I feel like a lame rookie for even getting excited about this, but whatever. It’s my first appearance on A1.

Naturally, the story is food-related. As a 122-year-old Bloomfield meat packer closes its doors, it also ends production of a legendary Connecticut food: the two-foot hot dog at Doogie’s in Newington. Grote & Weigel has made the proprietary frankfurter for Doogie’s since 1999.

Doogie’s monster dog has been featured on the Travel Channel’s “Man v. Food” and in Everyday With Rachael Ray magazine, so its demise is significant. Yesterday, I found myself at the restaurant during a line-out-the-door lunch rush, interviewing fans who’d come to say a final farewell to the big dog. That became a Business-section story in itself.

Naturally, I’ve been craving a hot dog ever since.

Southwest burger (NICK CAITO)

I think it’s safe to say West Hartford is overrun with burger places. So much so, that my blogger friend Steve Wood (of CT Museum Quest) is going through 48 of the town’s burgers in the next year as a blog project.

While reading Steve’s most recent results last night, I remembered that Nick Caito and I had visited one of the town’s newest spots, BGR Burger Joint, in early December. We had just sampled a $30 tea cocktail across the street at Treva (for work, really) and needed some food in our stomachs.

BGR is a cool place to grab a quick bite. A Virginia-based chain, the West Hartford restaurant is the first in Connecticut. The Farmington Avenue space is sort of music-themed, decorated with album covers and an early-90s soundtrack to boot (at least during the afternoon we visited.) It’s very casual. There’s no waiter service; you grab your order from the counter and choose a seat.

Burgers range from classic beef (“prime, dry-aged, all natural, hormone free, grain-fed” according to the website) to alternative proteins like turkey, lamb, ahi tuna and lobster.

Sides include fries (Yukon Gold; Idaho sweet potatoes); grilled asparagus spears or thick-cut, beer battered Vidalia onion rings. To drink: extra-thick milkshakes, fountain soda (West Hartford has one of those Coca-Cola “Freestyle” machines, with eleventeen billion flavor options) and beer and wine.

I wanted a beef burger, but I was holding steady with our week of vegetarian eating and I didn’t want to be the one who cheated. So I ordered the ahi tuna version, seemingly shocking the cashier when I asked for it to be cooked rare (how else would you eat it?)

Ahi tuna burger (NICK CAITO)

As you can see, it was a beautiful seven-ounce piece of fresh fish, seared lightly and topped with teriyaki sauce, grilled pineapple and BGR’s creamy, spicy “mojo” sauce. Like a maki roll on brioche instead of rolled in rice and nori. Probably one of the better tuna burgers I’ve had.

Nick went with the Southwestern burger, which the cashier described as less of a burger than the consistency of a packed Sloppy Joe. The meat was a bit loose, but contained plenty of flavor from chipotles, poblanos, onion and chilis, along with mojo, pepperjack cheese and black bean salsa.

I wasn’t crazy about the Yukon Gold fries (they were standard-cut and kind of bland) but I did love the array of condiments ready for the taking. Plenty of ketchup, mayonnaise, various mustards and my favorite fried-food enhancer: malt vinegar. And the fries can be topped with Parmesan, rosemary or roasted garlic for an upcharge, should you need a hit of flavor.

If you’re craving a burger in West Hartford, you can throw a rock and hit at least a dozen joints. Some are lackluster, some are wildly overpriced. BGR is in the middle; priced for a quick lunch or dinner but with plenty of quality offerings. Worth a visit.

BGR Burger Joint, 983 Farmington Avenue, West Hartford Center. 860-523-3152, bgrtheburgerjoint.com.

If there’s one thing I love more than food in general, it’s trying new foods. Especially ethnic cuisines that I haven’t yet sampled. In the final days of 2011, I was able to check another one off my bucket list – Ethiopian.

I met several Hartford-area friends for lunch at Abyssinian today. Unfortunately, in the excitement of experiencing new things and catching up with my buddies, I took off my journalist hat. And that means I didn’t accurately note the proper names for our dishes. Apologies. I welcome intel from those familiar with the items!

If you’ve never had Ethiopian, prepare to get your hands dirty. Utensils disappear, to be replaced by trays of injera, a sour, spongy flatbread. You use pieces of the flatbread to scoop meat and vegetable stews. It takes some getting used to (and lots of napkins) but it’s a fun experience, particularly if you’re with a big group.

Appetizer: spicy collard greens cooked with cottage cheese (reminded me of spanakopita filling)

Ground beef balls, served with salad

An edible tray: injera with vegetables

Doro wat (see, I remembered mine!) - chicken stew with hardboiled egg

Spiced lamb bits

I’m looking forward to going back to Abyssinian and trying more delicacies. We tried to order sambusas (pastries filled with meat and vegetables) but were told the “sambusa guy was sick.” Next time, I may go for a beef or lamb dish – without utensils, it was difficult to pull the dark-meat chicken from the bone.

There are good servers, who are friendly and attentive and remember all the details of your order. And then there are great servers, who are so obviously (and legitimately) enthusiastic about a menu item that you feel the need to try it for yourself.

I’d hoped to snag seats in the bar at Vito’s By The Water in Windsor during happy hour last night, but that’s near impossible at 6 p.m. for a restaurant within a few-mile radius of a dozen office parks. So while that meant no half-price raw bar deals, it meant a quiet dinner table away from the after-work crowd and two simultaneous office holiday parties in nearby private rooms.

Our server immediately recommended Vito’s new Zinfandel flight ($12), tasting pours of three XYZin selections. I almost tuned out, because Zin is not my favorite – and overly peppery ones take me back to last December in Sonoma when I missed lunch and didn’t pace myself. (Don’t do that, by the way. Ever.)

But her genuine excitement for this wine won me over, and I ordered the flight, representing XYZin’s “Vine Age Series.” Tasting notes from xyzinwines.com:

The first one, from 10-year vines: “A medium-bodied Zinfandel, XYZin 10 bursts with upfront fruit. The wine offers appealing aromas of raspberry, currant and plum with a hint of sandalwood and lavender. The flavors echo the aromatics with juicy cherry and baked strawberry pie married to attractive pomegranate fruit, rounded out by suggestions of nutmeg and cocoa.”

The second, from 50-year vines: “XYZin 50 offers beautiful briar and pomegranate fruit at its core followed by waves of sandalwood, mocha, and a light whiff of pepper on the finish.  The refined structure and polished spice are perfected through aging in French oak barrels and make the wine versatile enough to complement a variety of dishes.”

The third, and easily the most gorgeous, from 100-year vines: “Lovely cola nut and dark cherry fruit flavors are followed by strawberry jam and cappuccino. Firm, zesty acidity provides vibrancy and longevity and mingles with pleasing earthy accents of slate and chaparral. Aging in a blend of French, American and Eastern European oak imparts a sophisticated array of textures to complement the extensive depth and range of flavors present in the fruit.”

I don’t know if I picked up even half of that, but all I know is that the 100-year wine just smacked of refined beauty. The same “this is so amazing, I know it’s so expensive, I don’t want it to end, because I can’t afford a whole bottle” mixture of pleasure and pain I’ve experienced while tasting Opus One and Rodney Strong’s ridiculous Rockaway. But unlike those, it looks like this XY is retail-priced around $45. Not an everyday table wine, but not a break-the-bank bottle, either.

The 10-year, the lightest and fruitiest, seemed to be the most food-friendly and went nicely with my white ricotta-and-herb pizza. But I saved the “century” pour, trying to sip the two-ounce glass really slowly because I wanted it to last as long as possible.

And it’s all thanks to our server (whose name I didn’t catch, but our check said “Sara”) who took the time to point out this great find. It was a wonderful treat on a Tuesday night.

My latest story for the Courant is about online-review sites like Yelp, Urbanspoon and OpenTable, and how restaurant owners and chefs respond to all the instantaneous feedback. It’s online here and runs in print Thursday. I got an incredible response for this one. Those on the receiving end of reviews had plenty to say about it, naturally.

And because I didn’t have the ability to link it online, here’s the Funny or Die “Yelpers” video I referenced in print.

Remember two and a half years ago, when I didn’t drink beer? Me either.

Somehow I’ve gone from a beginner beer drinker – favoring light Belgians and fruit-flavored seasonal stuff – to enjoying seriously dark, heavy, hoppy, high-ABV craft selections. (I go H.A.M.)

This Stone dinner at Max’s Oyster Bar was right up my (new) alley. Six spicy courses were paired up with several special-release craft beers from the hugely popular San Diego-area brewery.

Photo Gallery: Stone Beer Dinner

From huckleberry-yuzu bluenose crudo to Thai curry-infused chocolate custard, the flavors paired beautifully with the big, robust brews. And the alcohol content of those beers = no joke.

At left, a 50+ pound tree limb. At right, my car.

Yeah, we’ve had a hell of a weekend. If you’re not living it, you may have heard about it – New England suffered a massive freak snowstorm Saturday night. And because it was about six weeks ahead of schedule, the leaves hadn’t fully fallen off the trees. Extra leaves on trees = excess weight = trees coming down on power lines, buildings, cars and anything in their path. Parts of the state are destroyed. The Connecticut Department of Transportation said the damage is “five times worse” than Tropical Storm Irene, which hit at the end of August.

We are currently one of the 750,000 Connecticut households without power, which we lost around 5 p.m. Saturday. At one point, our entire town of just under 50,000 people was 100% in the dark. Almost every tree in our condo complex is splintered, cracked in half or somehow uprooted. The road we live on was down to one lane of travel, because there was so much debris (and downed power lines) in the street. I have never seen anything like it in my life.

We spent Sunday morning scrambling for a hotel, after the one we booked Saturday night lost power. Hilton corporate rebooked us at a hotel in Glastonbury (35 minutes away) and by the time we got there, they also had no power. Meanwhile, we had to travel 15 minutes north to Springfield, Mass. to fill up my gas tank. (Things I will NEVER forget to do again: fill up my car before a predicted storm.)

After striking out in Glastonbury, we decided to spend the night at home with no heat. But if there were any saving graces during the day, it would be the following:

* Our gas water heater that allowed us to take hot showers, despite the lack of power. When the temperature in the house drops to 50 degrees, it’s a damn godsend. I felt human again, just for a little while.

* Our gas grill, that’s normally used year-round anyway: We finished cooking Saturday dinner (pizza) on the grill; used it to reheat leftovers, and then grilled up cheeseburgers yesterday afternoon after giving up on our hotel plans. Later, Rob used the grill’s side burner to boil up some pasta, and then we grilled up a bag of frozen shrimp. With red wine and candles, it was almost romantic – except for our six layers of clothing.

* The cold temperatures: Thankfully, the freezing temps outside meant we were able to keep our perishables “refrigerated.” We filled three coolers with food and ice packs – and then dragged them up to my parents’ house today.

* Dunkin’ Donuts in Spencer, Mass.: Oh. My. God. I have never been happier to see a large French vanilla coffee with skim in my life.

We’re currently enjoying refugee status somewhere with heat, electricity, Internet and all the creature comforts that have suddenly become a luxury in this time of climate change.

If you’re in the midst of this storm, how have you fared?

If you’d asked me 10 years ago where I’d be on Sept. 11, 2011, I doubt I would have answered, “Petting a baby goat while holding a bagful of fingerling potatoes and farmstead cheese.” But here we are.

Like so many other bloggers, I was going to write about Sept. 11. I was going to share “my story,” which consists of me waking up ludicrously late that day (even for a college student) and finding out about the terror attacks after the North and South Towers had already collapsed.

Certainly, there are images I’ll never forget, from that day and the weeks following.

My roommate calling her family and asking, “We’re going to war now, aren’t we, Mom?” Another roommate – an Indian-American woman – getting frantic calls from her parents, telling her to stay away from Boston in case someone misjudged her dark skin and tried to retaliate.

Driving home to my own parents’ house, seeing 10 cars parked outside a Worcester family’s home, and finding out later that the young mother was aboard Flight 11 out of Logan Airport. Riding in the car later that night with my father, and hearing the news on the radio that 7 World Trade Center had collapsed. Returning to campus to see a bevy of American flags, hanging from dorm windows and walls (which overzealous resident directors squawked about, considering them “tapestries” and therefore against the rules.)

Whether it’s maturity or the sentimentality that comes with changed life circumstances, I find the anniversary sadder and more horrific each year. I knew I’d be glued to coverage if I stayed home, so we made plans to hit the road.

Like that day a decade ago, Sunday’s weather was gorgeous. Perfect for a road trip we’ve been meaning to make for at least a year: the Coventry Regional Farmers’ Market. It’s a beautifully organized weekly event held Sundays from June to October, featuring dozens of vendors and lots of fun activities.

Wandering around to booths selling heirloom tomatoes, artisan breads, homemade soaps, local seafood and herbs was oddly relaxing. I even found myself practically chasing a woman holding the most adorable golden retriever puppy I’d ever seen (and I’m kicking myself for not getting a photo of him.)

While Sept. 11 will never be a normal day again, there was comfort and joy in little vignettes. The pissed-off looking dog sitting among a half-dozen alpacas in a makeshift pen, which we laughed about for the first 10 minutes of our ride home. The uber-fresh Swiss chard that we sauteed with garlic, chicken broth and red pepper flakes. And the sense that we’d done something good by supporting local Connecticut (and therefore, American) agriculture, producers and small businesses.

The famous white clam pizza at Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana

August marked the sixth anniversary of my move to Connecticut, when I enrolled in Quinnipiac University’s graduate journalism program. And I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t originally the biggest fan of the Nutmeg State.

In short, my 2005 thoughts pretty much dovetailed with the recent “Worst 50 States in America” series on Gawker, where Connecticut was ranked midway at #31.

“Connecticut is mostly just America’s suburb, a string of medium-sized towns rolling into medium-sized towns, only to be briefly interrupted by decaying heaps like Bridgeport, New Haven, and Hartford. Connecticut has some of the least character or local flavor in the country…”

I spent the first 24 years of my life in Worcester, Mass., which is short on sophistication but long on character. And accents. Like much of central and eastern Massachusetts, Worcester identifies quite a bit with Boston culture, especially its sports fanaticism. Connecticut, which is known derisively as a “drive-through” state to New Yorkers and Bostonians, has no peculiar speech patterns. No strict allegiance to one baseball team. And unlike the rest of New England, they REALLY care about college sports. (But when both UConn basketball teams are national champions, that’s a given.)

So what changed my mind? Well, the food.

In the past six years, I’ve realized just how unique and tremendous Connecticut cuisine can be. This is a state that put pizza and burgers on the map, and serves some of the best of each in the country. Its rich agriculture delivers some stunning crops, and its seas produce incredible fresh shellfish. Cato Corner Farm in Colchester sells its raw-milk cheeses to some of New York’s most celebrated restaurants. And while the state’s vino may not be competing on international circuits yet, the Connecticut Wine Trail is a wonderful weekend tourist attraction, and the wines are improving each year.

I was reminded of how far I’d come yesterday, when I had lunch at Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana with my newlywed friends Diana and Rob. They just returned from a four-week cross-country road trip (see their blog and photos here.) Though they’d tried some of the best regional food in the United States, they waited until their homecoming to indulge a major pizza craving. I think that says something.

As I bit into Pepe’s signature white clam pie, I was struck dumb by the freshness of the seafood. I’ve had the pizza plenty of times before, but this was easily the best I’d had in years. (Maybe a Friday shellfish delivery?) The clams themselves were big, plump and chewy, but it was more about how the marine flavor seeped into the crust and amplified the garlic, herbs and cheese to dizzyingly delicious levels. Unbelievable.

Five years ago, my heart sank as I watched an Enfield DMV clerk chuck my old Massachusetts driver’s license into the trash. Today, it’s a distant memory as I heat up Pepe’s leftovers and take a perfect bite of Connecticut.

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As I write this, Hurricane Irene is hauling ass up the East Coast, ready to pummel the Northeast with wind and water. Depending on whose opinion you value, it’s either going to be a really big rainstorm, or absolute Armageddon. So here’s hoping this post is not an “In Memoriam” to the shoreline eateries and attractions I so love.

Anyway. After experiencing White Gate’s amazing farm dinner Thursday night, we made a weekend out of it, staying in Groton and visiting some of Connecticut’s most beautiful seaside towns. We stopped at five farm wineries, ate meals by the water and enjoyed the sun – a surprising bonus, given the original rainy weekend forecast.

Here’s a sampling of the weekend’s good eats:

Watch Hill oysters at Dog Watch Cafe in Stonington. So nice, we ate them twice - Rob ordered a second dozen after we finished the first plate.

Lobster ravioli in a lobster chive cream sauce at Bravo Bravo in Mystic. Decadence personified.

Bravo Bravo's lamb loin with feta and tabouli

2010 sauvignon blanc at Saltwater Farm Vineyard, Stonington

Maugle Sierra Vineyards, Ledyard

Shrimp cocktail at Bill's Seafood, Westbrook

Soft-shelled crab sandwich at Bill's. This photo never fails to crack me up.

Lobster roll at Bill's. Yeah, it has mayo. Suck it.

Marinated conch salad at Cafe Routier, Westbrook, from the Barbados "regional" menu.

Stonington scallops with smoked vanilla vinaigrette at Cafe Routier

The best thing about vacationing on the Connecticut shore? We were home in just over an hour.

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