Review Reviews: Sugarbush Farm

Several weekends ago, a group of Reviewers took a day trip into Woodstock, Vermont, to the quaint Sugarbush Farm. For us, visiting Sugarbush, a family-owned business dating to 1945, seemed like a trip back in time. Indeed, the aura enveloping this picturesque spot in an already scenic state seemed to harken to an era long before COVID—to a time, moreover, when our more broadly modern crises and societal dysfunction could hardly be dreamt of. In this way, The Review’s visit to Sugarbush Farm felt like a return to an older America, a disappearing America—the old-fashioned, charming sort of place one finds in books and films but rarely takes the time to personally seek out, visit, and support.

It was this intention to experience something different and authentically American that led us to make Sugarbush Farm the object of our first Upper Valley Appreciation Trip (UVAT) of the spring. Our journey began with a car ride through the Upper Valley from Hanover, to Quechee, to Woodstock. During our trip, we and three other Reviewers, packed into a small Mazda sedan, witnessed some quintessential Vermont scenery: red wooden barns, covered bridges, and, of course, the rocky depths of the Quechee Gorge. 

As we drove into the mountains that shelter the beauty of Sugarbush Farm, our journey suddenly became rather treacherous. Paved roads turned to gravel and then deep, thick mud that threatened to force our front-wheel-drive vehicle off the road. After a slide down one hill and a trek up another, we finally reached our destination.

For a farm that consistently attracts visitors and has a nationally distributed annual catalog, Sugarbush was refreshingly unassuming and unaffected. We are happy to report that we found no workers whose specific job it was to pronouncedly deal with obstreperous tourists (though all of the workers with whom we spoke were at once helpful and knowledgeable), nor were there any kitschy stations or exhibits of the “try-it-yourself” variety. In fact, the only immediately visible indications that Sugarbush might be anything other than a conventional working farm were a goat-petting station and several farm-themed cutouts in which photo-prone visitors could pose. (We were ultimately among said visitors, and you may thank us now for not including the resulting photo alongside this piece. And yes, we pet the goats, too.) In short, Sugarbush promised to yield an experience of good, old-fashioned, American farm fun. And that’s just what it did.

Upon our arrival, we made our way into the farm store, in which we encountered a kindly worker who provided us with samples of the homemade cheeses which the Luce Family, the owners of the farm, have long been producing and selling. (Side note: They are of no relation to Henry and Clare Booth, apparently.) We sampled jalapeno cheddar, then a more mellow cheddar, and finally a gouda-like cheese that had been smoked for three days over hickory and maple chips. This third type, we were told, has won numerous awards—a feat which we found unsurprising as it happened to be our favorite of the three (though the cheddars were certainly outstanding too). 

The worker in question then directed us to our next stop: a logged building inside of which we found a large tank, known as an “evaporator,” in which the sap from the farm’s maple trees is boiled down to create maple syrup. While the day of our visit proved slightly too chilly for the evaporator to run, little imagination was required to visualize the giant tank before us—occupying well-nigh the entirety of the room—boiling down tremendous amounts of sap. There was even a small stream of sap running along the floor on which we were standing, clearly emerging from the evaporator. 

Stepping over this stream, we could not help but notice that it was not particularly viscous—certainly not in comparison to maple syrup. In fact, it was quite the opposite, flowing not unlike water. Some large signage was to come to our aid and vindicate our powers of aqueous observation: It takes 40 gallons of sap, boiled down (read: concentrated) in an evaporator, to form a single gallon of what we know to be maple syrup. 

Walking further into the building in which the evaporator was housed, we came across a certain collection that piqued our interest. Indeed, filling the gaps between various posters, which provided a wealth of botanical or otherwise dendrological information about the phenomenon that is the maple tree, was a collection of old photographs and image-laden newspaper clippings. These were remarkably emotive, evoking an antiquated era of maple syrup production—horses, hand-tapping, and all. 

As we made our way out of the logged building, we saw a truck, rather than a horse cart, unloading an enormous quantity of sap. This was done by way of a pipe, which steered the sap into an appendage of the evaporator that extended outside. Disappointed though we were not to see the older process, it was thrilling to hear the sap speed through the pipe into the building whence we emerged. 

Now definitively out of doors, we proceeded, as signs suggested, up the wooded, hillish land on which Sugarbush is situated. We ascended through these woods, observing a long sap-transporting tube stretching between taps on hundreds if not thousands of maple trees. We had to dodge this tube on multiple occasions, as it looped back and forth above the path that we were following. Nailed to several trees also were factoids that helped us better appreciate the intricacies of maple syrup farming. For instance, we learned that maple trees’ bark is their only distinguishing feature during the winter. (Though, of course, identification is hardly a problem at Sugarbush, where the trees are almost without exception maples.)

Towards the top of the hill we came across a small chapel, over which hung the rather beautiful axiom: “The Lord, the land, the maples, the animals. These are our providers.” We found this a quote well fit for display, as the landscape and the chapel itself did indeed evince a certain sanctity. Upon entering this small chapel, we saw that it was adorned with some beautifully ornamental decorations, and we also saw an advertisement for weddings as well as photo albums featuring the happy couples who had gotten married there.

We then made our way back down the hillside to take some photos in cutouts and to see the goats, whom, as aforementioned, we spent some time petting. We also saw some horses just beyond the goats, and we came across a friendly “farm dog.” Finally, we returned to the farm store, where we spoke with a member of the management, who advised us on representative products for us to purchase, sample, and discuss in The Review. 

And thus, to supplement our in-person visit to Sugarbush, we decided to take some of the farm home with us. As the excitement of our journey to the farm turned into a sugar-low-induced stupor on the way back to Dartmouth, the promise of tasting everything from Sugarbush orange soda, to homemade “monkey bread,” to maple candy, to homemade cheese kept us awake. Rushing back into the office with a barely contained urge to devour, we tore upon our haul.

Sugarbush’s orange soda set the tone. We uncapped our glass bottles to nothing but a backdraft of carbonation and a satisfying hiss. In contrast to that of Sunkist, Fanta, and the generic brands, Sugarbush’s carbonation was none too strong and was perfectly soft. Like L’Oréal’s Kids Shampoo, this orange concoction was deliciously without tears. The orange flavor was more like a hint, but no one really drinks orange soda for the flavor anyway. The real cane sugar made for a fantastic drinking experience. For cola, people like to recommend Mexican Coke. From now on, when it comes to orange soda, we’ll be recommending the Sugarbush Farm label.

A bun of homemade maple “monkey bread” kept the cavalcade of culinary delight going. The layer of maple-cinnamon goo which covered the top of the bun served as an excellent complement to the buttery brioche-like bread underneath. While the aesthetics of the bun lacked refinement, this mattered not. The key feature of a homemade good of this sort is invariably its taste, rather than its appearance.

Next, came the cheese. We bought the extra-sharp cheddar and smoked cheese that we had sampled at the start of our venture. In lieu of the mild cheddar, we also brought back with us jalapeno-cayenne aged cheddar ‘nibbles’ as well as horseradish-flavored aged cheddar.

Encased in a shell of wax, the extra sharp cheddar was creamy and pleasantly sharp, unlike what one usually finds in the grocery store. The flavor was not terribly pronounced, but it was certainly to our liking. Overall, we found this cheese soft, moist, and creamy—an excellent product. Also, cheese aficionados that we are, we can verifiably state that Sugarbush’s product confirms the popular logic: Vermont Cheddar is creamier than that of New York State. (Also, it’s infinitely better than that of Wisconsin, though we don’t talk about that.)

The smoked cheese presented a completely different taste, having been smoked over hickory and maple wood chips for three days. Its flavor was closer to that of fresh-fried bacon than that of a cheese, smoked or not. With gouda-like consistency, the cheese held the flavor of the wood over which it was smoked. We can state without a doubt that it was one of a kind. Well-balanced, expertly crafted flavor is a hallmark of Sugarbush’s products, we at The Review were learning.

The jalapeno-cayenne aged cheddar ‘nibbles’ presented another flavorful adventure. Soft and meltable, the cheese carried to our tastebuds a playful, pleasant heat that increased the more we chewed the perfectly apportioned pieces. We unanimously decided that the jalapeno cheese would go great in a quesadilla. 

The horseradish-flavored aged cheddar offered another encounter with piquancy. While mild at first taste, the horseradish came through in the aftertaste. We might have even forgotten that we were eating cheese. 

As we finished the cheese, the promise of delicate maple sweetness beckoned. Sugarbush’s maple candy was buttery at first but then exploded into a sweet powder as it melted in the mouth. Similarly, the chewy maple fudge with its walnut pieces featured a rich, fatty sweetness with excellent mouthfeel. Both sweets matched well with the jalapeno-cayenne cheddar especially. 

From these maple confections, we moved on to the highlight of Sugarbush’s offerings: maple syrup. 

The farm’s Golden Delicate variety was light in color and had the consistency of liqueur. Tastewise, its delicate sweetness reminded us of honey. The Golden Delicate was so delicious that we could have kept ladling it into our mouths with no accompaniment.

The next variety, Amber Rich, was Golden Delicate’s darker, fuller-bodied counterpart (also known as Grade A). Its sweetness lingered on the palate and served as an excellent transition to the star of the show: Dark Robust. Thicker than the two previous syrups, and generally marketed as Grade B, we found the Dark Robust to be the secret champion of maple syrups. It made the differences between real maple syrup and Aunt Jemima-style storebought syrup as clear as unprocessed maple sap. Dark Robust had the true richness of molasses—in complete opposition to the cloying high-fructose corn syrup that food processors try to pass off as maple. It persisted on the back of the tongue. This maple syrup was alive with flavor. 

The Very Dark Strong syrup was, as its name suggests, even darker and stronger than Dark Robust. Still, its more intense molasses-like richness did not match up to its counterpart’s balance. Again, if there is one syrup the staffers of The Review could use on pancakes for the rest of our lives, it would be Sugarbush Farm’s Dark Robust.

So what should you, a reader of The Dartmouth Review, make of our experience at one of the Upper Valley’s most delicious destinations? Naturally, you could support this local, family-owned business and buy some of its wax-dipped, foil-wrapped cheeses. You could even take your support further and purchase an entire sample of Sugarbush’s Vermont maple syrup (Sugarbush offers an online store!). We at The Review promise your purchase will be worth it. 

In all frankness, though, it is not enough to provide financial support to institutions like Sugarbush. Places such as this are not meant to be merely bankrolled as one would a far-away relative. They demand to be visited.

In modern America, in which life is so often seen exclusively through the lens of the rat-rush of the megalopolis or the endless concrete sprawl of the suburbs, one must find places where the way of life is simpler and the cycles of nature are still apparent. Sugarbush is such a place—the air is clean, the views beautiful, the cheese delicious, and the syrup heavenly. The Review’s recent UVAT to Sugarbush Farm was an ambrosia for the soul. Our visit reminded us not only of the hard work that enables the abundance of our tables today but also of what life in our country—even in our world—used to look like.