Category Archives: Massachusetts

A Local Gem! Happy National Donut Day!

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🍩 Happy National Donut Day!

Do you know what today is? Not Hump Day — National Donut Day.
And you know what that means: free donuts. Yes, Dunkin’ is handing them out today. Is this a great country or what.

There is one tiny catch: you need to buy a beverage. But honestly… who eats a donut without something to drink?

 

 

⭐ A Donut Lover’s Confession

I’m a true donut fan. If I weren’t on a permanent diet, I’d happily eat one every day — though I doubt it would keep the doctor away. Still, I consider myself a donut connoisseur. I know a good donut when I see one.

And this week? I didn’t just see one.
I came, I saw, I tasted, and I ascended straight to donut nirvana. These donuts were better than my mom’s (sorry, Mom), and hers were legendary.

Where did I find this bliss?
The Colonial Do‑Nut Shop kiosk inside Morton Hospital.

A police officer stands at the counter of the Colonial Do‑Nut Shop kiosk inside Morton Hospital, with staff preparing donuts behind the counter.

Colonial Do‑Nut Shop – Morton Hospital Kiosk

 

 

⭐ Colonial Do‑Nut: A Taunton Classic

Colonial Do‑Nut Shop has been serving Taunton for more than 70 years. The pandemic forced them to close, but they came back strong, reopening under new ownership in 2024.

The flagship shop at 91 Broadway is still right where it’s always been — turning out fresh donuts, crullers, and breakfast sandwiches. Just get there early: they close at noon.

So how did I get mine at Morton Hospital?
When the new owners were preparing to reopen Broadway, the opportunity came up to open a satellite location in the hospital lobby. The donuts are baked fresh on Broadway every morning and delivered to the kiosk.

⭐ The Old Fashioned That Stole My Heart

I’m an “Old Fashioned” girl — plain, crispy outside, tender inside, with a whisper of cinnamon and a hint of nutmeg. And these? Hands down the best.

I meant to take a picture, but… well… I started eating it. You understand.

 

 

Happy National Donut Day!
It may not be free at Colonial Do‑Nut, but if you can get there, it will be so worth it.

Make Way for Ducklings

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Make Way for Ducklings: Boston’s Most Beloved (and Frequently Kidnapped) Family

If you’ve ever wandered through the Boston Public Garden, you’ve probably met the city’s most famous residents: Mrs. Mallard and her eight ducklings, immortalized in bronze and endlessly climbed on by children, tourists, and the occasional overly enthusiastic adult who should know better.

They’re based on the classic 1941 children’s book Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey — which, in a very Massachusetts move, has been officially declared the Commonwealth’s children’s book. Because of course it has. If we love something, we legislate it (remember the chowder?).

A Duck Family Cast in Bronze

The bronze duck family was created by sculptor Nancy Schön and installed in 1987. They’re lined up in a neat little row — Mrs. Mallard in front, followed by Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack — and they are:

  • rubbed shiny by millions of tiny hands
  • photographed more than the average Kardashian
  • climbed on daily
  • and beloved in a way that borders on civic obsession

If you stand there long enough, you’ll see at least one toddler attempt to ride Mrs. Mallard like a Kentucky Derby contender. 

Years of tiny hands have polished them so shiny they practically glow — and honestly, that tracks. New Englanders love to touch bronze animals for good luck. It’s right up there with eating chowder on a hot day and pretending we don’t mind the weather.

Dressed for Every Occasion

People dress these ducks up more often than most folks I know change their own outfits. Depending on the season, you might find them wearing:

  • Easter bonnets
  • Patriots jerseys
  • Red Sox gear
  • Scarves in winter
  • Pride flags in June
  • Pumpkin hats in October
  • Graduation caps (because Boston has more colleges than Dunkin’ locations, and that’s saying something)

There’s no official “duck stylist,” but somehow the outfits appear like magic. It’s very Boston: no one admits to doing it, but everyone approves.

Honestly, they get dressed up more often than the average Bostonian heading to a Patriots game in January — and we’ll wear anything as long as it’s warm and vaguely team‑colored.

Make Way for Ducklings statues in the Boston Public Garden

The Great Ducknappings of Boston

Here’s the part that always makes people blink:
The ducklings get stolen. Frequently.

Not all eight at once — that would require a level of planning usually reserved for heists — but one or two at a time. Usually it’s:

  • a prank
  • a drunken college student
  • or someone who thought, “You know what my dorm room needs? A 40‑pound bronze duck.”

They almost always get returned, sometimes anonymously, sometimes by a sheepish parent dragging a guilty teenager by the elbow. The city keeps replacement molds on standby because Boston has accepted that this is simply part of life now.

It’s practically a local sport, right behind candlepin bowling and arguing about which place has the “real” clam chowder.

Why We Love Them

There’s something about these statues that hits people right in the heart. Maybe it’s nostalgia for the book. Maybe it’s the charm of a duck family marching through the Garden like they own the place. Or maybe it’s that deep New England instinct to adopt anything small, cute, and slightly chaotic — see also: our weather.

Whatever it is, the ducks are woven into Boston’s identity. They’re whimsical, sturdy, slightly chaotic, and beloved — which, come to think of it, describes the city pretty well too.

 

Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies cooling on a wire rack

Cookies- And they all Started in Massachusetts

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CoooKies! Nothing like a good chocolate chip cookie to put a smile on Cookie Monster's face. And it all started in Massachusetts

Massachusetts: The Unsuspecting Cookie Capital

Ah, food. Is it any wonder I write about eating so often? Sure, we all need food to live, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is simple: I love sharing recipes and little bits of cooking lore.

I’m not turning Around Dusty Roads into a cooking blog — don’t worry — but while I’m enjoying a slice of my angel food cake (it’s pretty yummy), I want to share a little tasty Massachusetts baking history.

Because believe it or not, this state didn’t just give the world one iconic cookie.
It gave us two.

The Toll House Cookie: A Massachusetts Original

Let’s start with the queen of cookies: the classic chocolate chip — or as we call it around here, the Toll House Cookie.

We can thank Ruth Wakefield for this masterpiece. People have tried every variation under the sun — M&M’s, butterscotch, pretzels, sea salt — but nothing beats the original. Warm, melty, simple perfection.

I haven’t been to Faneuil Hall lately, but they used to have an entire kiosk devoted to chocolate chip cookies. Warm from the oven, wildly overpriced, and absolutely irresistible. It was always my first stop.

Where it all began

The Toll House Inn in Whitman, Massachusetts opened in 1930, run by Ruth and her husband Kenneth Wakefield. The building itself dated back to 1817, but Ruth’s cooking was what made the place famous.

One day she served a butter‑drop cookie studded with chopped chocolate. Customers went wild. Ruth, being a smart cookie herself, realized she had something special.

So she struck a deal with Nestlé — a lifetime supply of chocolate in exchange for printing her recipe on their semi‑sweet chocolate chip bags.


A sweet deal indeed.

The original Toll House Inn sadly burned down in 1984, but you can still visit the historical marker at 362 Bedford Street, Whitman, MA, where the world’s favorite cookie was born.

The Fig Newton: Massachusetts’ Other Claim to Cookie Fame

So what’s the second cookie?
That would be the humble, beloved Fig Newton.

You don’t usually find people casually baking Fig Newtons at home — these are very much a commercial cookie. Maybe not as universally adored as the chocolate chip, but they’ve earned their place in the cookie hall of fame.

A cookie named after Newton

The Fig Newton was created in 1891 at the Kennedy Biscuit Works in Cambridgeport, and named after the nearby town of Newton. It was one of the very first mass‑produced baked goods in the United States.

Originally, Fig Newtons were made of a soft, cake‑like dough wrapped around a thick fig jam. They were so popular that the brand eventually shortened the name to simply Newtons, and added flavors like strawberry and raspberry.

Still, the fig version remains the classic.

If you’re a truly determined baker, you can find recipes for homemade Fig Newtons. And if you ever make them, I want the full report.

Final Crumb

Massachusetts may be famous for its history, its coastline, and its questionable driving habits, but it deserves a little credit for its contributions to the cookie world too.

Two iconic treats — one homemade, one commercial — both born right here.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my angel food cake.

The Great Molasses Flood

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Boston never does things like the rest of the world. From our wicked different slang to our stubborn pride, we always have to put our own spin on things. Even our disasters can’t be normal. Could we have just had the ocean flood in? After all, half the city is built on landfill. But no — we had to do everyone one better. We flooded our streets with… molasses.

Grandma’s Molasses, the ingredient at the center of Boston’s molasses history, sweet, sticky but oh so deadly

The Great Molasses Flood — Boston’s Stickiest Disaster

Molasses — that thick, sticky, gooey goodness that makes muffins, cookies, baked beans, and BBQ possible. We drizzle it, bake with it, stir it into sauces. It’s comforting. Old‑fashioned. Harmless.

But did you know it can also be deadly?

No, it’s not poison. It’s sticky. Too sticky. Now imagine being buried under a massive wave of the stuff. Not funny. Nothing humorous about that. Yet it really happened — right here in New England.

In 1919, Boston faced one of the strangest disasters in American history: The Great Molasses Flood. By the time it was over, 21 people had died and about 150 were injured. And the story behind it is even wilder than the headline.

A Disaster Waiting to Happen

The giant molasses tank in Boston’s North End belonged to the United States Industrial Alcohol Company (USIA). It stood 50 feet tall and 90 feet across, holding more than 2 million gallons of molasses. From the day it went up, it leaked. Locals even joked that kids scraped molasses off the sides with sticks.

USIA knew the tank had problems. Instead of fixing the leaks, the company painted the tank brown to hide them. Workers reported groaning metal and bulging seams, but management brushed off every warning.

January 15, 1919 — The Day the Tank Burst

The day of the disaster felt unusually warm for January, warm enough to thin the molasses inside the tank. Around 12:40 p.m., the tank finally gave way with a roar that echoed through the neighborhood.

A 25‑foot‑high wave of molasses rushed through the streets at 35 miles per hour. Horses, wagons, buildings, and people were swept up instantly. The force of the wave even knocked a firehouse off its foundation.

Rescuers later described the scene as “drowning in brown glue.”

The Aftermath

Cleanup dragged on for months. Crews used saltwater, sand, and firehoses to break up the sticky mess. For decades afterward, people swore the North End smelled like molasses on hot days.

The Fight for Justice

The Great Molasses Flood wasn’t just a freak accident — it resulted from corporate negligence. USIA had received multiple warnings about the tank’s structural integrity and ignored them. When survivors sued, the company tried to blame anarchists, claiming someone had sabotaged the tank.

The truth came out during six years of litigation and 3,000 witness testimonies. Eventually, a court‑appointed auditor ruled in favor of the victims. USIA paid $628,000 in settlements, the equivalent of about $11 million today. The tank never went back up.

Today, the site is a small park near the Boston waterfront. Almost nothing there marks what happened. You could walk right over the spot where the tank stood and never know the neighborhood was once buried in molasses.

 

Why This Story Sticks With Us

The whole thing sounds like something out of Ripley’s Believe It or Not — and it has appeared there. It’s been featured on TV, in books, and in documentaries. Yet no matter how many times you hear it, the story still feels unbelievable.

A flood… of molasses?

And yet it happened. Sometimes the strangest stories in New England history are the ones that turn out to be absolutely true.

 

 

Meet Webster Lake: Home to the Longest Name in the U.S.

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Welcome sign in Webster, Massachusetts featuring the full name of Webster Lake (Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg) and referencing the Nipmuc Indian heritage.

A Lake Name That Looks Like a Scrabble Accident

I thought I knew my home state pretty well. I’ve lived here long enough to pronounce “Worcester” without breaking a sweat, and I can even handle “Leominster” on a good day. But apparently I’ve been walking around completely unaware of a lake whose name looks like someone dropped a Scrabble bag down a flight of stairs.

Meet Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg.

Yes, that’s real.
No, I did not just make that up.
And no, I cannot pronounce it — I’m already out of my depth and possibly in over my head.

Why Locals Just Call It Webster Lake

With 45 letters and 14 syllables, this Webster, Massachusetts lake holds the title for the longest place name in the United States and one of the longest in the world. Locals, being practical New Englanders with no time for linguistic gymnastics, simply call it Webster Lake.

Honestly, I don’t blame them. If I had to say the full name every time I wanted to go kayaking, I’d never leave the house.

The Real Meaning (and the Joke One Everyone Knows)

The name comes from the Nipmuc people, and the real translation is something along the lines of “fishing place at the boundary.”

But New Englanders being New Englanders, a joke translation has been floating around for decades:

“You fish on your side, I fish on my side, and nobody fishes in the middle.”

Is it accurate? No.
Is it delightful? Absolutely.

A Beautiful Lake With a Sense of Humor

The lake itself is lovely — calm water, tree‑lined shores, and a whole lot of pride from the town of Webster, which has embraced its famously unpronounceable claim to fame. There are even signs with the full name, just in case you want to test your eyesight or your patience.

And honestly, if my GPS ever tried to pronounce this name out loud, I’d have to pull over. I don’t need my car swerving because the navigation system had a nervous breakdown.

I had never even heard of this lake until today, so discovering it felt like stumbling onto a secret Massachusetts side quest.

Things to Do When You Visit Webster Lake

Webster Lake or Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg if you are feeeling linguistically brave,  is tucked into central Massachusetts, where you’ll find no shortage of lake‑day activities

• Enjoy Memorial Beach
A sandy public beach with lifeguards in summer, picnic tables, and plenty of space to relax.

• Take a lake cruise
Seasonal boat tours give you the full view — and you get to hear the captain pronounce the name so you don’t have to.

• Rent a kayak or paddleboard
The lake is calm and perfect for paddling. Plus, you can brag later that you kayaked on a lake with a 45‑letter name.

• Explore the shoreline
Quiet spots to walk, sit, or just enjoy the water without needing to swim.

• Grab lunch in downtown Webster
Casual diners, pizza, ice cream — all close by and very Massachusetts.

• Snap a photo with the famous sign
The full name is printed loud and proud. It’s practically a requirement to take a picture with it.

Final Thoughts

If you decide to visit, don’t worry — calling it “Webster Lake” will get you there just fine.