Morning at McLean's

I'll be thru town around 8 a.m. Thursday.
Let's have breakfast...

Although the message doesn't say so, it came from my Williamsburg friend and when he says "thru," he means he's heading north. Like any of our meals before he leaves the Old Dominion, he always insists on eating Southern, here.

Knowing that, the logical place to go for breakfast was the new and improved McLean's. But first I had to disabuse him of the notion that I'd be up by 8. Once we renegotiated to a more reasonable 9, the plan was in place.

I was never a regular at the old McLean's, but it was pretty obvious walking in that the booths and tables must have come from the old location. It felt a lot like the new 821 where the walls and bar look fresh and new and everything inside still has its character.

No, I didn't get brains with my eggs; I got salt herring with them, sausage patties (not a link girl) and of course, biscuits (one with butter spread (!) and one with strawberry jam).

I'm used to eating within ten minutes of rolling out of bed, and it had been about half an hour at that point, so I inhaled my breakfast and then watched my traveling friend savor his (two eggs over easy, sausage patties, grits and coffee; they were out of the cornbread he wanted).

Meanwhile we talked about the Rosewell mansion which is down in his neck of the woods. He even advised me on the most enjoyable way to get there (he's the guy who taught me the pleasures of Route 5) for my road trip.

And now, sufficiently satisfied, he will drive to New Jersey with a belly filled with a proper Southern meal and I (with my salt herring-filled belly) can start my day much more enthusiastically for not having had to get up at at the god-forsaken hour of 7:45.