My winter vacation

Nicole and I took a few days and went to visit my sister in Staunton, Virginia where she is enrolled in a Master’s program studying Shakespeare. Staunton is home to one of the only existing theatres modeled as an exact replica on the indoor theatres of Shakespeare’s time. She was able to give us a tour of this fascinating space, but unfortunately the timing of our visit did not allow for us to take in a show. We did, however, get to experience another kind of theatre and do something I’ve wanted to do for years, which was to visit one of the United States’ most critically lauded restaurants, ‘The Inn at Little Washington’ in Washington, Virginia.



The chef, Patrick O’Connell, through his writings and through stories, has been an inspiration to me for over ten years. Though often described as one of the top chefs in America, he is self taught, like myself, and has a great love for home cooking and what I call ‘real’ or ‘comfort’ food. He is often grouped with the great chefs of the world in magazines and books, but rather than challenging or inaccessible, I find his cooking style to be humble, smart, and invested with a sense of fun and adventure. In reading about him over the years, I was struck by his anti-snob attitude towards haute cuisine. He always remembers that flavor and service are more important than celebrity or presentation, but by focusing on the former it seems that he comes naturally by the latter. He also was the first chef about whom I read about who was associated closely with a cuisine based on local foods. This seed of thought germinated several ideas in my head and as a result I’ve often cited him as a reference point for my own style. All this before ever eating at his restaurant.



One of the most interesting things about ‘The Inn…’ is that it is, almost literally, in the middle of nowhere. It is a full hours’ drive from Washington D.C., the nearest city, and that drive is through mostly absurdly winding mountain roads populated by a host of vigorously suicidal deer who are actively seeking a hood to ornament. The town is cute and small, but is not home to any other particularly special industry of note (such as the wine country surrounding the world renowned small town restaurants of California). It is a challenge to get there and a challenge to leave which was part of the reason the restaurateurs expanded into an inn soon after opening in the late 70’s. And yet, for years, the inn has filled its dining room night after night even with, what the owners describe as, prices ‘raised out of self-defense’. Why would someone brave this treacherous journey for a meal? Well, after our visit it was obvious.



We were late, a bit, and at some restaurants in this stratum that would have earned us our first scowl. Instead, we were made to feel welcome, greeted by name and treated like old friends. Due to poor planning, we were dressed a touch less formally than we would have liked, at some restaurants, this would have earned us a second scowl, but here? No, again. It was so homey I felt like I should have brought a bottle of wine for the hosts. Nicole and I have eaten well in our time together, rarely at such posh places, but our adventures have, at times, taken us (sometimes as employees, other times as the lucky guest of those who can afford, and by an occasional almost heroic effort to ignore the right hand side of the menu until it is too late) to some dining rooms designed to comfort only the chosen (and by chosen, yes, I do mean wealthy) few. Our intimate familiarity with the kitchens and wait stations of such venues also makes us quite familiar with the attitude toward a couple of ratty young ‘middle class’ types like ourselves. We are obviously poor marks, financially incapable of ordering the finer wines or spirits that might push the waiter’s tip percentage into the stratosphere. In places such as these it is easy to discount such customers, to give them the table by the kitchen door, to subtly move them down the priority list for the table check or the water refill, etc. Small gestures, unintentional mostly, but observable to the experienced eye nonetheless.



I can honestly say, with just such an experienced eye, that I felt none of this subtle class distinction here; in fact, it was entirely the opposite. We were greeted by name, even our history was known. When my sister made the reservation on our behalf, she had mentioned that we were new restaurant owners. Given this grain of knowledge, the hosts had found a copy of our logo and printed it on special copies of that nights’ menu, welcoming us as equals. My reaction was emotional; no restaurant, no simple business had ever gone to such lengths on our behalf. The night improved from there, as we were immediately treated to complimentary champagne and a number of delicious treats including tempura green beans, parmesan crisps, and sashimi of tuna. We chose a few selections from the a la carte menu and were treated to more tiny tastes. Our wine selection was aided by a sommelier who recited our menu choices to us (he wasn’t the waiter who took the order) and not only didn’t flinch when I explained our price needs but through the course of the meal, brought us complimentary tastes of some choices we were unable to afford, just because he thought we might enjoy them. And from the menu? I ordered, yes, macaroni and cheese with white truffles and Virginia ham. Those who know me well know I could not resist such a treat. Other menu items included perfect and fluffy gnocchi with lobster and walnuts, lamb loin tartare, wild mushrooms and Artisan cheese (again with white truffles, who can resist?), a meltingly tender tenderloin of venison, an immaculate tuna steak with seared foie gras and desserts of a chocolate trio and a butterscotch ice cream and cookie tower. What we didn’t order? Well, in addition to the nibbles I mentioned earlier there was a Red sweet pepper soup, an intermezzo ‘dreamsicle’ lollipop of vanilla and passionfruit ice cream, and a picnic basket of assorted cookies during dessert, and a chocolate truffle after (don’t tell him I said it, but it was almost as good as Brent’s). The flow of new tastes and flavors never stopped. It was flowlicious. It was a foodgasm.



After the meal we were ushered into the kitchen to meet the chef. He was entirely approachable, friendly, funny, proud, but not cocky, and quick to share secrets and advice. I let it slip during the meal that I had a copy of the first but not the second cookbook, and in the kitchen he handed us a signed copy of the second. As we were leaving, we were also given copies of our menu and the picnic basket from the dessert course.



It’s kind of obvious why people drive this far isn’t it? These folks understand that good service is the art of making people, regular people, feel special.



I read once that food from a top tier restaurant should be held up to a ‘take-out box’ standard, that is to say, that the food should taste just as good out of a take-out box as it does in the restaurant. Few, if any finer restaurants would fare well in such a test. Devoid of the trappings of the high grade china, flatware, crystal, linen and the elaborate lighting and plate design that make up the dining room of a modern haute cuisine restaurant, the food often becomes lifeless. Interesting, perhaps, but not necessarily special. My favorite story to tell about Patrick O’Connell is about his answer to a question which was put to a number of top chefs, the question was something along the lines of ‘What food would you take with you to a desert island?’ Most chefs answered with predictably impractical foods such as truffles or foie gras or some exotic oil, but Patrick answered a bit more creatively. ‘Clean water,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I would enjoy dying of thirst’ and went on to explain that he would enjoy having to forage for the rest. On his menu, he is not afraid to use the tools of haute cuisine which are afforded him by his current station in the firmament of modern day chef stars, but that isn’t what makes him special. What makes him special is that it seems as if he’d be just as content, and competent, without them. And that’s why his food is good. Probably even out of a take-out box.



In a way fine dining is little more than theatre, it is often far removed from the rational reasons of why we eat food, for instance, no one can argue that it has much to do with nutrition or sustenance. But that is not to say it does not play an important role. Much like theatre, fine dining is often a place where new ideas are vetted and tried, exposed and expressed. Just as theatre brought edgy ideas like class war, suffrage and racism to the dialogue of everyday people in Shakespeare’s time, fine dining has helped to bring forth conversations about such topics as organic agriculture, local foods and changing foodways today. One example might be how chefs are no longer relying solely on overfished ocean populations to maintain the impossible ideal of a static menu, and are instead looking to new and more sustainable populations for the future. Not all chefs are thinking this far ahead, but it is undeniable that the potential is there, and as long as chefs like O’Connell and Alice Waters are successful and are willing to take the lead there will be those who follow. That’s when fine dining becomes important, when food becomes more than what is on the plate and when being kind to a customer is more than act put on for profit and becomes a genuine act of people caring for one another. Now that’s good service.