POSTING #102

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Back from a Winter Holiday

It's good to be back!!

I hope you had a fine holiday season and found an occasion or two---metaphorically speaking---to put your feet in the oven of an old wood stove.

A New Way to Search "Letter from Virgil"

You will notice something a little different at the top of the postings from now on, a box marked Google Custom Search.

I have been trying to find a simple and convenient way to search through the more than one hundred postings.

New readers with a special interest in stories about, say, my Immigration, Russian, Jordan or Frontier College experiences have suggested that it would be good to be able to 'pull out' all the postings that pertain to that interest.

The Google Custom Search feature seems to fill the bill.

One uses it in exactly the same way as the normal Google search---by entering one or more key words---but the search area is confined to the blog not the whole web.

I hope you find it useful, and that you will not be put off by the advertisements that help pay for the service.

Florida or Bust

We didn't actually put our feet in the oven during the blog hiatus but instead headed our car to the sunny warmth of Florida---Bonita Springs to be exact, on the Gulf coast between Fort Myers and Naples.

Driving to or from the south in the winter has always been a risky business but this year has been exceptionally tricky, with storm systems from the Gulf, California and the Arctic linking arms and doing a weekly square-dance do-si-do across the middle of the continent and up the east coast.

In this Posting I'll tell some stories about our trip south. Later Postings may pick up other stories from our Florida holiday.

Eating Our Way South.

Having celebrated Christmas with our family in early December, we began packing for a departure on Christmas Day, which, with three nights on the road, would get us to our rental condo by the start date of December 28th.

And then we watched weather forecasts---radio, television, Internet, everything but the Farmer's Almanac. Pat set up an elaborate chart with predictions for the three overnight I-75 stops we had decided upon: Columbus, Ohio; Knoxville, Tennessee; and, Tifton, Georgia.

It soon became clear that Santa was going to treat Virgil and Columbus to an old-fashioned storm on Christmas day.

So we set off two days early, on December 23rd.

It was a good decision, which helped us avoid snow storms except for a few tense hours in the mountains of Tennessee.

The problem was trying to find restaurants over Christmas.

We arrived in Knoxville on Christmas eve and the hotel clerk told us that all the restaurants were closed. He suggested we get some things for dinner in the food section at a local gas station.

We just smiled.

After last year's Christmas eve experience on the way to Hilton Head ( click here) ) we had come prepared. We heated some baked beans in the hotel room microwave and ate them with cheese and bagel chips. For dessert we had Canadian mince tarts from our stash (a Welsh tradition demands that male Hunters have to have 12 mince tarts between Christmas and New Years so they will have 12 months of good luck) and some squares of Lindt's delicious dark chocolate.

Not bad at all!

(For more on the mincemeat tart tradition click here) 

As we set out the next day, Christmas Day, we knew that it was going to be tough to find meals. Our favourite family restaurant chain, Bob Evans, was closed, as were all the restaurant chains that we consider acceptable alternatives, such as Cracker Barrel, Applebee's and Ruby Tuesday.

A USA Today article said that three chains would be open on the 25th: Shoney's, Dennys and the Waffle House. We had had unfortunate experiences at the first two and vowed never to return, and had always given a pass to the Waffle House as a place that was likely to be just too carb-intensive.

Mid-morning on the way to Tifton we needed one of those 'fuel and de-fuel' stops. Spotting a Shoney, next to a gas station, we pulled in for a cup of coffee. As we sat down, the server told us that they were only offering a buffet lunch. After some coaxing she agreed---very kindly---to let us have just coffee. As we left we looked over the buffet tables. The trays of pork chops, sausages, biscuits and gravy, salads and all the other dishes looked good---but not at 10 am. We made a mental note to try to find a Shoney's down the road for lunch.

Unfortunately, neither our trusty GPS nor Dave Hunter's excellent guide to the I-75 ("Along Interstate 75") could find a Shoney's at noontime but the GPS did locate a Waffle House, 10 kilometres off the I-75 in a rundown area of a small town.

The sign was a bit battered and the restaurant could have used a paint job---hell, the whole town could have use some paint!---but it was open.

And busy.

As we waited for a seat at the counter or at one of the round bar tables at the back, we listened to the staff bickering and shouting orders back and forth (it reminded me of the now deceased Nate's Delicatessen on Rideau Street in Ottawa) and inhaled the fumes of a very hot, busy grill.

We were finally seated---at the counter---and tried to make sense of the huge menu with its endless combinations of waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage etc. Totally confused, hungry and low on caffeine, we opted for the first item, "The All Star Breakfast". We couldn't figure out exactly what it consisted of but since it seemed to be the most expensive item, we felt it would probably give us enough to eat.

Soon, two large plates heaped with bacon, eggs, home fries, grits, toast and jam were slapped on the counter in front of us. The food was good and although we couldn't finish everything we made a real dent in it.

As we leaned back feeling full and ready for the road, the dirty plates were whisked away and two more plates each with a gigantic waffle, accompanied by pats of butter and a pitcher of syrup, were plunked in front of us.

We looked at each other as though to say 'we don't need this' but the waffles looked delicious. So telling ourselves that it might be beans for dinner, we dug in and managed to eat a fair bit of the waffles.

We later discovered that the All Star Breakfast has a cult following on the Internet, with people blogging back and forth about the quantity and quality of the dish at different Waffle Houses across the US.

Fuelled by the carb overload, we made super time and changed our hotel reservations on the fly so that we would spend the night in Valdosta, just north of the Florida border, instead of Tifton.

As I waited to check in at the Valdosta hotel, I overheard the man in front of me being told that the only restaurant open in the whole area was Dennys, across the street. "Are you sure?", he asked. The clerk assured him that she had called everywhere.

"I don't know how I'm going to handle this", he muttered to himself as he went out to the car to get his passengers and baggage.

When we were in our bedroom, Pat and I tried to decide what to do.

Our first, last and only experience with Dennys had been some years before in upper New York State. We were on our way home from Vermont and had stopped at a small town, which we later discovered was close to the site of the famous 1969 summer-of-love Woodstock happening.

We also discovered that there had been a re-enactment of Woodstock that weekend.

As we pulled into Dennys---the only restaurant in town---we noticed that the sidewalk outside the restaurant was littered with young people asleep or stoned. We parked and carefully made our way through the bodies into the restaurant. Inside we found that all the tables were taken, some with people eating and others by people sleeping. (It must have been a great concert!)

When we finally got a table, the service was slow and the food abominable.

We told ourselves at that time that we would never again visit a Dennys.

Now, sitting in our Valdosta hotel, we had to decided whether we should give Dennys a second chance or should we dine on baked beans?

We opted for Dennys.

As we entered, we were met by a greeter who wished us Merry Christmas and gave us a specially printed Christmas menu. I was impressed with the choices offered, a good blend of traditional holiday fare with other dishes.

The food surprised us. It was attractively presented and tasty.

Our only problem was our server. She had to be in her 70s, wiry, full of frenetic energy as she whirled around the dining room with a tray--- held high on one hand---loaded with dinners.

I could see a right-winger arguing that she was proof that the Social Security retirement age could easily be raised to 70---or perhaps 80!

The problem---as we discovered later---was that she was convinced that we, as fellow 'seniors', would want---and should have---'senior' portions.

Pat ordered a shrimp brochette dish and I chose the pork cutlet dinner. As she wrote down my order, I thought I heard the server repeat to herself "senior order". I corrected her, saying I wanted a full order.

"It's more expensive', she said.

"That's OK."

Twenty minutes later, the server slipped our plates in front of us and rushed off to another table.

Pat's plate had 4 measley shrimp on a bed of rice---obviously a senior order--- while my plate was covered with pork cutlets.

When we were able to catch the server, we protested at Pat's small portion.

"Oh, have you changed your mind, dear, about having the senior meal?, she asked Pat.

Now, since Pat definitely hadn't asked for a senior order, and since she hates people calling her 'dear' there was potential for a bit of a barney, as the British would say.

In the end, Pat bit her tongue, decided not to argue or send the shrimp back but, instead, to accept my offer of some pork cutlets.

As we prepared to leave, feeling full and telling ourselves that it was better than 'nuked' baked beans, I saw the man who had been in front of me at the hotel check-in counter. He was leading in an elderly couple---his parents we assumed--- frail but elegantly dressed, with a presence that said they were used to eating at their country club or in the dining room of a five star hotel.

The son was whispering something to the couple, presumably that Dennys was the only game in town. The parents were nodding but in a confused way that suggested that they had no idea that places like this existed.

We hope that they had a good meal---and that they didn't get our server!

Back in our hotel room we reviewed our Christmas day meals. We felt grateful that people had been prepared to give up Christmas day with their families in order to feed us.

And our opinion of Shoney's, the Waffle House, and Dennys had gone up a bit. They would be OK in an emergency but, as food critics sometimes say, they would not be a destination.

But when I feel like a dietary blow-out---and even Michelle Obama agrees that every sensible eating regime has to allow for periodic blow-outs---I would think about heading for the All Star Special. (I should add that Pat has made it plain that she would not be accompanying me!)

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On December 26th, Boxing Day, we arrived in Bonita Springs having dined a couple of times along the way at dear old Bob Evans.

Although we were two days early, the landlord generously allowed us to move into the condo.

After we had carried our bags into the house, two very tired people took off for Outback for dinner, and then to a Publix supermarket for some groceries.

Back at the condo, we mused for a few moments on how much of life revolves around eating---and then fell asleep!

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See you on February 20 for Posting #103 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.