Bellport, NY


Lily Pond,
44 Three Mile Harbor Road, East Hampton; 646/619-1217
I think I got some color this weekend. After a deal for a house in the Catskills fell through, our friend whose family owns a house in
Bellport kindly invited us out. Being completely inept at Long Island geography and having dabbled in the Hamptons scene in a champagne-induced haze, I had no idea what was in store.
We wanted to avoid the weekend crush and so we started the night in town with dinner at
Babbo. The food was amazing and more specially, warm and inviting. After dining out in a spate of new restaurants, few places (Little Owl exempt) manage to woo their diners with the same kind of reverie. The wine choice by the sommelier was fantastic, a Valtellina Storzato, 'Ruccolta,' La Castellina, 2001, from Lombardia. A mouthful to say, but a better mouthful to swallow.
Favorites from the menu included beef tripe parmigiana and the signature mint-love letters. Having always associated beef tripe with Asian fare like dim sum, the Babbo version was perfectly simmered into a velvety concoction with a memorable lingering mouthfeel. The combination of mint and lamb sausage in the love letters (or ravioli) was a nice play on the typical lamb shank and mint gelee. The soft shell crab special was on limited demand, but we managed to snag the second to last one. The night was looking lucky.
We headed to the train station with warm bellies and shoulders just realizing their weekend posture. Once in Penn Station, we happened to miss the weekend crush, but we were not so lucky to miss the Van Halen concert heading home. We were in a sea of half-hearted mullets and faded black band tees that at some time very long ago might have fit. There was also the stray girl crew of Forever 21 skirts in every different color with the single-minded aspiration to help the good ol' boys celebrate Fleet Week.
It was with a breath and sigh that we found seats on the train. But by the time we arrived in Bellport the train bulge had significantly diminished, like our digested Babbo bellies, and there was a calm in the air. The next day we woke to sunshine, air perfumed by oxygen (as only a city dweller can appreciate) and blue jays chattering. The Bellport beach is part of Fire Island and locals and expats alike take a ferry or boat across the bay to reach the ocean. The beach is remarkably empty as if we stumbled upon a treasure chest not yet marked on the map; there was no honking by the Holland Tunnel, nor was there the scene of the Hamptons. The next day one of our host's friends took us to the Bellport beach via private boat. It was luxe in an understated sort of way, the kind that New Yorkers tend to protect with lack of promotion. Upon more conversation, we discovered that the owner of Condé Nast,
S.I. Newhouse and his wife have a house in Bellport and that
Ms. Anna Wintour owns part of the William Floyd Estate just 15 minutes down the Montauk Highway.
Admittedly, we did take a sceney detour to East Hampton on Saturday night for a trunk show and then to newly-opened
Lily Pond. Connected to the new Kobe Club, the latter had great music and the mob of stilettos tripping on gravel outside seemed to insure a summer hit. But after only a Grey Goose or two, we headed out early for the reprieve of Bellport, it's clean air and subtle charm.