“Look out! Clifton!”

21 August 2011

A little over a week ago, on a Friday, I rented a car for work. I rented the car for a day, and decided I would like to get the most use out of it. I asked GF if she would like to get out of town and take a small road trip after work. She said she would.

We got home from work and gussied ourselves up a bit. Where to go? Where to go?

I suggested we go to Clifton, VA. I visited this cute little town in Northern Virginia about a month or so after beginning my current job. I thought the place was just about the most adorable thing I had seen. It was as small as my hometown, but had a bed and breakfast (B and B as some people say), an ice cream parlor, a bar/restaurant thing at which I ate, a wine store, train tracks, speed bumps, a church and a fancy restaurant in an old, Southern house.

After rush hour, we hopped into the rental car and drove the hour to Clifton to eat at the restaurant in the Southern house. We drove into the town, over the tracks and parked on the side of the street. We got out into the cool night and walked to the Southern house. We walked onto the porch and learned the place is called Trummer’s on Main. We walked off the small Southern street and into what could have been an upscale bar in Manhattan (at least in the wide eyes of this small-town boy).

The host took us upstairs to the dining area, which looked like it would be suitable in Savannah. Large fan blades that looked like boat propellers spun vertically as well-dressed Southerners dined and talked in the large dining room that felt like someone’s home. GF and I ordered a side of roasted oyster mushrooms and two main dishes, both of the fish variety. GF’s dish was salmon I think. I ordered some sort of fish, which I forget now, but it came with interesting vegetables I did not recognize and pureed English peas. I fucking love English peas. I did not always love them. I had to eat them as a child. Fortunately, we usually had them with mashed potatoes. I would shove the peas into the mound of potatoes and eat them together in the hopes that the starchy dish would drown the flavor of the dreaded vegetable. Now, I love them on their own.

Every single bite of each dish was perfect. I chewed the food down so small just to suck all the flavor I could out of every morsel.

I also ordered the signature cocktail, which tasted a bit like shampoo, but with alcohol.

Three people at a table behind us were boisterous. The group (two men and one woman) seemed to be in their early 50s and kept talking about boinking this or that person and giving the wait staff a difficult time. Here is a paraphrase of one conversation:

Wait staff- Anything to drink?

Woman- Yes. What was I drinking? What is that dark liquor?

Wait staff- Jagermeister.

Woman- No, that’s not it. It was something.

[men talking simultaneously and indistinguishably, but basically just repeating either the wait staff or the woman]

Wait staff- Sombucha?*

Woman- No no. Something else.

Wait staff- Those are the only two it could be based on your description.

Woman- No. I don’t know. Sombu something

Wait staff- Sombucha?

Woman- What was that?

Wait staff- Sombucha.

Woman- Sombucha. Yeah, that was it. Can I have one of those?

And so on and so forth.

I went to use the restroom and one of the men at the boisterous table went as well. He began chatting with me asking if I went to school around here. I told him I earned my Bachelor of Arts at Georgia College & State University. He said it was a great school. I’m sure he did not know it.

We took the elevator up to the next floor and walked to the restroom. We went into our stalls and did our business and went to the sinks at the same time. He showed me the sinks were not working. I said perhaps we had to pump the handle like the old days. Fortunately, he did not think that was as dirty as it sounds in writing. He just said he didn’t think my idea was correct.

We left with soap on our hands. He probably still talked about something.

GF and I also had some sort of banana dessert that I wanted to have a romantic relationship with.

GF and I eventually left the restaurant (after I had three cups of coffee due to a clerical error), walked through the town (about six minutes at the most), got back in the car and drove home.

A pleasant evening in Virginia.

Please enjoy the pictures from my previous trip to Clifton.


*I’m not sure if this is actually what they said. Isn’t Sombucha that drink that yoga-practicing New Age persons enjoy? I can’t be bothered to look up this kind of information.

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