This is not my favorite post.

An Opening Statement: This is my first attempt at a blog post in a minute or two. Just no time, what with me being Doc Smith in the Village of Hammondsport for the last year and a half. A lot has shifted in that time, not just in my environment but there’s been an internal shift towards a calmer, less angry, more forgiving nature in my thinking and my actions. I’m sure you’ll be hearing a lot more about this as I continue to contemplate my existence and outlook moving into the later years of life. My intent is to begin a veterinary blog to explain my philosophy of practice, the realities of an imperfect world, the continuing crises that permeate veterinary medicine, and just what I’m trying to accomplish in Hammondsport. But I like wine. I like food. I like people that choose to care about something passionately. That choose to be involved, rather than to merely exist. I’ll be writing about all these things as I struggle to become one of those people. I often jump subjects, both in writing and in conversation. I think you will find that is true here in abundance. Perhaps consider this article as a practice run after a long hiatus, but it might be equally useful to consider it a good indication of where I’m at right now. Trying to discern reason amongst the noise. The din. Hope you enjoy. In the future, all veterinary specific posts will be parked at smithveterinaryservice.com Hope to see you around.

This is an argument against favorites. A search for an open door. The thought of keeping your mind receptive in every way you possibly can, so you don’t miss things of import, or of interest.

Let me tell you about Cafe Mezcal and their seafood fajitas, which I avoided forever because they have that imitation, fake crab. Now, I like fake crab if I chop it up with a little mayonnaise for a seafood roll or something. I have nothing against it; I like the taste. But don’t call it crab, and don’t put it where real crab would go. I get it; seafood fajitas with real crab would probably cost you 60 bucks, maybe more these days. That wouldn’t fly in most Mexican restaurants, at Cafe Mezcal it would cost more than the margarita tower. Let’s see, an ounce or two of lump crab or margaritas for the entire table. Pretty easy choice.

So, I never ordered the seafood fajitas. But then one day, I thought, they sound so good otherwise—shrimp and whatever whitefish they use. I love Cafe Mezcal; I go to their locations on the road to Bath, and up in Penn Yan all the time. The people are nice, and while the menu has some Americanized, touristy offerings, you can find the real deal if you look. Try the pozole, the charro bean soup, or the pork—if you ask, they’ll put it on almost anything. It’s the real deal.

A compromise perhaps? I asked, “Can I get it without the fake crab? And if you put a little more fish on it, I’m not going to complain.” They did, and it was amazing. The shrimp were big and plump, cooked just right and savory with spices. But the fish? I guess I should explain about me and whitefish for a moment. A lot of people would judge a fine chef’s ability with seafood by how they cook a scallop. I get it. Scallops aren’t easy. They need that nice little pan sear sure, but they need attention to that fine line between done, and overdone. It’s certainly not something I’ve ever figured out at home. I mean, I can take a bag of bay scallops, those cute little morsels, and make a stuffing or a chowder that no one complains about. Don’t trust me with the big ones though, especially not the uber expensive dry ones. It will be a financial and emotional disaster, and at the end there will only be disappointment and rubbery flesh. Scallops are a passion I only enjoy when dining out.

But pity the poor whitefish, that blank slate of flavor to paint upon, to influence, to subtly bend to a chef’s desire. To coax. My friend Michael is the chef and co-owner at Dean Lane, a farm to table dining experience nestled in the farmland east of Waneta Lake. Michael’s scallops are beyond compare, to try to decide whether they are better than the best I’ve ever had would be pointlessly splitting hairs. When you’re at this altitude of fine dining it’s unreasonable to pick a favorite. Just close your eyes and savor. Michael says whitefish is way easier than scallops to prepare, so why is it that I can remember many sublime meals with scallops but falter when trying to do the same for whitefish? Perhaps it’s a bit of indifference? Scallops are more expensive on the menu, whitefish might seem like a bargain. If that’s how you perceive it, I would just point out that you better hope the chef doesn’t feel the same. Michael does not. He pushes things right to that dangerous line where perfectly done and overdone meet. He rides that line like a surfer catching a wave. I was, almost, ready to say that his whitefish is my favorite. But I’m not going to split hairs.

Now, about those seafood fajitas. Here’s the interesting part. Cafe Mezcal is a small chain with the same menu at every location. My assumption is that they use the same supplier for each location, although I don’t know for sure. I have been told there is the equivalent of an executive chef that oversees the menu and general preparation of all. So, same menu, same supplies, same recipes and same chef supervising. That is a pretty good recipe for consistency, and I assure you that the quality is consistently excellent at both locations I frequent. The quality. But ponder this, that executive chef can’t be everywhere at once. There must be a line chef of sorts at each location, someone doing the actual cooking. And that’s where things get interesting. Because the dish is slightly different at each location. At the one towards Bath, the whitefish has a heavier sear on it—not quite crispy, but tender, not overcooked. The one up in Penn Yan was seared lightly, but seemed almost poached, tender, not overcooked. Both are quite flavorful, I have not had enough occasion yet to evaluate subtle differences of aromas between them, but they are both excellent. Ask me which one I like best, and I cannot answer you. I like them both. Most of all, I like that they are different. Two chefs took the same ingredients, from the same menu and put a slightly different spin on them. I would order it at either place.

What’s the point? If you frequent Finger Lakes wineries and restaurants, a question you hear over and over is, “What’s your favorite wine? What’s your favorite winery?” Favorite restaurant? It’s a question that seems deceptively simple and is in fact quite complicated. Ask someone this week and their answer might be different from last week. Maybe they discovered a new wine that blew them away, so they have a new favorite. That kind of makes sense. But what if they had an argument with the winemaker? Or the chef? Maybe they met their hero in another environment where they were not talking professionally, but personally, and you disagreed. Did it change your opinion of the wine as well as the winemaker? Does the sublime turn to disappointment with this background information? And should it matter? Why do we need a favorite anyway? With wine at least, I think locking onto a few safe choices takes away the fear of embarrassment when dealing with the unfamiliar. It gives you a type of wine, or even a brand, to call for when asked by the bartender or server. But at what cost? If you get a favorite and lock into that, how much more is flying around you that you’ll never experience? Maybe that particular bartender has a personal drink recipe that will blow your mind. And you missed it.

This is an especially important concept in the Finger Lakes at this time of year, when the summer crowds are gone, the leaves have fallen, the seasonal establishments are locked up until spring, and the only ones left are the under employed year rounders. It’s the lean season, and it means that who you choose to support takes on an increasing urgency, perhaps bordering on desperation. In the off-season, hit the places you don’t always hit. They’ll need you. Think about the little tucked-away cafes and restaurants around Keuka Lake. The Quick Fill outside of Hammondsport has a pretty good breakfast pizza. We had it at the clinic for a staff meeting and my goal was to eat one slice only. I failed. They also have a $2 large coffee that’s pretty good. There’s Amity on Main Street in Penn Yan—I don’t know any better coffee. A new shop in Hammondsport, Service Station FLX, has a great chicken salad on a croissant. Maloney’s in Hammondsport is always a great place to watch a Bills game. If you’ll allow a bit of self promotion, a few of us are trying to get something going on Wednesday nights at Keg & Barrel. Something like an open mic, an open rehearsal, and a stage for new voices and new ideas. Sing, play, read poetry, it’s a pretty encouraging group, we’re hoping to get to the point where the audience outnumbers the players. I love the idea of a rough guide for Keuka Lake in the off-season: who’s open, what their hours are. I’m lost on the west side of the lake; it would be nice to know where to get food on a Sunday or Monday night. If this is an idea that resonates, start throwing out ideas in the comments and lets see where the horse runs.

As the new veterinarian in Hammondsport, my days are mostly spent putting out proverbial fires and responding to catastrophes of large and small proportions. My attention these days is limited. The world outside is loud and stressful, so for the sake of my mental health, I’ve drawn a 20-mile radius around Hammondsport and said, “This is where I can do some good.” It’s not as noisy, and I can listen to conversations, mostly about animals. I find common ground there. Everybody loves their animals, and when something is going on with a pet, everyone seems to feel about them the same way. I find it comforting that at some basic level, our emotions are pretty similar.

We get ideas in our heads, we get favorites, and we get locked into them. The differences between us are awesome; it’s what keeps life interesting, and it certainly keeps the internet humming, perhaps even shouting. I look at social media as being akin to obesity for the human race. I tell clients daily that I don’t consider obesity as a disease in itself, but as the great multiplier. It makes everything else worse. Social media does the same; it amplifies conversations that are already at fever pitch. You like THAT bar? Or THAT wine? Or THAT person? Or them? We feel strongly about a bar, a person, a group, a breed of dog, an idea, and we get locked in. I call it tunnel vision in medicine, letting what you think you already know influence your perception of what reality is. Perhaps allow yourself that little pause, that pondering moment, that instant to think, that maybe there are other reasonable restaurants, bars, wineries, opinions, or people.

I use AI extensively in my practice of medicine, but I worry when I see it used to create news and art. Is this the Terminator? Are we relinquishing the harder-to-do things? Are we contracting our humanity out to a third party that is not human? Spend a little time off social media. Go to a restaurant or winery you’ve never been to. Find a person who doesn’t agree with a single thing that comes out of your mouth and have a discussion about cars or wine. Allow yourself to consider that red might not be better than white wine. No favorites. Just wines, just foods, just people. Find something you can enjoy in any of those things.

I have a quote from Walt Whitman that I got from Ted Lasso. I had it on the wall above my desk in Pennsylvania, and I’ll have to put it up here: “Be curious, not judgmental.” The way they wrap it up in a dart match is pretty cool, and the words themselves are not a bad way to go through life. When that little gremlin rises that says, “This is my favorite” or “I hate this,” remember that the people who believe other things than you, believe them with equal passion. I raise the possibility that there just might not be a best way to be. Not a favorite.