My parents are an inspiration to me, even when they're not present.
Today's lunch date had all the key ingredients: a scenic road trip up Route 301 to Fredericksburg, a reliably creative restaurant, pithy and opinionated company and chocolate.
My favorite tennis player and I had been trying to arrange a lunch date since January, canceling twice for snow and once for last minute schedule conflicts. Today's plans had happened spontaneously after I'd gotten a happy birthday e-mail last Saturday.
Choosing as my soundtrack "Joan Armatrading Classics," I rolled up 301 listening to songs about every stage of a women's life - "Rosie," a young woman's song about not coming on so willing and strong to the boys, "Kind Words and a Real Good Heart" about the more mature realization that life can be indiscriminate and "Me, Myself and I" about the reality of needing alone time.
It's as timeless a record as I know.
My aunt and I met at Bistro Bethem but sat inside since she'd just finished a match in F-burg this morning (and had another at 5 p.m. today) and was looking for a cool sit-down for a while. The salad I ordered was as good as any I've had in ages with kale, snow peas, quinoa, radishes and smoked turkey in a delicate mustard vinaigrette. I'd eat it again tomorrow, it was that good.
As we ate, we caught up since it had been over a year since we'd last met.
She's a UR grad who's never quite accepted the Westhampton campus merging with the UR campus, even going so far as to suggest that her class' 50-year reunion be held at a house rather than on campus because she doesn't care for the way the place feels and looks now.
To me, it's just a labyrinth I do my best to navigate when I'm over there for culture.
Since I'd just seen my folks, she asked how her brother/my father was, leading to some great stories about his misspent youth. Apparently he was quite the Lothario before meeting my Mom (whom she referred to as his soulmate), including one woman with whom he broke it off and who still refuses to attend an event he's at because of it.
Talking about the news (she's as savvy politically as anyone I know) I brought up free-range parenting and the debate going on in D.C. about it. She regaled me with stories of accompanying her mother, my Richmond grandmother, to Thalhimer's and Miller and Rhodes to shop before her mother went on to her job at the telephone company at Grace and 7th Street.
"Then I'd take the bus home and walk eight blocks to our apartment," she remembered. These days, DSS would pick her up and throw Grandma in jail. Different times, we agreed.
Talking about my parents and their decades-long romance, she mentioned their still active sex life, something my Dad apparently shares with her on occasion. "They were doing it in the shower in Cape Henry!" she tells me and I didn't dare ask for details.
Most interesting of all our chatting was when I turned the tables on her and asked about her life and relationship of the past 20+ years. They still live together, but on separate floors and schedules. "If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't." she admitted, surprising me.
She's still attractive, very fit (almost daily tennis), smart as a whip and dryly funny. When she said she was considering a dating website, I seconded the motion. They're not married, his health is precarious and she's still vital and energetic. How much life do you owe someone once the trappings of a relationship are long gone?
Neither of us was sure about the answer.
For dessert, I had pot de creme au chocolat with a piece of house-made nut brittle the size of my hand while she enjoyed strawberry sorbet. Asking about my plans tonight, it occurred to her that she had the perfect host in me to show her the new Richmond.
We immediately started making plans for her to come stay for a few days (after the tennis championships are over, of course) so I could reacquaint her with the city of her birth and upbringing.Maybe she'll meet someone interesting while she's here or maybe she'll just have a good time.
Since we don't get do-overs, it only seems smart to make the most of right now. That was the topic of my thoughts tooling back down 301...and probably hers as well.
Don't we all want to be still doing it in the shower when we're 82?
Showing posts with label bistro bethem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bistro bethem. Show all posts
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Tete a Tete avec Ma Tante
You can imagine the drama involved with having five younger sisters.
I sidestep a lot of it neatly by living in Richmond, my father's home town, while my sisters live in Maryland.
So when the family goings-on are at fever pitch like they are now, I do the sensible thing.
I stay clear and I meet my aunt in Fredericksburg for lunch.
She's twelve years older than me and twelve years younger than my Dad, meaning she's hardly a traditional aunt.
It had been a while, so it was good to see her smiling face when I arrived at Bistro Bethem.
She already had her wine and I just barely ordered a glass of Tempranillo when she said, "Go!"
After the second time the server came over, my aunt explained to her, "We're solving dysfunctional family problems. You may want to give us some time."
They graciously did, returning 45 minutes later to finally take our order and ask how things were going.
By then, we'd joined the Jamestown colonists in the starving time and put our orders in.
She wanted an oyster po'boy, but wasn't going to miss the tacos made of backyard-smoked pulled pork, pickled vegetables,creme fraiche in two grilled corn tortillas with a tasty little side salad.
Because there's no pig like backyard-smoked pig.
Good as it was, food played second fiddle to a robust round table.
It's fascinating to have someone slightly older who watched your family grow up and can share memories and impressions impossible for me at the center of a six-girl storm.
Let's just say I now have a much better idea why certain sisters are the way they are.
Once we hit the two-hour mark, the rest of the customers had cleared out and it was just us and the staff, beginning to prep for dinner.
We were offered dessert and with coconut cake on the menu, it was an easy decision.
No matter how often I have their coconut cake, it always takes me back to my first one, which my grandmother had set out on the fire escape when I first came to visit her Colonial Avenue apartment as a child.
My Irish twin ( the sister 13 months younger than me) and I had been put on a train from Washington to Richmond to visit my grandparents and college-age aunt for a week.
I found their Richmond apartment a marvel of woodwork, high ceilings and with fire escapes, a wholly new concept to me.
That she kept cakes out there because of limited counter space seemed exotic, although once I moved onto Floyd Avenue in 1993, I understood completely.
You take counter space where you can with an early 20th-century kitchen.
As my aunt and I sat there picking up all the last bits of coconut off the plate, she ruminated, "I wish my mother could be here for a conversation so I could talk to her with what I know now."
I heartily agreed.
And I feel certain she'd lecture me to tell my sisters to just get along now while we still can.
And then she'd tell me my skirt was too short.
I sidestep a lot of it neatly by living in Richmond, my father's home town, while my sisters live in Maryland.
So when the family goings-on are at fever pitch like they are now, I do the sensible thing.
I stay clear and I meet my aunt in Fredericksburg for lunch.
She's twelve years older than me and twelve years younger than my Dad, meaning she's hardly a traditional aunt.
It had been a while, so it was good to see her smiling face when I arrived at Bistro Bethem.
She already had her wine and I just barely ordered a glass of Tempranillo when she said, "Go!"
After the second time the server came over, my aunt explained to her, "We're solving dysfunctional family problems. You may want to give us some time."
They graciously did, returning 45 minutes later to finally take our order and ask how things were going.
By then, we'd joined the Jamestown colonists in the starving time and put our orders in.
She wanted an oyster po'boy, but wasn't going to miss the tacos made of backyard-smoked pulled pork, pickled vegetables,creme fraiche in two grilled corn tortillas with a tasty little side salad.
Because there's no pig like backyard-smoked pig.
Good as it was, food played second fiddle to a robust round table.
It's fascinating to have someone slightly older who watched your family grow up and can share memories and impressions impossible for me at the center of a six-girl storm.
Let's just say I now have a much better idea why certain sisters are the way they are.
Once we hit the two-hour mark, the rest of the customers had cleared out and it was just us and the staff, beginning to prep for dinner.
We were offered dessert and with coconut cake on the menu, it was an easy decision.
No matter how often I have their coconut cake, it always takes me back to my first one, which my grandmother had set out on the fire escape when I first came to visit her Colonial Avenue apartment as a child.
My Irish twin ( the sister 13 months younger than me) and I had been put on a train from Washington to Richmond to visit my grandparents and college-age aunt for a week.
I found their Richmond apartment a marvel of woodwork, high ceilings and with fire escapes, a wholly new concept to me.
That she kept cakes out there because of limited counter space seemed exotic, although once I moved onto Floyd Avenue in 1993, I understood completely.
You take counter space where you can with an early 20th-century kitchen.
As my aunt and I sat there picking up all the last bits of coconut off the plate, she ruminated, "I wish my mother could be here for a conversation so I could talk to her with what I know now."
I heartily agreed.
And I feel certain she'd lecture me to tell my sisters to just get along now while we still can.
And then she'd tell me my skirt was too short.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Relatively Speaking
When it comes to taking a road trip for lunch, it's hard to beat a 70-degree January Friday.
Destination: Bistro Bethem in Fredericksburg. Company: my aunt, who, at barely twelve years older than me, is more of a friend than an aunt.
Let's just say I once dated a guy older than she is.
Our relationship is based on our similarities (my father, her brother, wishes we would both get married and settle down), a love of good food and wine and the ability to talk for hours.
She comes from Warrenton, a shorter drive, so she was already facing the sunny front window and enjoying her wine when I arrived.
Our handsome young server, a Mary Washington student, brought me a glass of Borsao Tres Picos Garnacha because if a spring-like day in late January doesn't call for rose, I don't know what does.
For lunch, I went with the braised pork barbecue with Virginia-style sauce (tomato-based) and slaw on a branded (with a "B") challah roll and a salad of mesclun.
In a lucky happenstance, I'd worn a dress with a low-scooped back, allowing me to eat my 'cue and sip my rose while feeling the sun shining on my back.
On January 27th, no less.
Which isn't half as interesting as the tidbits divulged about my parents by my aunt during the dessert course, where we indulged in the coconut cake of which we both are so fond.
She knew where all the bodies were buried.
My father and his army buddy lived in an apartment in the basement of my mother's parents' house in Washington?
Scandalous.
My father's first wife found a letter from my mother to my father while they were still married?
Holy shit, batman.
She told me about my Dad bringing my Mom to Richmond to meet his family despite my Grandfather's prejudice about Catholics.
I'm telling you, I heard all kinds of juicy information that neither of my parents had ever let on.
She shared that my father thinks he's the luckiest man alive because he found my mother and married her all those years ago.
Tell me something I don't know.
Small wonder he's always pushing marriage at my aunt and me.
He hit the jackpot And he's smart enough to know it.
So to that we, the unmarried, toasted.
Destination: Bistro Bethem in Fredericksburg. Company: my aunt, who, at barely twelve years older than me, is more of a friend than an aunt.
Let's just say I once dated a guy older than she is.
Our relationship is based on our similarities (my father, her brother, wishes we would both get married and settle down), a love of good food and wine and the ability to talk for hours.
She comes from Warrenton, a shorter drive, so she was already facing the sunny front window and enjoying her wine when I arrived.
Our handsome young server, a Mary Washington student, brought me a glass of Borsao Tres Picos Garnacha because if a spring-like day in late January doesn't call for rose, I don't know what does.
For lunch, I went with the braised pork barbecue with Virginia-style sauce (tomato-based) and slaw on a branded (with a "B") challah roll and a salad of mesclun.
In a lucky happenstance, I'd worn a dress with a low-scooped back, allowing me to eat my 'cue and sip my rose while feeling the sun shining on my back.
On January 27th, no less.
Which isn't half as interesting as the tidbits divulged about my parents by my aunt during the dessert course, where we indulged in the coconut cake of which we both are so fond.
She knew where all the bodies were buried.
My father and his army buddy lived in an apartment in the basement of my mother's parents' house in Washington?
Scandalous.
My father's first wife found a letter from my mother to my father while they were still married?
Holy shit, batman.
She told me about my Dad bringing my Mom to Richmond to meet his family despite my Grandfather's prejudice about Catholics.
I'm telling you, I heard all kinds of juicy information that neither of my parents had ever let on.
She shared that my father thinks he's the luckiest man alive because he found my mother and married her all those years ago.
Tell me something I don't know.
Small wonder he's always pushing marriage at my aunt and me.
He hit the jackpot And he's smart enough to know it.
So to that we, the unmarried, toasted.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Mist Me Quick
There's something to be said for a birthday lunch looking at nearly naked men.
I went for a scenic drive up Route 301 to Fredricksburg to celebrate with my two favorite sisters (when you have five to choose from, some just rise to the top).
Standing on the street corner waiting for them, I knew they'd arrived when I heard, "Hey, honey, have much you charge?" yelled from the window of a passing car. My baby sister, the card.
They arrived bearing presents and we decided to begin at Bistro Bethem at a sunny table with a view of the street.
Rose and beer were poured and we got down to eating while talking a mile a minute since it had been six months since we'd gotten together.
After so much rich food lately, I couldn't resist the whole avocado stuffed with Dragon Creek lump crab meat and micro-greens and pine nuts scattered over it then drizzled with EVOO.
I can never get enough crab and avocado is one of the few worthy vehicles for it, in my humble opinion.
We also shared a dish of grilled asparagus spears, Serrano ham,a sunny side up local organic egg and roasted red peppers; it was a hearty side salad to my crab.
All of a sudden our eyes were caught by a trio of girls outside the restaurant. Their faces and legs were panted deep blue and they were dancing on the sidewalk.
With no identifying clues, we couldn't imagine why, but we watched as traffic slowed and people pointed. Dancing girls, whatever. Back to present unwrapping.
From there we walked a half block to Kybecca WIne Bar for another course. The outside tables were being kept temperate by a fine mist released from the edges of the awnings. It was the first time I'd seen such a thing at a restaurant.
The chef, we were surprised to see, had cut his hair and shaved his beard, making for a striking change in his appearance, but he was just as friendly as ever.
I love the way their seating is arranged against the banquette with two additional chairs, making for three-tops, something I've never seen in Richmond either.
The beer drinker was excited about something hoppy and the other two of us got the Bebe Prosecco Rose, a beautiful deep pink bubbly that suited the festive and female occasion (celebrating me and talking about the other sisters).
Despite there being no appetizers on the brunch menu, we convinced the chef to do a cheese plate for us with little effort. The Epoisses de Bourgogne, a rich and strong-smelling washed rind cheese, was my favorite, oozy and pungent.
The Fromager d'Affinois, a cousin to Brie, but a triple creme was downright decadent (at 60% fat, I guess so). With the fig compote, it was heavenly.
The Beehive Barely Buzzed cheddar, our only hard cheese, was nutty, full-bodied and unique with its lavender, oil and coffee rubbed rind. I'm not a coffee drinker, but this totally worked for me.
As we sat there sipping and nibbling on our bread and cheeses, we looked out the window to see a trio of girls leading a duo of guys on pink leashes. The guys were dressed only in black Speedos.
And before you recoil, the guys had the bodies for Speedos, so it was okay. Actually, it is awesome eye candy and about as unexpected on the streets of downtown historic Fredericksburg as I could have imagined.
Again, there was nothing to indicate who they were or why they were doing this, so we just watched and enjoyed. I was prepared to step out under the mist if overheating became an issue.
And it's only my birthday eve. No telling what I might happen on tomorrow.
I went for a scenic drive up Route 301 to Fredricksburg to celebrate with my two favorite sisters (when you have five to choose from, some just rise to the top).
Standing on the street corner waiting for them, I knew they'd arrived when I heard, "Hey, honey, have much you charge?" yelled from the window of a passing car. My baby sister, the card.
They arrived bearing presents and we decided to begin at Bistro Bethem at a sunny table with a view of the street.
Rose and beer were poured and we got down to eating while talking a mile a minute since it had been six months since we'd gotten together.
After so much rich food lately, I couldn't resist the whole avocado stuffed with Dragon Creek lump crab meat and micro-greens and pine nuts scattered over it then drizzled with EVOO.
I can never get enough crab and avocado is one of the few worthy vehicles for it, in my humble opinion.
We also shared a dish of grilled asparagus spears, Serrano ham,a sunny side up local organic egg and roasted red peppers; it was a hearty side salad to my crab.
All of a sudden our eyes were caught by a trio of girls outside the restaurant. Their faces and legs were panted deep blue and they were dancing on the sidewalk.
With no identifying clues, we couldn't imagine why, but we watched as traffic slowed and people pointed. Dancing girls, whatever. Back to present unwrapping.
From there we walked a half block to Kybecca WIne Bar for another course. The outside tables were being kept temperate by a fine mist released from the edges of the awnings. It was the first time I'd seen such a thing at a restaurant.
The chef, we were surprised to see, had cut his hair and shaved his beard, making for a striking change in his appearance, but he was just as friendly as ever.
I love the way their seating is arranged against the banquette with two additional chairs, making for three-tops, something I've never seen in Richmond either.
The beer drinker was excited about something hoppy and the other two of us got the Bebe Prosecco Rose, a beautiful deep pink bubbly that suited the festive and female occasion (celebrating me and talking about the other sisters).
Despite there being no appetizers on the brunch menu, we convinced the chef to do a cheese plate for us with little effort. The Epoisses de Bourgogne, a rich and strong-smelling washed rind cheese, was my favorite, oozy and pungent.
The Fromager d'Affinois, a cousin to Brie, but a triple creme was downright decadent (at 60% fat, I guess so). With the fig compote, it was heavenly.
The Beehive Barely Buzzed cheddar, our only hard cheese, was nutty, full-bodied and unique with its lavender, oil and coffee rubbed rind. I'm not a coffee drinker, but this totally worked for me.
As we sat there sipping and nibbling on our bread and cheeses, we looked out the window to see a trio of girls leading a duo of guys on pink leashes. The guys were dressed only in black Speedos.
And before you recoil, the guys had the bodies for Speedos, so it was okay. Actually, it is awesome eye candy and about as unexpected on the streets of downtown historic Fredericksburg as I could have imagined.
Again, there was nothing to indicate who they were or why they were doing this, so we just watched and enjoyed. I was prepared to step out under the mist if overheating became an issue.
And it's only my birthday eve. No telling what I might happen on tomorrow.
Friday, June 11, 2010
I Will Miss His Frequency
Old friends are best. King James used to call for his old shoes; they were easiest to his feet.
~John Selden (1584- 1654)
One of my oldest friends is moving from Maryland to Key West, which means our monthly get-togethers for lunch/dinner/theater in DC/Fredericksburg will end. I'm completely bummed about this upcoming change even as I celebrate the new chapter in his life and wish him the best.
Today we had our next-to-last meal together at Bistro Bethem in Fredericksburg at our usual table and it was a little bittersweet. We tried not to spend too much time on the subject of his departure, but it was the elephant in the room, so there was really no ignoring it.
I love this guy for many reasons, not the least of which is that he's my biggest cheerleader, here. He brought up the perfect woman theory yet again today and I still find it hugely gratifying because this is a guy who has been happily in a relationship since the day I met him, yet whose high opinion of me has never wavered. We are proof positive that men and women can be the best of friends without ever crossing that line in the sand.
And soon he will move to a place he has been visiting since before I met him and will only return to the area a couple of times a year. I will miss his raunchy sense of humor and his well-informed take on life and love. I will miss seeing a sharp-dressed man walking down the street grinning at me in anticipation of our time together.
I will miss someone who remembers me before I was fully formed (although he would say I was always exactly the same as I am today). I will miss trying new restaurants in DC with him and losing track of where we were because we were in our own little world. I will miss how easily (and loudly) he made me laugh.
I don't want to get too downbeat, because the friendship isn't ending. It's only the frequency which is changing and some is better than none, at least in this case. But like comfy old shoes, this is one of two friendships in my life that is so easy, so stress-free as to be effortless.
Not that I wouldn't have been willing to work at it, but it was never once necessary in all these years. And I have a feeling he will still be my biggest fan, no matter where he lives. Believe me, I know how lucky that makes me.
~John Selden (1584- 1654)
One of my oldest friends is moving from Maryland to Key West, which means our monthly get-togethers for lunch/dinner/theater in DC/Fredericksburg will end. I'm completely bummed about this upcoming change even as I celebrate the new chapter in his life and wish him the best.
Today we had our next-to-last meal together at Bistro Bethem in Fredericksburg at our usual table and it was a little bittersweet. We tried not to spend too much time on the subject of his departure, but it was the elephant in the room, so there was really no ignoring it.
I love this guy for many reasons, not the least of which is that he's my biggest cheerleader, here. He brought up the perfect woman theory yet again today and I still find it hugely gratifying because this is a guy who has been happily in a relationship since the day I met him, yet whose high opinion of me has never wavered. We are proof positive that men and women can be the best of friends without ever crossing that line in the sand.
And soon he will move to a place he has been visiting since before I met him and will only return to the area a couple of times a year. I will miss his raunchy sense of humor and his well-informed take on life and love. I will miss seeing a sharp-dressed man walking down the street grinning at me in anticipation of our time together.
I will miss someone who remembers me before I was fully formed (although he would say I was always exactly the same as I am today). I will miss trying new restaurants in DC with him and losing track of where we were because we were in our own little world. I will miss how easily (and loudly) he made me laugh.
I don't want to get too downbeat, because the friendship isn't ending. It's only the frequency which is changing and some is better than none, at least in this case. But like comfy old shoes, this is one of two friendships in my life that is so easy, so stress-free as to be effortless.
Not that I wouldn't have been willing to work at it, but it was never once necessary in all these years. And I have a feeling he will still be my biggest fan, no matter where he lives. Believe me, I know how lucky that makes me.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Serenity Now...Before My Head Explodes
It's a good thing I already had plans for a road trip today because I was in desperate need of some time to think...and reflect...and maybe think some more. So much seems to be happening lately and sorting it out away from the computer and other distractions offered the best way to get my head around it all.
I had plans to meet an old friend, this guy here, for lunch in Fredericksburg; our last three assignations had been in D.C., but I wanted to drive Route 301 today, knowing it would be a scenic drive after the recent snow. It was, too, with endless snow-covered fields that invited contemplation and almost nothing to distract me from my thoughts.
When we arrived at Bistro Bethem, they put us at our usual table and my friend got his usual lunch, the wood-oven pizza. I had potato leek soup and the three-cheese grilled cheese with bacon and tomato. We finished with the pot de creme au chocolat with pine nut brittle (I do love brittle of any kind and despite my grandmother having told me it would pull all my teeth out, they're all still there).
Since he's been a fan since before I was legal, I can tell him anything and I had loads to share and solicit his opinion on. He knows me too well ("This is what you should do and this is what you'll actually do," he told me honestly) and still makes me laugh out loud; one outburst was so noisy, he actually apologized for making me react so loudly. You have to hang on to friends who can do that for you.
Of course, there are no solutions to all the things swirling around in my head except how I alone choose to react and I'm leaning towards just being myself up and seeing what's offered. I can't be sure that this state of mind is not of my own design; even I can only overthink things for so long. Besides, maybe these aren't thinking issues so much as feeling.
I had plans to meet an old friend, this guy here, for lunch in Fredericksburg; our last three assignations had been in D.C., but I wanted to drive Route 301 today, knowing it would be a scenic drive after the recent snow. It was, too, with endless snow-covered fields that invited contemplation and almost nothing to distract me from my thoughts.
When we arrived at Bistro Bethem, they put us at our usual table and my friend got his usual lunch, the wood-oven pizza. I had potato leek soup and the three-cheese grilled cheese with bacon and tomato. We finished with the pot de creme au chocolat with pine nut brittle (I do love brittle of any kind and despite my grandmother having told me it would pull all my teeth out, they're all still there).
Since he's been a fan since before I was legal, I can tell him anything and I had loads to share and solicit his opinion on. He knows me too well ("This is what you should do and this is what you'll actually do," he told me honestly) and still makes me laugh out loud; one outburst was so noisy, he actually apologized for making me react so loudly. You have to hang on to friends who can do that for you.
Of course, there are no solutions to all the things swirling around in my head except how I alone choose to react and I'm leaning towards just being myself up and seeing what's offered. I can't be sure that this state of mind is not of my own design; even I can only overthink things for so long. Besides, maybe these aren't thinking issues so much as feeling.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Road Trip Quickie!
I have a friend from college who considers me the perfect woman. And by that, I mean, he provided me with a list of all the reasons he considers me the perfect woman (and let me make it perfectly clear that he has been happily married for ages). And as the man who's known me since I was 19, he probably knows me better than any man on earth. So it's probably not surprising that, despite him living in Maryland, we meet for lunch or dinner every single month, usually in Fredericksburg, sometimes in DC.
Out usual F-burg destination is Bistro Bethem on William Street; it's a great place with a vaulted ceiling, a 300-year old heart pine bar and a wood-burning pizza oven. The food is always fresh and seasonal (and they have amazing house-made charcuterie) and did I mention they have an excellent wine list? It's more than worth the scenic drive up 301 for a meal. At this point, my friend and I are such regulars that the staff knows us and considers a certain table "our usual." Today we did lunch and ate our way through avocado stuffed with crab meat over mesclun, barbecue sliders with homemade potato chips and an 8" slice of coconut cake.
I'd be the first to acknowledge that I'm not the perfect woman. Actually, everything about me on his list is true, but what he considers the qualifications for perfection would not necessarily be everyone's. Do I care? Would you?
Out usual F-burg destination is Bistro Bethem on William Street; it's a great place with a vaulted ceiling, a 300-year old heart pine bar and a wood-burning pizza oven. The food is always fresh and seasonal (and they have amazing house-made charcuterie) and did I mention they have an excellent wine list? It's more than worth the scenic drive up 301 for a meal. At this point, my friend and I are such regulars that the staff knows us and considers a certain table "our usual." Today we did lunch and ate our way through avocado stuffed with crab meat over mesclun, barbecue sliders with homemade potato chips and an 8" slice of coconut cake.
I'd be the first to acknowledge that I'm not the perfect woman. Actually, everything about me on his list is true, but what he considers the qualifications for perfection would not necessarily be everyone's. Do I care? Would you?
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