BREAKFAST GRITS AND A TABLE FOR LUNCH
This road trip started out from our home in southwest Florida. Instead of driving the Interstate, we decided to do back roads pretty much all the way to our destination, Savannah. There, I would attempt to realize a long-term desire to have lunch at their most famous former boardinghouse. It is on my “bucket list”.
The hours spent driving the back roads that wind up through central Florida make you realize that, yes indeed, parts of the state are really in the south. But it is the south without magnolias and wisteria.
There are orange groves, lots of them, and nothing new for miles and miles. Passing through Zolfo Springs and entering Wauchula, I stop the car to ask an old man in a torn sombrero where he thought I ought to head for lunch.
“Nothin fancy here”, the man said, and then he pointed in the direction of the McDonald’s, adding “that’s about as good as it gets for the next twenty or thirty miles.”
This was not an auspicious beginning for a trip I had planned in my mind for several decades. It was a trip that would help few of my high-flying clients but it would, I thought, help me. It was a family road trip, four nights with plenty of driving at either end. And I couldn’t even be certain I would obtain my goal.
The idea of a road trip is rather new to me. I still have large chunks of the planet, to explore. Driving in the US of A is on the horizon, based on the assumption I will still be a nifty driver in a decade or so. But this trip had to be done because it was filled with purpose and I, perhaps selfishly, thought it was time to realize this one dreamette.
The back roads took us close to Orlando and around Lake Buena Vista heading north. But I realized the same frustration the last time I had driven to Disney World; a profound sadness that there would be no time to visit that other theme park that intrigues me in ways that Disney World never could.
The Holy Land Experience is still drawing crowds, part of the $4 billion religious entertainment industry that includes amusement parks, books, music, rock concerts and a Christian wrestling circuit.
This is a portion of the travel industry rarely covered in the trade publications. The Holy Land Experience charges $31 a ticket for adults and is most crowded in the afternoons with folks who come to see the daily crucifixion re-enactment at 4:30. I vowed to report on The Experience the next time I am in Orlando.
We finally made it to Savannah and parked in front of the new Avia Hotel smack dab in the center of things fronting the restored Ellis Square.
The Avia Savannah may have been my hotel find of the year. The front desk staff comes around and personally takes your hand, sometimes there are hugs from a staff that welcomes you the way a favorite aunt might. Hip, contemporary rooms and southern charm. And these folks weren’t trained to be nice. They were all southerners. It sort of comes naturally.
That night we went down to the bar/restaurant fronting the huge square and ordered several small plates including “Lobster Mac” in a mornay reduction, Low Country Oyster and Fried Green Tomatoes, and some espresso dusted sea scallops with candied pecans and fig balsamic. But I think it was when we decided to order one more small plate of Southern Fried chicken with waffles, firefly vodka, and blueberry praline syrup that we decided we would be moving to this city as quickly as possible.
“What’s with these Avia people,” I wondered, haven’t they read the rules about hotel dining rooms.
The next morning, I was back in the dining room, sitting by a large window, enjoying my everyday breakfast of “100% organic local grits topped with Savannah Shrimp” when I glanced out the window and saw something shocking enough to make me put my fork down.
Across the way, a somewhat tattered looking crowd braved the morning chill in a long line that snaked around the huge building. The line moved slowly and these be trodden folks braced themselves against the cold.
I called the waitress over and asked “there must be two or three hundred homeless people lined up for food. Is this an every day occurrence?”
“Well it’s an every day occurrence”, she replied, “but they’re not exactly homeless. Those are fans of Paula Dean from The Food Network and they’re lined up to get reservations to her restaurant. “The Lady and Sons.”
The next day, using a bit of pull from someone connected to the Savannah scene, we boarded a pedicab in the front of our hotel for the ride over to Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House, smack in the middle of the historic district.
This is what I call a “destination restaurant”. Folks will actually cross oceans to say they’ve been there. We pedaled past Jones Street where a block long line of “hopefuls” were lined up waiting to get seated at one of the large oak tables.
Fortunately, I had secured a coveted back door pass so the pedicab turned in to the alley behind the fading mansions that once served as boardinghouses for railroad workers. We waited outside the back door as the elderly staff came out, from time to time, for a breath of air as they cut turnips and squash, onions, and orange bell peppers in round metal tubs.
Finally they came to get us and we were seated, along with ten strangers who had been seated from the street. I can’t remember everything that was served at that table, family style, but among my most memorable recollections, each a “best I’ve ever tasted” dish, was fried chicken, Black eyed peas, lima beans, sweet potato something, barbecue pork, mashed potatoes, bread stuffing, marinated cukes, sweet turnips and fried tomatoes, beef stew, home made sausages with cabbage and that is just what I hastily wrote down. After steaming bowls kept arriving one of the servers suggested, that we might want to “leave room for a bit of dessert.” On this day, we were served peach cobbler and banana pudding.
We then bussed our own dishes, walked to the Wilkes family member manning the small register in the front room and paid our $16.00 per person bill.
When we walked out the back door our pedicab driver was waiting. We hadn’t asked him to come back but as he explained “No one can walk back to the hotel after lunch at Mrs. Wilkes.”
