My brunch date and I stumbled onto Commonwealth on Queen the morning of their invitation-only soft opening. As we apologized and turned to leave, the man behind the Square register invited us to stay, as long as we gave the kitchen a little grace.
We gave them grace. After five minutes of staring at a tabletop, we learned there was no table service, so we went back to the counter to look at the menu. When my exotic breakfast order arrived looking a lot like scalloped potatoes with paprika, I held my tongue. Nor did we complain when the coffee came midway through the meal.
It was, after all, their soft opening. But I did secretly wonder whether Commonwealth was some kind of church ministry. Nobody seemed to have restaurant experience.
Months passed. An article was published. We went back.
I ordered the Barn Burner. My date ordered the Big Ol' Breakfast Sandwich and a French press. We signed with our finger and found a table outside.
Five minutes went by, then ten. I got up, thought about grace and sat back down. Five more minutes went by. I went inside. Sandwiches were coming toward me, so I followed them out to our table. They were cold.
Still no coffee. I was done with half my sandwich when the French press arrived. The server explained that she was in the middle of making it when they got a rush of customers. She gave us silverware.
I asked her if Commonwealth was part of a church ministry. She said not. We drank coffee. As we got ready to leave, she came back with sugar.
Commonwealth on Queen says they are a "farm to fork" cafe. Friends, local is no longer quaint, and it is no excuse for poor service. I can name half a dozen other restaurants that feature local foods, and none give me the impression they are waiting for the hens to lay before they make my omelet.
Tho' your big windows and sculpted chairs beckon me, yet I will not be a citizen of your commonwealth.
http://commonwealthonqueen.com/menu/
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
The Accomac Inn
Nothing says hospitality and comfort to me like the smell of wood smoke in the winter. The host took our coats and seated us immediately in a simple room with a lively fire. My barrel-aged Manhattan was strong and cold. My date's coffee came with an insulated French press and steamed milk. A variety of dinner rolls arrived piping hot. Each ingredient in the pearl barley, kale and beet risotto (smoked mushrooms, snails) tasted like itself and delicious in combination. “Risotto” was even in quotes on the menu!
When the little things are done right, expectations run high for the main event.
My date ordered the most homely-sounding thing on the menu—meatloaf with ketchup—but it came out looking like a rock star with a crispy bacon mohawk. The mild venison loaf contained a mushroom surprise, and the cranberry ketchup was a striking complement. Comfort food with a wink and a laugh.
I threw caution to the wind and ordered seafood. Squid ink risotto and saffron sauce tangled on a long plate. The humble cod was flaky and flavorful. Almonds were little nutty explosions that made the scallops taste even more buttery. It was not overdressed or overly salty. I began to wonder whether shrimp can be harvested from the Susquehanna River.
The Accomac Inn has been around since 1775. It sits on the west bank of the Susquehanna, just above Wrightsville. In the summer it serves brunch on a long screened deck overlooking the river. In the winter it hosts jazz and firelit dinners. Most of its food is grown on site or comes from local farms.
My date and I came to the Accomac on impulse after hiking Kelly's Run (near the Pinnacle in Lancaster County). We were hot and tired and wearing sneakers. Anne pulled a shawl over her Race against Racism workout shirt; I put on a sweater and tried to look hipster.
It didn't matter; no one at the Accomac blinked. We were given friendly, attentive service by a young woman who later confessed she was new. We confessed we were impostors. We stayed for dessert.
http://www.accomacinn.com/restaurant/
When the little things are done right, expectations run high for the main event.
My date ordered the most homely-sounding thing on the menu—meatloaf with ketchup—but it came out looking like a rock star with a crispy bacon mohawk. The mild venison loaf contained a mushroom surprise, and the cranberry ketchup was a striking complement. Comfort food with a wink and a laugh.
I threw caution to the wind and ordered seafood. Squid ink risotto and saffron sauce tangled on a long plate. The humble cod was flaky and flavorful. Almonds were little nutty explosions that made the scallops taste even more buttery. It was not overdressed or overly salty. I began to wonder whether shrimp can be harvested from the Susquehanna River.
The Accomac Inn has been around since 1775. It sits on the west bank of the Susquehanna, just above Wrightsville. In the summer it serves brunch on a long screened deck overlooking the river. In the winter it hosts jazz and firelit dinners. Most of its food is grown on site or comes from local farms.
My date and I came to the Accomac on impulse after hiking Kelly's Run (near the Pinnacle in Lancaster County). We were hot and tired and wearing sneakers. Anne pulled a shawl over her Race against Racism workout shirt; I put on a sweater and tried to look hipster.
It didn't matter; no one at the Accomac blinked. We were given friendly, attentive service by a young woman who later confessed she was new. We confessed we were impostors. We stayed for dessert.
http://www.accomacinn.com/restaurant/
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