Visitors to Washington, DC often miss out on some very memorable attractions. One is my favorite museum, The National Portrait Gallery, which has been closed since 2000 for renovations and reopens in July. I’ve missed its memory-jogging photos, caricatures and Time magazine covers of politicians, entertainers, athletes, innovators and achievers.
Another is the Willard InterContinental Washington hotel — just two blocks away from the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue — a revered institution that offers a warm, pleasant visit to the glory days of American hotels. The Willard’s story dates back to 1850 and new chapters are being written every day. Zachary Taylor, Franklin Pierce, Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant were the first in a long line of presidents to have resided at the hotel or presided over social functions in its grand ballrooms. Kentucky Senator Henry Clay concocted the capitol’s first Mint Julep at The Willard’s Round Robin Bar, which looks much as it did when Clay introduced that drink; Ulysses S. Grant coined the term “lobbyist” and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. polished his “I Have a Dream” speech in its halls.
I returned to The Willard Room, the hotel’s primary restaurant, one recent Sunday afternoon about a week past the prime cherry blossom-viewing period, and I watched through its gilded windows as tourists meandered from the Mall to the museums and the grounds surrounding the White House. There’s a feeling of historic grandeur to dining at The Willard Room, with its splendid carpeting and oak panels, and it couldn’t have been grander that festively sunny, flower-bedecked spring afternoon. I was there because The Willard had recently introduced its “Taste of America Brunch,” and it was an attraction I couldn’t resist.
I’m a longtime brunch devotee and have learned to be selective after pigging out at too many buffets. At The Willard, there were over a dozen serving stations, and it was difficult not to stray towards excess. I came in determined to concentrate on foods not readily available to me — foregoing even a sip of the crab and corn chowder or a nibble of waffles made to order with such tempting toppings such as mango and pineapple topped with whipped cream, vowing to concentrate on the seafood bar.
Well, I did get sidetracked by a whiff of locally cured Virginia ham and smoked turkey breast, samplings that will leave me forever discontented with the fare at my local deli. I have to mention the carving station, where I succumbed to a slight sampling of the two carnivorous temptations: slow-roasted Colorado Bison rib with deep flavors heightened by a spicy Cajun rub and succulent barbecued pork loin, glazed ever so tantalizingly by a Kentucky bourbon topping.
Somehow I slipped by the greens and the salad bar, sadly not taking up the server’s offer of avocado with baby shrimp salad, and made my way finally to the seafood station.
These were the choices: poached Maine lobster with green goddess mayonnaise, Long Island blue point oysters, Alaskan king crab, cherrystone clams and gulf shrimp cocktail. Impartial, I made my obeisance to all of them, storing up enough iron and mineral for my next dinner.
I did not take full advantage of some truly promising cheeses. But my wife Rollie did, offering me rewarding nibbles of farmstead fromage from the Allegheny plateau of Maryland, Fritz Maytag’s blue from Iowa and Vermont camembert, a very rewarding sampling. There was also Bache Noir, Top Bleu Mountain and Merry Goat Round. In Paris once, I enjoyed a meal consisting only of cheese. I could have recreated that gustatory experience at The Willard.
Desserts? Oh, just the usual. Huckleberries trifle with yellow chiffon cake and Grand Marnier cream, cherry cheesecake with Morello cherry compote, good old-fashioned pineapple upside-down cake, pecan pie and more, more, more. Did I mention that the waiter, who had brought me champagne to start, replaced my plate and refolded my napkin every time I got up, and those services, along with a never empty coffee cup, kept him happily busy.
The tariff? Sixty-five dollars for an ambrosial afternoon and the opportunity to work it off investigating the history-laden corridors of The Willard. All in the name of culture, of course.
