So Long U-Turns

February 11-14

Our penultimate stop was in Winchester, Virginia, near the north end of the Blue Ridge. We were literally in the jurisdiction of Stephens City, Va., but the hotel was called Holiday Inn Express Winchester South.

We were there for two nights. The stay for a second day gave me time to put together the last report and also to get a little rest.

We couldn’t find anything in the neighborhood that looked too original, so we went for another steakhouse. Outback, I think. But we never got there.

We were staying right by the I-40 interchange and the roads were ripped up. There were lines of cones intended to make things easier to sort out, but indeed were so distracting that they made it harder to find my way through the maze.

Google directions told me to turn left at an intersection where a barrier had been put in the middle of the road. That was fine with me. I could go the other way and execute a U-turn somewhere. For a New Jersey driver, the legal U-turn is an irresistible novelty.

I remember my daughter Kate telling me years ago about her first trip driving out of state. When friends told her to make a U-turn at an intersection, she wondered if they were kidding.

Anyhow, I turned right and Joanna almost immediately spied a sign that said “Roma.” It was probably not a steakhouse.

She pointed it out and asked me to take a look. I had turned up the name during my Google search and had dismissed it as a take-out pizza shop.

When I drove into the parking lot, it looked like a narrow shop with a counter and a couple of tables. Not promising at all. A take-out shop.

Then Joanna pointed out quite correctly that it wasn’t a counter. It was a bar, and next to it there was a large room with lots of people eating at tables.

Roma turned out to be pretty good. I’d put it roughly on a par with Mario’s in Clifton—not the best, but certainly enjoyable.

It was literally around the block from our hotel, so we went there for dinner on our second night, too.

We each had the chicken Marsala on different nights. It wasn’t great, but passably good.

The eggplant Parm was better, with even a proper toasting on the mozzarella. 

Both meals came with plain pasta and a salad. There was red wine vinegar available for dressing, which made me very happy.

Balsamic has been the rage for years, and I’m no big fan. 

Yeah, I’ve heard that, if you let your wine sit out and collect yeast from the air, it will turn into vinegar. But I can’t wait that long when I’m hungry.

If I remember right, they had a mild Chianti. It may have been an American knockoff. That would be all right with me, mind.

Mario’s house Chianti was Opici. That’s not made in Tuscany, but in New York. 

Before Larry spoiled my taste buds by taking me to a commercial wine-tasting in Manhattan, I used to buy Opici Chianti in a case of four three-liter bottles. 

It was my go-to vino. I’d cook with it, take it with my meals, get loaded on it at night.

I took a jug of it to a July 4 party at Karl’s house, years ago when he and Jeanie lived next door to me in Montclair. I woke up the next morning at home, but had no recollection of how I got there.

The 13th brought Joanna and me back to the official North. Old snow was lying thicker on the ground, but the roads were still fine and dry.

We crossed the Mason-Dixon Line into Pennsylvania and drove another 80 or 100 miles to a place called Midway. We stayed at a Quality Inn, right next to the Midway Diner on Diner Road.

The mailing address is Bethel, Pa., but it’s miles past the exits to Bethel. Midway gets its name, we were told, because it’s midway between Harrisburg and Allentown.

We walked over to the diner for dinner, but found we were about an hour late. It closes at three on Sundays.

It was back to Google for us. We were out in rural Pennsylvania. It was Sunday, so most places were closed. 

We wound up at another diner, Esther’s on U.S. 22, about seven or eight miles away in Fredericksburg, Pa.

As you might guess, nothing like Fredericksburg, Va. Not as big or as old.

We ate some diner food. Nothing to write home about, but it was my first solid food all day. My morning yogurt can hold me a good while, but not forever.

We drove straight back to Montclair the next day. 

Joanna was very glad to be back. So was I.

One of Joanna’s sons, Chris, has been staying at the house and keeping an eye on things. He arrived a few days after we left in November.

At some point since I saw him last, he has grown a mustache and goatee. It’s a completely different look for him, a little roguish maybe. 

Change is good.

Be well, everyone.

I don’t know when I’ll hit the road again. Maybe not till April. I may need to quest for elk or something.

Love to all.

Harry and Joanna