An entire post devoted to our final meal in Virginia. (That’s 2 in 3 days so no more complaining!)
(On a side note, it was Bogart day last Sunday and the husband and I did nothing but eat, drink and watch the classics.
The Maltese Falcon. Key Largo. The Caine Mutiny. African Queen. And my all time favorite movie … Casablanca. I cry at the nightclub scene when they drown out the Germans by singing La Marseillaise… every damn time! Good stuff.)
But back to food.
After spending 8 hours in an antique store that day I was in dire need of a cocktail.
Or eight.
And when I saw a sign for Eddie Romanelli’s?
I may have squealed.
I didn’t think this was a chain, but there was one in Wilmington, North Carolina we used to make a pilgrimage to every other month when we lived down south. Their Crabmeat Cannelloni in Carolina Shrimp Sauce?
To die for.
We sat at a high top in the bar area because of it’s… ya know.
Proximity to the cocktails.
Prickly pear margarita?
Come to mama….
Sadly the crabmeat wasn’t on the menu, but the fresh baked bread with herbed olive oil was wonderful.
As was the Caesar salad.
And the sparkling Tuscan lemonade. Fresh, crisp and quite delightful.
Husband had a juicy charbroiled steak with garlic sauteed spinach…
While I indulged my inner Italian with some pasta…. drenched in garlic Parmesan cream and loaded with grilled chicken, mushrooms and peas.
Were there more cocktails?
Maybe….
And damn that waitress for not clearing them as fast as I could drink them.
I’m going to blame the cocktail consumption for this last picture I took on the way back to the resort….
I woke up on our last full day of vacation in Williamsburg, Virginia (Yes, we’re finally there!) cursing our second resort’s small bathrooms.
I mean… come on.
For a girl with big hair this is a very small space to make the magic happen.
And the shower?
One teeny tiny shelf!
I had to put the rest of my things on the floor.
We started the day at the husband’s favorite breakfast spot where he was now greeted with ”The guy who wants two plates of chipped beef on toast is here”.
And seeing that we’d had 2 full weeks of doing everything I wanted to do, I thought it prudent to throw the husband a bone and let him pick our last day’s activities.
As expected, that bit me in the ass.
He chose the Williamsburg Antique Mall… and let me tell you, that’s a whole lotta mall.
I have never in my life seen so much useless crap stuff in one place. It went on forever, aisle after aisle after aisle. The husband was in heaven.
Oh, there were some interesting things.
And some seriously hideous things.
It was hard, but I managed to pass on this quartz rooster head.
And the Christmas tree in a shoe.
But damn, at the one hour mark we’d only managed to cover a little corner of the place.
The building was so huge it had push button call stations for help because it was too damned long a walk back to the front to find a sales clerk.
Twohours in there was a drunken Santa….
And some of the money the husband used during the Vietnam War.
Threehours in there was a pair of wolves on skis…
The ice cube trays I cursed with every breath as a child….
And some questionable artwork complete with psychedelic chickens.
Fourhoursin there were Civil War era hats and a saleslady who gave me a piece of paper to write down the aisle number, the booth number, the case number and a description of each article we had questions about because no one ever remembers what was where. If you look in the upper left hand corner of the picture you’ll see my hand clutching it.
And no, I wasn’t going to give it to the husband …. I’m not stupid.
The husband?
Happier than the proverbial pig in shit.
Rusty tools….
Rusty tools everywhere!
I passed on more vintage chickens.
And wondered who this wide eyed Santa was going to poke with that…. that….
Whatever the heck that was.
At the four and a half hour mark I had to use the rest room.
Where I did indeed flush my hopes and dreams of ever leaving this place down the toilet.
There was definitely something for everyone.
Even if some of the price tags made you gasp.
Five hours in I told the husband I was too hungry to continue and we needed to go get some lunch.
Yeah.
My worst nightmare came true….
They had a cafe.
Where we had tiny overpriced sandwiches and frozen solid fruit to fortify us for more hours of antique shopping.
It was at this point I knew we’d never leave.
I was doomed.
Too late for that warning…. the husband has had it for years.
He was bound and determined to see every last item in this store or die trying.
And by this time I was happily planning his demise.
Yikes.
Paging Morticia Addams….
And holy crap.
Who in their right mind wants that hanging on their wall?
Six hours in I found a bug collection….
Some chicken humor…
And part of the line to check out.
These people took a number…. and have probably been waiting since June 13, 1976.
But the husband was still going strong.
And if I told you how many rusty old pesticide sprayers we have in the barn already? You’d fear for my safety.
Here’s proof positive there’s a magazine for everything.
And a painting that contains fish bones.
You’re welcome.
SEVEN HOURS in and we weren’t even 2/3’s of the way through.
I knew he wasn’t going to leave without buying something, but by then I’d reached my limit of utterly useless crap antique shopping.
I was on board with the old phone. It could have been fun in the barn…. when he builds that bar he keeps talking about.
You know, the bar he can’t build because he has too much utterly useless crap stuff in the way.
Eight hours in?
I was silently screaming FFS….just pick something and let’s go!
Or maybe I said it out loud, I can’t remember.
So there it is, the result of 8 hours of antique mall shopping.
A giant glass water bottle to add to the other 20 or so giant glass water bottles he currently has collecting cobwebs.
I love him.
I do.
And as long as I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine.
Toward the end of our tour of the Jamestown re-creation settlement, we were startled by a loud noise.
It was the Lord of Misrule and his motley crew.
During his reign, which lasted anywhere from 12 days to 3 months, the Lord of Misrule was responsible for arranging and directing all Christmas entertainment, including elaborate processions, plays, and feasts.
He was generally a peasant or sub-deacon appointed to be in charge of holiday revelries, which often included drunkenness and wild partying.
In other words, my people.
In the 17th Century they went door to door, and if not given appropriate amounts of alcohol? They caused a lot of mischief.
*Note to self – this might be a great way to score free booze next Christmas*
So these characters staged their little show and we watched. Naturally I took pictures and videos like everyone else.
So why did this happen?
Why was I singled out and dragged into the middle of the square for punishment?
Because I’m lucky that way.
Yes, they made an example of me and if the husband had been able to work his cell phone properly….. you might have seen video of me dancing with the Lord of Misrule.
But he didn’t and you won’t.
All you’ll get is a few more pictures of the boardwalk to nowhere…..
And a few stolen shots of the museum I wasn’t supposed to photograph.
On the way to dinner?
We passed a van of what I first read as ‘Hippie’ Christians and I thought, huh. That could be interesting.
But when we got closer I realized there were only happy.
Which in the long run is probably easier on your liver.
The first settlement in America looked something like this.
And I have to admit the buildings were larger than I thought they’d be.
This was the church.
And I swear it’s bigger than the one in my town today.
I loved the thatched roofs on the cottages.
And we enjoyed poking around inside them.
Some of them were simple.
Some a little more grand.
Check out the armor on top of the cupboard.
Nothing like some weaponry over the dining room table to get the gastric juices flowing.
Speaking of that…. there was an armory.
And it doesn’t matter how many times I see these, I still can’t imagine having to wear them into battle. I mean damn, they make my underwire bra look positively comfortable in comparison.
Needless to say the husband was loving all the old tools and farm implements.
Yes dear….
Rusty metal…. I see it.
The last building we checked out was a communal kitchen.
And you know what I found… right?
Wandering at will….
Hoping something would fall off the table.
There were also fake cocktails, which is a rude tease to those of us who happened to be thirsty.
This was the day we explored the Jamestown Settlement which is part museum and part living history re-creation.
The museum section was large….
But immediately pissed me off with the no photography allowed rule. (I took this one just because I’m ornery.)
We’d spent the last 2 weeks visiting museums filled with amazing artifacts and fine art, but this…. fake trees and cheesy dioramas…. was off limits? Go figure.
Okay….
Fast forward to the full immersion cinema we were learning were common in these parts.
Admittedly, when you’re there?
It’s pretty cool.
Especially when the smoke starts rolling along the floor.
Finished with the film, we headed outside.
Past whatever this was.
And into a Native American village.
It was basically the same thing we’d seen at Plymouth Plantation earlier this year.
Except there were no bare chested young Indian men to chat with.
Boo to that.
There were more huts.
And a couple of people making baskets.
And of course, because I find them everywhere…
Chickens.
Aggravated roosters…
And fluffy butted hens.
Next up was the harbor…
And the reconstructed vessels that brought the first settlers from England.
We toured the deck.
The husband chatted up a crew member.
We toured down below.
Where accommodations were small….
And pretty basic.
Unless you were the cook.
Who got his own room.
Of course it was also the kitchen, so there is that.
The husband chatted up another crew member.
And we enjoyed the views.
While marveling at how more than a hundred people could travel together for months on end in these small spaces.
Crossing back over to the DeWitt side of the museum, things got a bit more formal.
And a trifle bizarre.
I think a little 18th Century photoshopping was in order here.
Okay then.
I saw the portrait of the gentleman on the left and thought, “What’s with the hair?”
And apparently I wasn’t the only one who asked.
It was an extensive gallery.
And according to George…. will be even more extensive soon.
Another sad statement of the times.
This couple struck me as a little odd.
Is it me or does the wife’s right arm look a wee bit…. off? As in, did the creepy husband chop it off and line it back up for the portrait?
We’ll never know.
At the far end of the gallery there was a video that was oddly mesmerizing.
And then on the way out there was a chair, which I forgot to photograph.
But George didn’t like it.
Chairs that were no good for sitting.
Excellent.
Through with the museum, we realized we’d not only skipped lunch but were now ready for dinner.
When I asked the husband what he was in the mood for, he said anything… so I picked a well reviewed barbecue restaurant in Williamsburg.
And the husband didn’t like it from the minute we stepped through the door.
Why?
Who knows.
They brought us yummy cornbread to munch while we looked at the menu.
Which he also didn’t like.
Pulled pork sundae? Come on… what’s wrong with that!
I managed to talk him into staying for appetizers.
So he had a chili he didn’t like either.
I went with some spicy steamed shrimp.
And while the rest of the customers were enjoying large platters of succulent looking food, he told me to pick another place because all they had on the menu was barbecue.
Gee. Who woulda thunk it?
People always think I’m the picky one, but when it comes to eating out my husband will drive you to drink.
Which in my case isn’t necessarily a negative…. but still.
The second restaurant that night was Italian.
Everyone raved about Sal’s, so I figured, why not?
He couldn’t complain about the menu being small.
It went on for multiple pages.
The garlic knots were perfect.
(Okay, I ate 4. Don’t judge.)
The salads were fresh and tasty.
My veal Marsala was tender, perfectly cooked and filled with wine soaked mushrooms.
He certainly couldn’t complain his chicken parmigiana was a small portion.
Good God, it was huge.
But you know what? He didn’t like this place either.
And heck, I’m the one who should have been complaining….there were no cocktails!
The portrait gallery was large…. and filled with strange and marvelous things.
Can’t say I’d enjoy having her as a Mother in Law.
They are smiling?
Perhaps the weight of that elaborate hair is pulling their lips down.
Oh my.
They say all babies are cute, but I beg to differ.
This is a girl.
And this is a boy.
No, I haven’t had too many margaritas.
It was explained to me that folk art paintings of little girls have cats… and folk art paintings of little boys have dogs. The hoop is also a boy’s toy, never played with by girls.
Yes, another boy.
Could have fooled me.
There were a few sad paintings, like this one….
Since all the family members in black are dead.
But there’s a chicken, so it’s not all bad.
And while these two portraits aren’t the most skillful, they had the saddest story of all.
Jonathan Bartlett was a black man who chose to portray himself as white…. in a heartbreaking statement of life in his time.
Lightening the mood, there was George again….
And whatever this was –
I can’t even do a Name That Crap because I have no idea…
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
