Email From NOLA IIu
The Inn at Little Washington--"When you are a couple of perfectionists who decide to open a grand restaurant in a sleepy rural village seventy miles from any metropolitan area, you're either crazy or truly inspired. Reinhardt Lynch and Patrick O'Connell gambled that what they could offer in Virginia's Washington (pop. 178) would be enough to persuade diners to make the hour and a half trek into unknown territory. That was 1978; twenty-six years later, with every kind of award and accolade tacked to their office wall (like the unprecedented Zagat 29-29-29 rating and the James Beard Foundation's Restaurant of the Year)..."
When I stay in Rappahannock County I reside on a 40 acre property, as caretaker, up on a hill surrounded 360 by the foothills of the Shenandoah Mountains, about five blocks from The Inn.
I eat breakfast across the street from The Inn, at the Country Cafe. The waitresses call me "dear" and the Wednesday special is biscuits with sausage gravy.
My fellow diners are old curmudgeons like me, or town workers, cowboys, mechanics, retired newspaper men, an occasional politician, a foreigner once in a while, and high school students. Unlike the diner on Bourbon St. in New Orleans there is not, to my knowledge, a single transvestite on the list of regulars. Not to say there aren't adventurous spirits in the area because more than few talented artists reside in Rappahannock and I personally know or sort of know a handful of wife-swappers, drug addicts, a pornography production assistant, and a farmer/rocknroller/schoolteacher who doesn't talk to God Almighty but talks to Nature Spirits and drinks by the eye-dropper-full, essences of nature distilled in brandy.
The tabletops at the diner are covered in Fall-themed vinyl, with pictures of pumpkins, mustang grapes, and leaves turned to color other than green. This late in December it surprises me that more Christmas decoration is not up because last year the Christmas theme lasted from early December to late July. Sometimes I would sit next to the baby Jesus.
Now I am at a loss to tell you anything else.
Tonight going into McLean, VA. for a semi-formal Christmas party. Of my ilk there, will be me. I get to be the novelty guest, which is fine. Better than being a curmudgeon, all the time.
when i took my mom to that diner we had a fabulous breakfast. mom had blue berry pancakes and bacon, coffee. i had something i cant remember but just as good. eggs and hash-browns and bacon ? when the bill came and we chuckled how low it was. then the "dear" talking waitress came over and adjusted the bill lower by two dollars. she said she had made an addition error. big tips for waitresses who call you dear and hun.
And the ever-popular "sug," as in "shoog."
i was trying to fashion an anti-curmudgeon device, but i only manage to make a wistful.
The Nature worshipper pagan farmer rocker chick hopes to God or whoever to exorcise the lovely fucking curmudgeon demon named JimLouis from her life and wish him well on his way. Best of luck to you. I loved you. I'm glad you carry New Orleans with you. It's both what I love and what I hate about you. This is for all your friends of both sexes, whom I accept, to read and talk about. I'm going to try not to read this blog anymore. Even though I am a devout fan and fell in love first with you and second with your words. Be Happy Goddammit. Or if not, be secure. You are good. I'll think of you when I grow up to be 45. All right. Okay. Okee dokey, sug.
Sorry I only liked your girlfriends and my friends can only be glad to be accepted by you. Be well Lorina. I loved you too, I hope that was obvious.
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The Inn at Little Washington--"When you are a couple of perfectionists who decide to open a grand restaurant in a sleepy rural village seventy miles from any metropolitan area, you're either crazy or truly inspired. Reinhardt Lynch and Patrick O'Connell gambled that what they could offer in Virginia's Washington (pop. 178) would be enough to persuade diners to make the hour and a half trek into unknown territory. That was 1978; twenty-six years later, with every kind of award and accolade tacked to their office wall (like the unprecedented Zagat 29-29-29 rating and the James Beard Foundation's Restaurant of the Year)..."
When I stay in Rappahannock County I reside on a 40 acre property, as caretaker, up on a hill surrounded 360 by the foothills of the Shenandoah Mountains, about five blocks from The Inn.
I eat breakfast across the street from The Inn, at the Country Cafe. The waitresses call me "dear" and the Wednesday special is biscuits with sausage gravy.
My fellow diners are old curmudgeons like me, or town workers, cowboys, mechanics, retired newspaper men, an occasional politician, a foreigner once in a while, and high school students. Unlike the diner on Bourbon St. in New Orleans there is not, to my knowledge, a single transvestite on the list of regulars. Not to say there aren't adventurous spirits in the area because more than few talented artists reside in Rappahannock and I personally know or sort of know a handful of wife-swappers, drug addicts, a pornography production assistant, and a farmer/rocknroller/schoolteacher who doesn't talk to God Almighty but talks to Nature Spirits and drinks by the eye-dropper-full, essences of nature distilled in brandy.
The tabletops at the diner are covered in Fall-themed vinyl, with pictures of pumpkins, mustang grapes, and leaves turned to color other than green. This late in December it surprises me that more Christmas decoration is not up because last year the Christmas theme lasted from early December to late July. Sometimes I would sit next to the baby Jesus.
Now I am at a loss to tell you anything else.
Tonight going into McLean, VA. for a semi-formal Christmas party. Of my ilk there, will be me. I get to be the novelty guest, which is fine. Better than being a curmudgeon, all the time.
- jimlouis 12-10-2005 7:05 pm
when i took my mom to that diner we had a fabulous breakfast. mom had blue berry pancakes and bacon, coffee. i had something i cant remember but just as good. eggs and hash-browns and bacon ? when the bill came and we chuckled how low it was. then the "dear" talking waitress came over and adjusted the bill lower by two dollars. she said she had made an addition error. big tips for waitresses who call you dear and hun.
- bill 12-10-2005 7:21 pm [add a comment]
And the ever-popular "sug," as in "shoog."
- tom moody 12-10-2005 7:31 pm [add a comment]
i was trying to fashion an anti-curmudgeon device, but i only manage to make a wistful.
- dave 12-10-2005 8:20 pm [add a comment]
The Nature worshipper pagan farmer rocker chick hopes to God or whoever to exorcise the lovely fucking curmudgeon demon named JimLouis from her life and wish him well on his way. Best of luck to you. I loved you. I'm glad you carry New Orleans with you. It's both what I love and what I hate about you. This is for all your friends of both sexes, whom I accept, to read and talk about. I'm going to try not to read this blog anymore. Even though I am a devout fan and fell in love first with you and second with your words. Be Happy Goddammit. Or if not, be secure. You are good. I'll think of you when I grow up to be 45. All right. Okay. Okee dokey, sug.
- guest (guest) 12-15-2005 7:59 am [add a comment]
Sorry I only liked your girlfriends and my friends can only be glad to be accepted by you. Be well Lorina. I loved you too, I hope that was obvious.
- jimlouis 12-15-2005 8:16 am [add a comment]