Travelog & food_porn backlog
Dec. 5th, 2007 08:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quisletAh. Had a lovely dinner date tonight with my girls (ni shojo). Driveway shoveled, sipping a Seghesio Zinfandel, munching the new LU Noir Extreme cookies (70% dark chocolate coating with chunks of whole cacao bean inside). I'm caught up with work and school for the moment, so let me see what I can do about reporting on last weekend's fun and food.
After many weeks on the road with too few home days in between, herself and I thought it time for an away weekend. We settled on a B&B in the Shenandoah Valley, The Miller House in Staunton, VA. It was a random choice. I just liked the picture on their web page. I had no idea that Staunton (pronounced like "town of Stan" not "town of Stawn") was such a cool little town. The Blackfriar's Playhouse is apparently a replica of Shakespeare's original indoor theater, and the troupe there is quite good. We had tickets for Antony & Cleopatra, close enough to slap the players, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Friday evening, not-so-cleverly setting out in time for rush hour, we headed over to the Shenandoah Valley and drove down to Staunton. We found our way to The Miller House a little past 8, driving up the hill to find this massive Victorian home all decked out for Christmas. We both gawked in amazement at this fully gingerbreaded castle of a place that we got to stay in!
The seething metropolis of Staunton doesn't do too much after dark, but there are a few places that stay open late. We decided to check out one of the new ones, Zynodoa. It was a good choice for a late dinner.
Herself started with a Guinness (a mediocre pull at best), and noting the unmistakable apothecary bottle shape behind the bar, I ordered a Hendricks martini. Our darling waitress, Mary Beth as I recall, even managed to get a cucumber slice from the kitchen for the garnish. There's nothing like a cucumber soaked in Scottish gin!
Having introduced herself to the simple pleasures of a Five Guys burger on the way down, we weren't exactly ravenous, so we decided to split a couple of appetizers. We spontaneously agreed on two. The waitress thought us odd to not be planning entrees, but coolly played along. We sipped our drinks, chatted about the vagaries and complexities of life, and soon Mary Beth returned with oysters and the duck carpaccio.
The oysters were simply identified as "Atlantic," which is a good thing, I suppose, as I wouldn't really want to be eating raw Pacific oysters after their long flight to Dulles and then truckride down to Staunton. There were five of them: lovely, gnarled half-shells cradling the wet, creamy kiss of ocean. A small, rectangular dish nestling among them held oil and a lump of fresh shaved horseradish. Offset from this little dish was a pile of fine-diced watermelon, oddly out of place among the more familiar assemblage. Pick up an oyster, feel the heft of the shell, find a likely spot to stick into your mouth, ladle a little horseradish and oil atop the briny bivalve, a few tiny cubes of watermelon, too, because chef apparently thinks it's a good idea... "Bang! Zoom! Right in the kisser!" The combination is truly inspired! Imagine that soft oyster meat slipping into your mouth, glistening and slick with a little oil. The horseradish wafts through your mouth, unencumbered by that silly ketchup nonsense that so often drowns the spicy, natural marriage of ocean and earth. You begin to chew, moving the horseradish about, bruising the oyster, tasting the brine, and then you crunch into the watermelon. It's a tiny cube, cut not far from the rind, firm and not over-sweet. The crunch brings a surprisingly delightful contrast in texture, crisp and wet, a hint of sweetness, the melon resonating quietly with its curcurbit cousin in my martini. The surprise is a lot like the first time you put pop rocks in your mouth, a tiny explosion of flavor and sensation that you weren't quite expecting, no matter how prepared you thought you were.
The carpaccio was a fan of paper-thin slices of raw duck breast, lightly pounded and graced by a thin rind of fat on one side. A tangle of mesclun, tossed in mustard oil sits to the side. A streak of dijon closes the framing of the dish. Thin slices of radish and tiny cubes of green apple have been tumbled into the center of the plate. I ground fresh pepper atop it all, took a slice of duck, wrapped it around both apple and radish, swept it through the dijon and tasted. It sounds odd, but the texture of the duck was unexpectedly meaty. The mouthfeel was very much like rare beef tenderloin. It was almost confusing until you hit the duck fat and then everything goes all silky and sublime. It made me dance. The prickly mesclun with its lightly pungent oiling served as a palate-cleanser as we toyed with different combinations of apple, radish, mustard and that most blessed of common fowl.
Having successfully summoned our appetites, we agreed to split an entree. Mary Beth seemed somewhat relieved. Herself chose the bison. Rich and medium rare with just a playful hint of gaminess, the steak was surrounded on two sides by glistening caramelized soy reduction. Shiny walnut-colored pools as sticky as honey, a familiar, deep sweetness proclaimed it the primal essence of teriyaki. A cluster of roasted porcini mushrooms sat far off in another corner of the square plate, unsauced, unspiced, plump with their own juices, edges crisp, flesh toothsome and meaty. They could have been an entree of their own. I could almost be a vegetarian if I could get those regularly! A great creamy dollop of cheddar grits with mild chilis finished the plate, offsetting the other elements in texture and flavor.
Time for dessert. I ordered the quince crostada, herself the chocolate torte. Mary Beth warned that the crostada would be made fresh, a 20 minute delay. To me, that sounded like just enough time to start on another round of drinks. I'll let you imagine the chocolate torte. It was finely made, exactly what you'd hope for. The crostada was handmade pie crust (with both butter and shortening - you could taste the butter and feel the flake from the shortening) folded up and around lightly spiced quince. To the uninitiated, the quince is halfway between the apple and the pear, but firmer, drier and with a subtler flavor. It's a fruit that's all about the floral natural perfume that goes spicy when you cook it down. I was reveling in how extremely well-crafted this little pan-less pie-for-one was when I remembered that the other key essence in my gin should marry well with it. Hendricks is a gin that's light on the juniper, but also adds the unusual ingredients of cucumber and Bulgarian rose. Take a mouthful of martini, swish it about the mouth and swallow. Count to two and then taste the quince. The essence of rose and its cousin quince explode in the mouth, creating spectacular waves of flavor and aroma reminiscent of the long, gentle autumn sunsets over the western ocean of my homeland.
Wow, I have more meals to report, but I didn't realize that one was going to require so many words! More of this later...
After many weeks on the road with too few home days in between, herself and I thought it time for an away weekend. We settled on a B&B in the Shenandoah Valley, The Miller House in Staunton, VA. It was a random choice. I just liked the picture on their web page. I had no idea that Staunton (pronounced like "town of Stan" not "town of Stawn") was such a cool little town. The Blackfriar's Playhouse is apparently a replica of Shakespeare's original indoor theater, and the troupe there is quite good. We had tickets for Antony & Cleopatra, close enough to slap the players, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Friday evening, not-so-cleverly setting out in time for rush hour, we headed over to the Shenandoah Valley and drove down to Staunton. We found our way to The Miller House a little past 8, driving up the hill to find this massive Victorian home all decked out for Christmas. We both gawked in amazement at this fully gingerbreaded castle of a place that we got to stay in!
The seething metropolis of Staunton doesn't do too much after dark, but there are a few places that stay open late. We decided to check out one of the new ones, Zynodoa. It was a good choice for a late dinner.
Herself started with a Guinness (a mediocre pull at best), and noting the unmistakable apothecary bottle shape behind the bar, I ordered a Hendricks martini. Our darling waitress, Mary Beth as I recall, even managed to get a cucumber slice from the kitchen for the garnish. There's nothing like a cucumber soaked in Scottish gin!
Having introduced herself to the simple pleasures of a Five Guys burger on the way down, we weren't exactly ravenous, so we decided to split a couple of appetizers. We spontaneously agreed on two. The waitress thought us odd to not be planning entrees, but coolly played along. We sipped our drinks, chatted about the vagaries and complexities of life, and soon Mary Beth returned with oysters and the duck carpaccio.
The oysters were simply identified as "Atlantic," which is a good thing, I suppose, as I wouldn't really want to be eating raw Pacific oysters after their long flight to Dulles and then truckride down to Staunton. There were five of them: lovely, gnarled half-shells cradling the wet, creamy kiss of ocean. A small, rectangular dish nestling among them held oil and a lump of fresh shaved horseradish. Offset from this little dish was a pile of fine-diced watermelon, oddly out of place among the more familiar assemblage. Pick up an oyster, feel the heft of the shell, find a likely spot to stick into your mouth, ladle a little horseradish and oil atop the briny bivalve, a few tiny cubes of watermelon, too, because chef apparently thinks it's a good idea... "Bang! Zoom! Right in the kisser!" The combination is truly inspired! Imagine that soft oyster meat slipping into your mouth, glistening and slick with a little oil. The horseradish wafts through your mouth, unencumbered by that silly ketchup nonsense that so often drowns the spicy, natural marriage of ocean and earth. You begin to chew, moving the horseradish about, bruising the oyster, tasting the brine, and then you crunch into the watermelon. It's a tiny cube, cut not far from the rind, firm and not over-sweet. The crunch brings a surprisingly delightful contrast in texture, crisp and wet, a hint of sweetness, the melon resonating quietly with its curcurbit cousin in my martini. The surprise is a lot like the first time you put pop rocks in your mouth, a tiny explosion of flavor and sensation that you weren't quite expecting, no matter how prepared you thought you were.
The carpaccio was a fan of paper-thin slices of raw duck breast, lightly pounded and graced by a thin rind of fat on one side. A tangle of mesclun, tossed in mustard oil sits to the side. A streak of dijon closes the framing of the dish. Thin slices of radish and tiny cubes of green apple have been tumbled into the center of the plate. I ground fresh pepper atop it all, took a slice of duck, wrapped it around both apple and radish, swept it through the dijon and tasted. It sounds odd, but the texture of the duck was unexpectedly meaty. The mouthfeel was very much like rare beef tenderloin. It was almost confusing until you hit the duck fat and then everything goes all silky and sublime. It made me dance. The prickly mesclun with its lightly pungent oiling served as a palate-cleanser as we toyed with different combinations of apple, radish, mustard and that most blessed of common fowl.
Having successfully summoned our appetites, we agreed to split an entree. Mary Beth seemed somewhat relieved. Herself chose the bison. Rich and medium rare with just a playful hint of gaminess, the steak was surrounded on two sides by glistening caramelized soy reduction. Shiny walnut-colored pools as sticky as honey, a familiar, deep sweetness proclaimed it the primal essence of teriyaki. A cluster of roasted porcini mushrooms sat far off in another corner of the square plate, unsauced, unspiced, plump with their own juices, edges crisp, flesh toothsome and meaty. They could have been an entree of their own. I could almost be a vegetarian if I could get those regularly! A great creamy dollop of cheddar grits with mild chilis finished the plate, offsetting the other elements in texture and flavor.
Time for dessert. I ordered the quince crostada, herself the chocolate torte. Mary Beth warned that the crostada would be made fresh, a 20 minute delay. To me, that sounded like just enough time to start on another round of drinks. I'll let you imagine the chocolate torte. It was finely made, exactly what you'd hope for. The crostada was handmade pie crust (with both butter and shortening - you could taste the butter and feel the flake from the shortening) folded up and around lightly spiced quince. To the uninitiated, the quince is halfway between the apple and the pear, but firmer, drier and with a subtler flavor. It's a fruit that's all about the floral natural perfume that goes spicy when you cook it down. I was reveling in how extremely well-crafted this little pan-less pie-for-one was when I remembered that the other key essence in my gin should marry well with it. Hendricks is a gin that's light on the juniper, but also adds the unusual ingredients of cucumber and Bulgarian rose. Take a mouthful of martini, swish it about the mouth and swallow. Count to two and then taste the quince. The essence of rose and its cousin quince explode in the mouth, creating spectacular waves of flavor and aroma reminiscent of the long, gentle autumn sunsets over the western ocean of my homeland.
Wow, I have more meals to report, but I didn't realize that one was going to require so many words! More of this later...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-12-06 04:08 am (UTC)BTW, I need your snail-mail addy...can you email it to me at ladybarnard at gmail dot com?
i heart staunton
Date: 2007-12-06 01:28 pm (UTC)Re: i heart staunton
Date: 2007-12-06 01:35 pm (UTC)I'm seriously thinking of taking the train down there sometime, and then the Jolly Roger would be on my way to, well, anywhere in town. :-)
The Other Globe
Date: 2007-12-06 03:18 pm (UTC)When I took his class, we didn't focus on the English, but rather on the plays. He was fascinated by how these scripts were actually performed.
I took his class my senior year, and then promptly headed off to Britain for a holiday. Just before I left, I extended my flight by three days to see the very first play performed at the Globe. Saw Henry V premier, paid 5p for standing room, and watched the lectures from class play out in real life. Really cool!
This guy also founded the Shenandoah Shakespeare Express. They're a traveling troup, and do a lot of performance for high schools, etc. To give you a sense of their focus, apparently in the contract with the directors is the dictate "Thou shalt not put any dick jokes in; but thou shalt also not leave any out."
(Who would have thought that I'd respond to a message all about fantastic sounding food by going off about Shakespeare??? :) )
Re: The Other Globe
Date: 2007-12-06 03:33 pm (UTC)According to the Shenandoah Shakespeare web site, they're planning to rebuild the Globe in Staunton, too, not far from the Blackfriar.
It was weird to be in the Lord's Seats, halfway up the side of the stage. The stage is square, but they "act in the round," I guess. The cast took two volunteers to put up in the balcony (on stage), and just moved them out of the way when they did balcony scenes. There were also a dozen or so stools on stage where some students sat. The cast performed music in the intervals, and of course the lights were on the whole time Also in the intervals, the bar was wheeled out on stage. All of this created an oddly intimate performance where the line between cast and audience, between stage and seating almost disappeared. It was very immersive!
WOW
Date: 2007-12-06 08:27 pm (UTC)Kingston Trio?
Kingston Trio!
Lawds, in ALL my born days, you are the FIRST and well, only friend to ever even know who the hell they are.
BRAVO!
Course, now I'm gonna have "Tom Dooley" stuck in my head for days. =/