The Bright Spot...

When I hear the word 'Oriole', I think of the professional baseball team, Cal Ripken, Jr., and investing years of my weekly allowance collecting Topps baseball cards with that terribly hard piece of bubble gum in each 20 pack of cards. I should probably dig up those cards...maybe there's some money to be made? I'm pretty sure I have a few Bo Jackson All-Star cards and a Jose Canseco Rookie of the Year card (juiced up of course.) But I digress.

I looked up 'Oriole' and these birds are characterized as "bright and showy" with colorful plumage. That connotation was much more appropriate when considering my sensational experience at "Oriole9", the bright spot on our rough trip to Roxbury back in February.

Driving home, we planned a lunch pit stop in Woodstock, having never done more than drive through the town in the past. During last summer's drive-by of the town, I'd spied some quirky 'Woodstockers' roaming the streets clad in period garb from the heydays and stores that appeared to contain some titillating treasures. Arriving in town, we were welcomed by those same quirky folk adorning the sidewalks in their hippy gear while drowning us with their melodies. I'm certain street-side concerts are the only way they can add "I've played at Woodstock" to their musical accolades.

Food was our priority so once we parked we perused a menu or two before deciding on "Oriole9" mainly selecting it to fulfill my need to um...well, use the facilities. Secretly I think my body was guiding us to the pot of gold at the end of our somewhat somber rainbow of a weekend. And thank god for that. We were seated almost immediately despite the line of parties of 4+ (another pro of being a party of 2!) I ordered a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and the boy went for an Ommegang Stout. Perfect. But no. The waitress returned quickly, "I'm so sorry, but we're out of that beer. How about the Six Point Triple Sweet Action." Perfect. But no. Again, she returned...uh-oh, I didn't like where this was headed. And from the boy's face, he didn't either. Was this weekend just perpetually doomed? But this time the waitress returned with a cold beer in hand; she'd taken it upon herself to get him something similar, and apparently the last bottle of it. A gulp of relief.

Oriole9, as photographed by "Experience Woodstock" Blogger.

Starved, we perused the menu and the specials. Where to begin. I could eat my toe. We ordered up some homemade hot wings (extra spicy) while we mulled it over. On the specials list was a lamb wrap sandwich with all sorts of yummyness inside....specifically a grilled lamb kofte with roasted tomato, shredded red onion, and basil cream. Typically, the boy and I will order separate dishes so we can share; once we asked inquired about the special, the waitress's face and the whimper of delight that escaped her solidified our order: one lamb wrap each. Add pickles. To our dismay, they forgot the pickles. But what was an incredibly tasty and scrumptiously delicious wrap fared just as well alone. Not a morsel was left on our plates. I didn't even take the time for a photo.

While enjoying our meal and our bevies, I read an article in "edible Hudson Valley" about the restaurant and it's history. A charming story to go along with our very charming meal...the lucky charm at the end of our not so charmed Catskill escape.