From the tony South Fork to its rustic northerly counterpart, Long Island is both a playpen for the well-to-do and a calming, cozy respite.
Author Sarah Horne
THE TWIN FORKS OF LONG ISLAND ARE QUITE THE ODD COUPLE, jutting into the Atlantic Ocean like a crocodile about to swallow Shelter Island. The bottom jaw of the beast, the South Fork, is a playground for the international jet set, featuring swank resort villages such as East Hampton and Amagansett, and even the occasional polo field. The North Fork, once a briny haven for shipbuilders and farmers, has recently come into its own as a winsome, off-the-beaten-path destination for foodies and oenophiles (with some good, salty dive bars thrown in).
What they share are a regal, quiet beauty and a slant of light that can make even the most jaded world travelers stop in their tracks, awestruck. It’s no wonder, then, that hundreds upon hundreds of famous names have made the East End their summer home and that thousands still willingly brave the traffic on Route 27 on humid weekends.