We saw New Hampshire only by highway. We made arrangements for a late lunch with a Warcraft friend; he claimed that Andover, New Hampshire was almost devoid of restaurants of any quality, and he claimed (without contradiction from Roadfood.com) that Concord, New Hampshire had no restaurants of local note. So we met him at a T. G. I. Friday's in Concord. The conversation was pleasant, but I realized when we left that I had no memory of my sandwich other than the taste of the Italian dressing on the accompanying salad. Enough about Friday's.
A backwoods drive through lots of pretty scenery led us to Shaw's Ridge Farm, a dairy farm / miniature golf course / barbecue restaurant / ice cream shop. We were intent upon seeking it out, because the intrepid researchers behind The Quest for the Best Ice Cream of New England had given it stellar reviews, and we felt a purely academic (those two words are a lie) interest in confirming their research. (For Science!)
There were lots of pretty flowers around the ice cream shop:
And the grounds had a very cute playhouse that made me wonder if there was a story there:
Lori got a hot fudge sundae made with the native blueberry ice cream. As buffetbuster has pointed out, sundaes pose a problem for photography, because all that shows is whipped cream. Lori judged it excellent; I recall that it had a vivid blueberry flavor.
I chose the native strawberry ice cream, because the Best New England Ice Cream report said, "The standard by which all strawberry ice creams should be measured. If every strawberry ice cream tasted this good, people would switch their ice cream allegiance from chocalate to fruit flavors." Unfortunately, with the utmost respect to my esteemed colleagues, I was unable to replicate their results. The ice cream was pretty good, certainly, but it had large strawberry chunks and whole strawberries. What's not to like about whole strawberries? Well, when frozen into ice cream, they turned into big slushy hunks that did not have the creamy texture of ice cream. I would have enjoyed this ice cream much more if the strawberries had been chopped small enough that I got ice cream in every bite, instead of having bites that were nothing but strawberry slush.
I'm not sure what possessed me to sample the barbecue sandwich. It wasn't hunger. Perhaps it was just a recurrent perverse curiosity to see what happens to foods whose authentic forms I know when they are taken far out of their native element. (The clearest example of this was probably Haus der Taco. But I digress.) Unfortunately, in my judgement, Shaw Ridge Farm should stick to ice cream. The beef brisket sandwich was fairly tough, and it was not sliced against the grain, so it came out in long shreds that needed to be worried at to tear off a bite. We ended up discarding the sandwich mostly uneaten.
Next: Red's Eats