Juan Antonio Carlos X.
Yelp
The Applecrest Farm Bistro was closed when I arrived at 5 on Labor Day, so I settled for a shopping tour of the high-ceilinged grocery store. I viewed the bright, new barnboarded environment with fresh eyes, having not been by since the days of the old dim orchard outlet in the even older cavernous barn.
Overall, well done on the new place, Applecrest owners, investors, designers and architects. You've nicely duplicated an environment that has become de rigeuer in the retail category of farm-market-themed experiences for customers who aren't put off by the considerable amount of cash required to satisfy their quest for an heirloom tomato, an English breakfast radish, a bunch of champagne grapes, a half-dozen quail eggs and a bumpy ride in a horse-drawn wagon. With a little live bluegrass music on the side and some face painting during the ubiquitous fall festivals these places all offer, you have pretty much the whole package..
The now-gone Tuttle's Red Barn in Dover, then America's oldest family farm, was the trailblazer in the upscale farmstand-cum-gourmand grocery store category around here 40 years ago. Cider Hill Farm in nearby Amesbury is another good example of this modern yet old-timey approach where you can stoop or climb to pick your own stuff out in the fields and orchards as a recreational activity, buy it already picked by the seasonal farmworkers Trump is so anxious to deport, and get to see a chicken and maybe a pig, goat and horse right up close. Today the Farm at Eastman's Corner in Kensington, conceived and fueled by owner/philanthropist/billionaire Alan Lewis, is the undeniable pinnacle of this brand of farmstand glitz, outdistancing in all ways the others of like marketing concepts.
But Applecrest, claiming to be New Hampshire's oldest and largest orchard, is a solid attractor for the folks who frequent these ersatz farm-as-entertainment destinations. If you've never been to Applecrest and like this type of place, do visit. Kids are welcome and catered to. Leave Fido at home, though. (Good idea, the no dogs at the farmstand policy. Dogs will wreck a nice petting zoo and scare all the chickens too. At least my dogs will.) If you want a single practical reason to visit Applecrest, go for the selection of apples and peaches. Really good! And at $3 a pound for picked pecks of peerless orchard produce, you get reasonable value too.
Aside from the orchard haul, I found Applecrest also offers a really nice selection of its own vegetables, berries, flowers and herbs. Lots of purple stuff. Purple green beans at $2 a pound. A bunch of three fat purple carrots for $3. Purple basil for several bucks per plastic baggy package. A nice head of dark purple romaine for just $2. Purple seems to be the new green and yellow. I bought a lot of purple stuff.
Applecrest also serves up its own baked pies, breads, muffins and biscuits, freshly packaged or frozen. The smallish fresh donuts are good. Good like eat a half dozen from the paper bag on the way to checkout good. (That was a $6 dollar walk.) You'll also find a bunch of third-party fancy lines with substantial price stickers which, if you are of modest means, will cause you to say "Whoa" or worse out loud. Pickles from Maine at $9 for an 8-ounce jar are just one example. Many other third-party products also sport prices that will buckle the knees of thee of delicate pocketbooks. I got a kick out of the package of authentic British piccalilli spice (salt, sugar, turmeric, mustard powder, a little clove) that was made in Derry (NH) and priced at just under $10 for a few ounces.
Applecrest retail bottomline: Mostly pricey, yes. Targeted to the upscale, farm-as-tourist-destination crowd, yes. Bright lights, clean rest rooms, smells like an apple orchard, yes. Nicely presented, yes. Out in the country, yes. Worth a trip, yes. But keep in mind. This ain't your garden-variety family farmstand. (Pardon the pun.) And it sure ain't your spot for everyday grocery shopping. When you see people in $400 jeans snapping pictures of the donuts, then pushing a mini-shopping cart that is going to ring up at well more than a Benjamin, maybe two Benjamins, you know we're not in Market Basket any more, Toto.