Apple Cider Donuts, Secret Santa Stares, and Losing the Lobster Vote in Saratoga Springs

We normally stay with my wife’s sister and her husband when we roll into town. It’s tradition. It’s comfortable. It’s free. But Christmas changes everything.

This year, thanks to everyone coming into town including three members of my clan flying in from the Minneapolis St. Paul area we decided to spare the household chaos and book a room at the Embassy Suites in Saratoga Springs, conveniently located off Broadway and Congress Street… directly across from a 24-hour CVS, which is basically the Swiss Army knife of emergency travel needs.

Now, full disclosure: I’m normally a Marriott guy. Loyalty runs deep. But this Embassy Suites surprised me in a good way. Like, “I might not judge all Embassy Suites by my past experiences anymore” kind of good.

Breakfast of Champions (and Legends)

Let’s talk about the breakfast. Not your sad continental setup with beige eggs and questionable sausage. This was made-to-order, plentiful, and downright dangerous to anyone with self-control.

But the one thing that burned permanently into my memory happened while I was waiting for my omelet. Behind the counter, a baker casually placed a tray of freshly baked apple cider donuts out. Still hot. Still steaming. Still basically whispering, “Eat me immediately.”

One bite and they melted in your mouth like some kind of upstate New York miracle. I’m not saying I considered skipping Christmas dinner just to hover by that tray, but I definitely thought about it.

A Town with History… and a Little Side-Eye

For those who haven’t been to Saratoga Springs, NY, it’s a beautiful upstate town known for:

• Elite horse racing

• Healing mineral springs

• Arts, culture, and historic charm

  
  

Sure, it’s not Del Mar or Santa Anita back home in California but Saratoga is one of the oldest and most prestigious racetracks in the U.S. The town boasts over 20 naturally carbonated mineral springs, where even Franklin D. Roosevelt soaked to help with Polio… and allegedly enjoyed a few other sultry incidents while away from Mrs. Roosevelt and the White House. History is complicated.

And then there’s SPAC (Saratoga Performing Arts Center), which hosts major concerts and festivals. In short, Saratoga Springs perfectly blends horse racing royalty, spa culture, and a vibrant arts scene—all wrapped in a charming small-city vibe that makes you want to stroll everywhere pretending you live there (maybe one day).

Matching Pajamas and Maximum Judgment

Christmas morning came, and after breakfast, we headed to the family house to do the full Ho, Ho, Ho routine.

Secret Santa was in full effect, with a strict $100 limit per person. The gifts were arranged around a beautifully decorated tree, wrapped so perfectly it looked like Santa himself had stopped by clearly overachieving.

Then came the moment.

We gathered in the living room to open presents. Me, my wife, and Dylan (my stepson) proudly wore matching pajamas. The room fell silent. Everyone stared. Not angry stares more like “interesting choice” stares. We powered through anyway. Confidence is key.

The day was fantastic. Everyone loved their gifts—right down to the smallest member of the group, our own little impersonator, Ms. Cindy Lou Who, who completely stole the show.

Lobster Dreams, Shawarma Reality

Once the wrapping paper settled, it was time to vote on dinner.

I voted for Steak & lobster.

Democracy voted for Shawarma.

I lost, but I accepted my fate gracefully (by eating a lot). The meal was excellent, spirits were high, and the night rolled on with board games, card games, laughter, and just enough competitiveness to remind everyone who thinks they’re good at games (my wife).

Midnight Airport Runs and Hotel Beds Calling Our Name

Around 11:00 p.m., my daughter was due to land at Albany Airport, so my wife and I slipped out, made the pickup, reunited the crew, and headed back to the Embassy Suites for a well-earned night’s rest.

Full bellies. Full hearts.

And possibly still thinking about those apple cider donuts.

Morning Two: Donut Withdrawal and Family Breakfast

We woke up the next morning with one collective thought:

Those donuts.

Sadly, our apple-cider-donut hero had worked Christmas Day and was off the following morning. A tragedy, really.

But while the donuts were gone, everything else was still abundant as we met my daughter and other family members for another wonderful family breakfast at the Embassy Suites.

There’s something about hotel breakfasts that turns into an event when family is involved coffee refills, multiple trips to the buffet, and everyone pretending they don’t need a nap afterward.

The Grandkids Wake Up (Eventually)

Later that morning, the grandkids finally emerged, one boy and one girl, ages 11 and 13.

The teenager had officially entered the full teenage experience: a little attitude, a few pimples, and an uncanny resemblance to my daughter at that same age. Of course, my daughter has no recollection of ever behaving that way. Funny how that works.

My grandson, on the other hand, is pure energy, full of you-know-what and vinegar. He’s usually attached at his mama’s hip, a devoted soccer player and superfan… and like most kids these days, completely and utterly addicted to his iPad.

If soccer ever adds a touchscreen division, he’ll be unstoppable.

A Drive Down Broadway (and Into a Donut Shop)

We decided to take the kids around town and drive down Broadway, giving them a mini tour of Saratoga Springs and pointing out some of the town’s iconic eateries.

We passed Uncommon Ground, well known for their bagels and coffee, a local staple that smells so good it should probably come with a warning label.

But in the end, we landed on something that felt like the perfect compromise for all ages and attention spans: tacos and donuts.

Yes, both.

We headed to Taquero, just off the main drag on Putnam Street. Because if there’s one universal truth in life, it’s that tacos and donuts can unite generations in ways very few things can.

And honestly, after missing out on those apple cider donuts that morning, it felt like the universe was at least trying to make things right.

We then headed back to Al and Heathers house. Have I ever talked about Al?

"Al", A Retired Art Teacher: Never Really Retired, He Just Changed Studios

By day, his hands still moved the way they always had—shaping clay into sturdy plates and mugs that somehow felt better the longer you held them. Each piece came off the wheel with a quiet confidence, like Al already knew exactly what it wanted to be.

By evening, those same hands were doing something else entirely: seasoning a cast-iron pan, tasting a sauce, or plating dinner like it belonged in a gallery.

Art, after all, was art whether it hung on a wall or landed on a table.

A House That Tells a Story

Al’s and Heather's house reflected that belief completely.

Shelves overflowed with handmade pottery, mismatched, imperfect, and absolutely perfect. The kitchen always smelled like something good was about to happen, as if the house itself expected guests. But the real magic arrived once a year, when Al unveiled his latest themed gathering.

There were no half-measures.

When it was Star Wars, it was Star Wars. Custom mugs. A fully themed menu. Music humming softly in the background. Decorations so committed you half-expected a droid to roll through the hallway and in the bathroom they did.

Al didn’t just enjoy themes, he inhabited them.

Why Kids Gravitate Toward Him

Kids loved Al for the same reason adults did: he took them seriously.

Especially the 11-to-13 crowd, that in-between age where curiosity runs wild but confidence wobbles. Al met them exactly where they were. One afternoon, he showed my grandkids how to shoot pool, leaning over the table with the patience of a teacher and the grin of someone who genuinely loved the moment.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t correct too hard. He just guided.

That’s when I noticed something unexpected.

A Small Moment That Meant Everything

My grandson normally glued to his mom’s side let go.

He wandered over to the pool table. To Al. To the satisfying crack of a well-hit shot. In that small, ordinary moment, he found a new friend.

Later, with the kind of certainty only a kid can have, he summed it all up perfectly:

“They’re rich and have everything here.”

He wasn’t talking about money.

• He meant the pottery you’re allowed to use.

• The food that makes you feel welcome.

• The stories.

• The laughter.

• The space to belong.

A Different Kind of Wealth

Al understood that kind of wealth. He’d been teaching it his whole life just through different mediums.

Clay, Food, Music and Time.

And somehow, without ever announcing it, he built a place where people especially kids felt like they already had everything they needed.

The Kind of People You Want to Meet

Heather and Al are the kind of people you hope your family gets to meet.

It was truly a pleasure to introduce my grandkids to them. From the moment we arrived, the kids felt the same warmth and love that I feel every time we visit. That kind of comfort doesn’t come from small talk or polite hosting it comes from genuine kindness.

Heather and Al are warm, caring, and deeply loving people. The kind who instinctively make sure everyone feels at home. And they did exactly that not just for me, but for my daughter and my grandkids as well.

You could see it in the little things: easy conversations, shared laughter, and how quickly the kids relaxed, as if they’d known them far longer than a single visit. It never felt like we were guests it felt like we belonged.

The next morning, reality showed up right on schedule.

The family packed up three cars for the drive to Montreal, Canada, bags loaded and coffee in hand. We kept one cautious eye on the weather forecast.

Snow was coming.

And with that, we hit the road ready for the next chapter of the journey.