A few posts ago, I wrote about how miserable it is in Maine in March. I will not belabor the point. I also mentioned that to survive the March doldrums, it is necessary to plan little outings and events to lift the spirits.

Last Saturday turned out to be a banner day for dealing with the March fidgets. My friend Claire and her sister Gail invited me to go  out to lunch with them. We went to Whitefield—a lovely rural community about twenty-five miles from Winthrop—to the Sheepscot General, a farm, store, and cafe in a converted dairy barn. In short, my kind of place.

A friendly snowman greeted us at the entrance.

The store is chockablock full of groceries and handcrafted items. Here is a view from the cafe.

Then there is the food. So very, very tasty. I ordered a tempeh Ruben.  (Clif and I have finally made the jump to vegetarianism. I’ll write more about this in another post. ) This Ruben had marinated tempeh, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and a thousand island dressing. On rye bread, of course.

Readers, that sandwich was utterly delicious. Tangy, sweet, and chewy.  I could have one right now and have been daydreaming about it on and off since Saturday. The day is soon coming when Clif and I will be constructing our own. I will definitely keep you posted.

A sandwich that good deserved a sweet ending, and Claire obliged by buying a piece of cake to generously share with Gail and me.

For this homebody who rarely goes farther than ten miles from her house, this outing would have been more than enough. However, there was another delight to come.

My friend Dawna had called me midweek. She said, “I want to have a tequila tasting party, and I immediately thought of you.”

I laughed a little nervously, not exactly sure if this was the reputation I wanted to have.

Dawna quickly added, “I know how much you like my margaritas.”

I surely do. They are the best in the area. Period.

Dawna continued, “For Christmas, we were given some really good tequila.  I want to make three pitchers—one with the expensive tequila and the other two with less expensive liquor.”

“Count me in,” I replied.

So when I got home from my Whitefield road trip, over Clif and I went to Dawna’s  house.

Here were the three different tequilas she used.

And here are pitchers of margaritas mixed with the three different tequilas.

We sipped small amounts of each one, not once but twice, and there really was a big difference in the way the different mixes tasted. Now, some qualification is necessary. If Dawna had given me a glass of any one of them, I would have been a happy woman. However, in comparison, for me the clear winner was the pitcher in the middle. The drink was smooth, not cloying, just the right amount of sweet. The one on the far right was also good, but a little too tart for my liking. The one on the the left was my least favorite. It had an almost artificial taste, even though there was nothing artificial in it. (Dawna makes her own lime juice base.)

Here is a line-up of what went in each pitcher.

I was chuffed to discover that my preference was for the most expensive liquors. There truly is a marked difference.

So there. Onward, ho, and take that March!