an anchovy-rich bagna càuda and the crispy potatoes tweaked by a chili infused salt. 

I rarely fancy the neither-here-nor-thereness of semifreddo, or yuzu-based anything. Don’t bypass Kempter’s yuzu tart with raspberry preserves and rose meringue, her chocolate semifreddo with espresso caramel or the almond cake with figs in Armagnac and mascarpone—three weightless, happily deceitful ways to please a sugar rush-loving sweet tooth. 

We’ve only one qualm with our otherwise smashing times at Klocke Estate, though they aren’t alone in being the source of this grievance. A 20 percent “operations charge” is tacked onto all purchases at both the bar and in the dining room, ostensibly to facilitate production costs and the staff’s health coverage (according to the bartender). It’s not a tip. That’s a separate line item. Though jacking up prices accordingly instead might push certain menu items into the sticker shock danger zone, there’s an unavoidable scent of disingenuousness as more and more houses adopt this wince-inducing add on, because it reveals that the actual cost of each menu selection is one-fifth higher. Sometimes you’re just better off not knowing back of house details.

That irritation made me down my after-dinner Vin Santo way too quickly. After ordering another, I still admitted that the surcharge can’t dissuade me from returning to the Klocke Estate very soon. In fact, I’m looking forward to it even if that imagined sorry-ass can of Bumble Bee albacore winds up packed in water.

KLOCKE ESTATE
2554 County Route 27
Hudson, NY 12534
518.672.1166
hours: Wednesday & Thursday 5-9pm
Friday-Sunday Noon – 9pm
Closed Monday & Tuesday
Reservations via Resy

The Hereafter

I don’t hang out here often enough to know if the barstools host a coterie of such faithful regulars that everybody knows their names, but if you ever daydreamed about opening the ideal neighborhood bar, it probably looks a lot like The Hereafter. 

Though open less than a year, the place radiates a been-here-forever vibe as if it’s been a local stomping ground for as long as Hudson’s had antique stores, not because it looks old and worn, but because it feels luxuriantly lived in.

Take two steps inside the street front door, and you find yourself nearly in the middle of the almost square space, but instead of feeling on display, you’re immediately struck by the cozy but not cramped, relax-your-shoulders intimacy of the room. The lighting is low and shadowy, flattering and slightly mysterious. Dark leather upholstered booths line the weathered, reclaimed wainscoted walls, with tall bar tables in the middle and comfy Dutch Arts and Crafts era bar stools lining the handsome, backlit dark wood bar. The recycled wood floor isn’t trying to hide its prior life. The tin ceiling was preexisting, but the ricocheting sound is more buzzy than loud. There’s no preferred or VIP area. Everything—the seating, the staff, even the owners Jeffrey Dubroff and Isi Laborde (who are often there)—feels within reach. 

Two additional missing factors make The Hereafter so attractive. There are no TVs over the bar or suspended from the corners. You ain’t comin’ in for a coupla brewskis while you watch the game. Having previously worked at Park Slope’s popular Blueprint bar, Dubroff and Laborde understand the mission of the local tavern as an oasis rather than a tailgate substitute or pick-up spot. And whether intentional or serendipitous, the place radiates a balance of cool and calm because you feel surrounded by locals rather than tourists. There’s no table hopping, no gaggles of boisterous groups overeager for another round of selfies. Most smartphones are on the tables turned upside down. You come to The Hereafter to talk with friends, go on an exploratory second date or to just forget about the turbulence outside.

You also come here to drink, because the 15 house-concocted cocktails are deliberately idiosyncratic, complex without being forbidding and happily surprising. They’re divided into five categories: Fun, Eccentric, Classy, Seasonal and Deep, and while I can’t determine what the unifying components are for each category, the array is beckoning you to have an adventure in alcohol. For example, the ingredients in The Tiger: “tequila blanco, roasted pineapple brandy, mango and kaffir leaf cordial, lime, shaken and served with a cilantro salt rim” pretty much ensures that you aren’t making this at home, but give it a shot, because it beats the Hawaiian shirt off a Jimmy Buffett margarita. Equally enjoyable are the oregano infused bespoke gin that serves as the base of The House Dirty, the heady pairing of mezcal, sweet vermouth and pear brandy in Good Denim, the nippy sting of bourbon, absinthe and sassafras bitters that’s at the heart of a Grapefruit Dead and it makes sense that the addition of pine liquor, juniper and rosemary added to single malt whiskey would result in a cocktail called Trail Blazer. So, are you really going to stick with a vodka and soda?

And you also come to The Hereafter to eat. Though the menu is limited and claims to be offering small plates, it’s easy to assemble a very satisfying meal, because Chef Michelle Hunter—formerly of the wonderful Hamlet & Ghost in Saratoga Springs, NY—wisely rejects buffalo wings and sweet potato fries to match for such inventive cocktails, in favor of more seductive choices such as grilled stone fruit in fish sauce (not nearly as weird as it sounds), mussels steamed in a light yuzu and chili broth, grilled squash glazed in coconut cream and pepper, bread from nearby Mel the Baker (see below), crisp endive salad laced with a brown butter vinaigrette, a chop-house-worthy hanger steak with an unexpected addition of blueberries to its chimichurri sauce and a very ample and wipe-the-plate-clean charcuterie board with terrific duck prosciutto.

There’s only one problem with The Hereafter. This isn’t Manhattan. Since there’s no public transport, someone has to drive home. Even if you scarf down the hanger steak solo, that’s not going to temper a breathalyzer score, so before walking into The Hereafter, decide who’s going to be the Good Samaritan. I know. Not fun. Should no one want to behave, however, The Riverton Hotel is right around the corner. Check in advance. Maybe they have a room with your name on it. If so, bartender, I’ll have another.

THE HEREAFTER
721 Columbia Street Hudson, NY 12534
hours: Sunday & Tuesday –Thursday – 4pm ’til Midnight
Friday & Saturday – 4pm – 1am
Closed Monday
Reservations via Resy

Mel The Bakery 

When world-class photographer-turned-baker Norman Jean Roy abruptly decided to close his award-winning Breadfolks in Hudson two years ago and return to shutter bugging, a sizable chunk of Columbia County’s population reacted as if they lived in Memphis and Elvis had just died. There are some still in mourning. 

Well, arise grief-stricken carb addicts! Nora Allen has come to save you and restore your love handles. The James Beard award-winning pastry chef has abandoned her Lower East Side location on Ludlow Street in NYC, appropriately relocating to Breadfolks’ original spot on Warren. Preceded by Allen’s deserved reputation, Mel The Bakery immediately generated the same long customer lines that were there previously. The uplifting difference is that unlike its predecessor, Mel’s makes more than five of everything, so if you don’t set up your lean-to in line at dawn, there’ll still be an ample selection when you show up to a shorter line at 10am. 

It’s a bakery, not a café, though there are tables and chairs outside when weather is nice, there’s no indoor seating. No matter. Mel’s staff smiles, looks you in the eye, doesn’t get cranky when questioned about each pastry, nor do they box a large order as if doing you a big favor.

On one visit we ordered a country loaf, a sourdough boule, garlic knots, a plain croissant, blueberry muffin, veggie Danish, ham and cheese croissant, blackberry pie, a pistachio twice baked pastry, a tomato tart, a cinnamon roll and a sandwich of smoked salmon, cream cheese and pickled onions on focaccia. I was handed the box of goodies at 10am. By 5pm, all that was left were half loaves of the breads, one garlic knot and two bites of a tart. There we sat, just two of us, dazed but happy gluttons desperately in need of a treadmill. Allen’s croissant is perfect, with a crisp, darker than normal crust, and airy, cotton candy light layers in the middle. Allen’s smoked salmon focaccia is easily the best sandwich in town, maybe for miles. At the risk of enraging Lower East Side devotees of Russ & Daughters, it’s even more scrumptious and preferable than Russ & Daughters’ legendary lox and cream cheese on an everything bagel. It’s not because one is better than the other, but it’s just that Mel’s sandwich is unique. And that’s had me smiling big time. 

MEL THE BAKERY
324 Warren Street
Hudson, New York 12534
hours: Thursday – Sunday 9am-3pm
Closed Monday – Wednesday