The college's Cabin and Trail group has a subgroup of students who meet tour the region and meet early every Wednesday to try a different diner in the Upper Connecticut River Valley. They even have a wikiDOC of diner reviews based on their years of touring.
At 6:00 a.m. I drove to Hanover through misty weather to meet members of the Dartmouth Outing Club behind Robinson Hall. It was a little awkward to be the first to arrive, and to be the only formally dressed, older, and awake person to greet the eight others in the parking lot behind Robinson Hall.
But the students were friendly and welcoming—and once our leader, Dennis, found someone who could drive stick shift (turned out it was himself), we were on the road to Claremont.
Daddypop's was adorable, delicious, and cheap. Dennis said that along with Eaton's SugarHouse in it is at the top of the DinerToure list.
The place is in a real dining rail car and is so small that our group took up two tables. I shared a booth bench with two other girls—I sat on the end and only one buttock fit. All of the cooking was done before our very eyes, right behind the counter. There is something inherently comforting about that.
I asked Dennis what the best thing on the menu was, and he said it had to be the daddyfries.
"What's great about the daddyfries," I asked.
"The name," he said.
The other students at the group pondered what to eat. Some based their choices on the classes they'd take later in the day.
"You first need to decide if you're going to go savory or sweet," Dennis instructed.
"I have a psych class," the girl to my left said.
"Oh, definitely sweet, then," says Dennis.
(I'm still trying to figure out the reasoning behind that one.)
I ordered three pancakes with two scrambled eggs on top. The waitress broke the tragic news that they were out of real maple syrup. I told her I would live and would still go through with the pancake order. The cakes were huge (I actually left half of one uneaten) and tasty. I detected nutmeg.
"The pancakes are good!" I told James, the cook behind the counter. "Did you put nutmeg in them?"
"Nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla," said James, tapping one finger with another as he marked off each ingredient. "And they're flapjacks, so they're larger, and they always have nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla."
(This topic of flapjacks vs. pancakes requires further research.)
I listened to the students chatter as I concentrated on eating exclusively with my right hand in order not to jab the student snugly to my left. I heard their summer vacation stories about touring a lackluster chocolate factory in Ghana; visiting someone's best friend in Berkeley who is adopted, lesbian, Jewish, and half chinese and half black; and what it was like to work for a farmers' market in Maine that made deliveries by boat. Oh, those interesting Dartmouth kids.
Before I knew it our meal was over, the waitress came to gather our plates, but not before I grabbed a daddyfry from Dennis'.
It was good. A thick wedge of fresh-cut potato, deep-fried, with more than a hint of paprika.
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| A regular? |
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| Fueling-up for class |
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| Daddyfries |
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| Our leader |
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