Strong Tea, No Metaphor

I couldn't decide if it was more about the southern charm or the splendor of location.

A friend invited me to lunch at Homemades by Suzanne in the John Marshall Hotel and since I hadn't been in since the bazillion-dollar renovation, hell, yes.

Walking in off of 5th Street, I loved how they'd kept the stately, old feel of the interior while updating it subtly with contemporary furniture and limited technology tastefully placed.

Lunch is served in the smaller of the two ballrooms and we got a table next to one of the enormous windows looking down on the streetscape.

The room was neutral to the max -beiges, taupes- no doubt so as to be an unobtrusive backdrop for the scores of weddings held here.

The servers wore black catering-type uniforms and were all exceptionally friendly and on point with service.

One very old-school element was the all-inclusive lunch price, providing a main, a side and a drink.

Friend was aghast that they didn't yet have their ABC, but adjusted, while I asked for unsweetened tea, knowing that it would be a well-made one.

It was, strong and fresh-tasting, just the way my Mom still makes it.

Amongst some family members, it's referred to as "black gold" for its pure, unadulterated tea flavor, but it's my standard.

The rolls on all the sandwiches are housemade, which I needed to taste, so I got the club for its country ham, turkey and thick-sliced bacon.

Friend got a sampler plate of cold salads and ate two of those rolls lavishly buttered.

Good rolls, just like my Richmond grandmother used to make.

For a side, I had the housemade potato chips with dip, eschewing cheddar bacon for cucumber/dill dip for no real reason.

All in all, the thick sandwich was a standout, mostly because of that country ham and bacon.

It was an outstanding way to have pig two ways.

Friend found his shrimp, chicken and tuna salads a tad on the wet side, but we both acknowledged that extra mayo is the southern salad way and a standard for many people.

With at least half a dozen dessert choices, we chose carrot cake, which did not have an overly thick layer of frosting, to my friend's delight.

I'll always eat more frosting.

After bringing each other up to date on our lives, we strolled across the lobby to look at the larger ballroom.

While it had a stunning vaulted ceiling it had no windows, although I was almost willing to let the permanent wooden dance floor make up for that.

There was even a balcony around the upper area of the room, a place to get away from the party or take some picaresque shots.

Still, I missed the windows.

Not that there's any chance I'll need a room for a wedding reception anyway.

Rolling Down Highway 460

I have been ridiculed on more than one occasion for the circuitous routes I take in pursuit of a scenic journey.

Case in point, the route that I take to the Outer Banks is a combination of newer, fast roads and back roads.

For me, 64 is almost as soul-sucking a road as I-95, so I spend only a couple of miles on the former and none on the latter.

Part of the reason for my route is the scenery, of which Route 460-East has an abundance, like the Melody Inn Motel and further along, a hand-painted sign with a big arrow, spelling out REST-ARAUNT.

And then there's the small-town eating options.

A friend was driving down following me caravan-style and I'd warned him in advance that if he wanted to follow, I'd be stopping at Adams Country Store for lunch for a sandwich.

That was my fair warning that if he was one of those press-on type travelers, he'd be better off not trying to follow me, but he was game.

Walking into Adams, the owner (Son) asked how I was doing.

Hot, I told him, but a sandwich was going to make me feel so much better.

"Mayo or mustard?" he asked, moving behind the case of pig.

No other questions were necessary, because you're going to get a country ham sandwich on white bread, so condiments are the only variable.

As he was wrapping it up, I grabbed a bottle of RC Cola from the case.

Gotta have my sweet to balance all that salt.

Talking to the owner, Son (an older man), and his Daddy (a much older man) was a delightful prelude to lunch.

I asked how long they'd owned the store (1961) and Son pointed to where the floor changed from one wood pattern to another.

"Used to be a dance hall next door. Daddy took down that wall and made it one big space and they used to have a dance here every Saturday night. We sold beer. Boys from Waverly and Wakefield would have fights out back about different girls."

I looked over at the beautiful hardwood floor that so many locals had shaken a leg on.

"So I could dance over there on that dance floor?" I asked the two men sitting amongst wooden crates of pork jowls.

"What kind of band do you want?" Daddy asked me enthusiastically. "Swing, bebop?"

I feel fairly certain that he was willing to find the music to have a girl dance on that floor today.

It was pretty sweet.

My friend and I took our sandwiches and drinks outside to eat on a stone table and benches under a huge, old tree.

The cornfield was just beyond the out buildings, which were full of ancient-looking farm tools and signs.

That RC Cola went down like a long-forgotten childhood memory, which is exactly what it was.

And that salty ham with nothing but mustard and white bread around it was probably just what the Waverly and Wakefield boys would have eaten back in the day, to keep up their energy for dancing and fighting.

I'm so not a fighter and you'd be hard-pressed to find a man who could truthfully say I've danced with him, but for anyone having a tough time understanding why I drive back roads, the answer is simple.

Country ham sandwiches and RC Cola in the shade of a big old tree...because that's the way to start vacation.