The worst thing about leaving Ithaca for fall break is having to come back. I can only compare the feeling I have as the bus turns off 81 toward Whitney Point to the feeling I had when my favorite goldfish, Lucy, died in a tragic inside-the-house golfing accident.
It’s not necessarily the rain or the wind or the ruralness of the place that makes me feel this way. It’s the absence of meat.
Ithaca is without a doubt meat-hater heaven. The ABC Caf