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Night 30: Old Angler's Inn
Shalom, sala'am and aloha. The next night I am at my
last meal, and I've saved a fabled place for tonight,
to make the last scene cinematic. I know of the Old
Angler's Inn only from legend, of celebrations, trysts,
engagements and other Kodak moments. I've heard it is
a year-round seduction with the roaring fire in winter
and the patio in spring . Alas, as of now, I do not
have a tryst-worthy partner; instead I invite brand
new friends.
The inn itself has been on this roadside spot since
1869. Once accommodation to horse-country swells traveling
to the capital, it has since the mid-50s been the
destination for those in love or out for a celebration.
The patio is secluded and springtime surrounds it with
freshness and fragrance. The menu is splendid, although
appealingly brief. There is not much that doesn't sound
wonderful. There are temptations like tenderloin, pecan-crusted
sea bass and duck breast with figs.
As soon as I sit at our table I suddenly feel sick.
Can there be a place less conducive to that? I don't
know if the waiter hears my order of a glass of water
and a cup of tea and sizes me up as a cheap date. But
that's what I order and that's how he acts. (I've waited
on tables, I can size up a "broiled chopped beef"
the second they sit down.) The waiter, whose face is
just slightly more affable than Paulie Walnuts', delivers
the menus and I see just exactly what I will miss if
I feel any worse. I drink some water and sip at the
tea: appetite, don't fail me now!
Steve and Mary show up just in the nick of time. Between
Lemon Lift and their sparkling company, I forget how
I feel and relax. Steve and Mary are friends of friends,
and we click immediately. We talk teenagers and family,
art and work. They have three kids who are all almost
grown. They are delightful individuals and a lovely
couple, unusually receptive to each other, thoughtful,
loving and kind. What is their secret?
Evening starts to darken the patio, accelerated by
an oncoming storm. The wind whistles through the trees.
For my final dive, my go-for-the-gold, I close my eyes
and order a codfish cake with lobster sorrel sauce and
beef tenderloin. (God I'm a trouper.)
I observe that Steve and Mary must have married as
kids to have children in college. They look at each
other and simply say, "We aren't married. But we've
been dating for 30 years!" That seems to explain
a lot. So Steve and Mary tell me their saga — that
they were a couple as young adults, broke up, married
other people and went their separate ways. It took a
serendipitous turn into a strip mall in Florida to throw
them into each other's path, and a realization that
the pilot light had not gone out. Years, tears, more
separations, reunions, and finally a blessed hand from
the fates have put them together at last. Their son
will graduate from high school next month; they're planning
their wedding for October.
So at last I have a love story. Granted, it isn't my
own, but I can live on someone else's joy. I love tales
of unlikely twists and I celebrate the blessed capriciousness
of life. Security and predictability are fine, but going
from pillar to post is, for me at least, the real taste
of life. I have just completed a modified odyssey through
rain and sunshine, good moods and bad, alone and with
friends. Like all diverse experiences it was more than
literally nourishing. You can turn a corner, park your
car, drop your book, or open a menu and life can blow
you around like a leaf. Lucky for you if you land near
a good restaurant.
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