“I passed another lake, Skaneateles, and rolled to a stop at a curb where dozens of cars had already drawn up. Eagerly I sought the door of a pleasant white house set in a row of others a quarter-mile away from the water. In front of it hung a simple sign–but all habitual travelers of York State know that here is a spot where the poetry of the countryside is to be forsaken for that of cuisine. Krebs provides upstate food cooked the upstate way–thick soups that are hot, creamy, fragrant; roasts whose juices flow evenly and generously within their crisp fat walls, pies whose crusts are stiff and flakey and golden brown. In the airy rooms filled with tables I heard people talking York State–with short a sounds extended (not clipped as in New England) and with definite r‘s. It is a hearty dialect though not a beautiful one.
“Sleepily I climbed back into my car.”
— From Chapter One, “Homecoming” in Listen for a Lonesome Drum: A York State Chronicle (1936) by Carl Carmer