New European Food: historic

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Cherub's Nest - What a Bed and What a Breakfast!

When is a bed and breakfast more than a bed and breakfast? When it’s the 17^th Century Cherub’s Nest in Dartmouth, Devon, England. It just feels like home.

In Dartmouth, all things are connected to the sea, from the present day oystermen, who ply their ancient trade along the banks of the brackish river, to the history that glides us back to the days of Drake and the pilgrims, and forward to the Britannia Royal Naval College and the D-Day invasion. The Cherub’s Nest is no exception.

Peculiar name. Somehow also connected to the sea? Yes. Perhaps called a ‘nest’ because it’s a residence that sits beside an even older building, dating to the 14^th Century, a pub called The Cherub. And how did The Cherub pub get its name? Local lore has it that the pub was built from the timbers of a ship of the same name.

Next Door is The Cherub Pub

The Cherub’s Nest may be old, but the accommodations and service most assuredly are not. Well, let’s amend that, but not in a bad way.

I’m particular. Here’s a tidy list of my bed and breakfast requirements: friendly innkeepers, soft bed, clean room, clean en suite bathroom, and a tasty breakfast, with good coffee. A little atmosphere doesn’t hurt either.

The Cherub’s Nest met all those conditions, then added a long list of the delightful and unexpected. The first things you notice as you step inside this compact, but comfortably elegant home are the cheery smiles and booming, barrel-chested “Welcome!” Instant rapport.

In a 17^th Century building don’t expect huge rooms and an elevator. You have to deal with steep and narrow stairs, but, I ask you, when you’ve traveled far to experience life in an historic fishing village, home to the likes of famous English sea-captains, pirates, kings, and other nobility, do you really want to get a room with the modernity of a standard hotel? So, yes, it is old, but that’s part of the delight.

Thank your lucky stars, you’re not going to ever truly live like they did in the 17^th Century, with rats and dogs in the streets, garbage tossed from the upstairs windows, open sewers, guests packed into shared beds, and personal hygiene …Oh, please let’s not discuss it.

The Cherub’s Nest offers quaintly furnished and comfortable rooms. All the modern day conveniences overflow in abundance: Cleanliness, including a small, but spotless bathroom. Sleep-in-comfort beds. Ample closet space.

The service and breakfasts are what a member of the royalty might expect. Everything from a full English, to any combination your wealthy imagination can devise. I opt for salmon and fried eggs, which came perfectly done, served with spotless silverware and on Royal Dalton plates. The coffee and tea were equally fine, in cups that would outshine even the finest hotels. Jams and jellies galore, many of them local. In fact, most of the food is local, including farm fresh eggs that come from the innkeeper’s sister-in-law. I was told the sister-in-law has eight hens, which each lay one egg each day.

Another high point of the Cherub’s Nest is the locale, right in the middle of downtown Dartmouth. In a large city that might or might not be a positive point, but in Dartmouth, a scenic seaside town, centrality is essential to putting everything within an easy walk. The riverfront, open parks, and historic alleys all demand your attention. Not to worry. Step out the front door and go for pint at The Cherub Pub, or wander the historic town.

I find only one fault and that is we did not have the time to stay longer at the Cherub’s Nest. It’s a gift from the past with all the opulence of today. And the breakfast…oh, goodness…

McCrady's in Charleston: Come for a Drink. Stay for a while.

Charleston, South Carolina, home to historic Ft Sumter, The Citadel (Military College of South Carolina), The College of Charleston, The Medical University of South Carolina, and the world-renowned Spoleto Festival, is many things to many people. Tourists flock for the history and the food and the festive atmosphere. Yachts, large and small bob in neat rows at a myriad of sun-bleached docks.

Charleston reeks of history. If you think that’s an exaggeration, just follow those tourist-filled, horse-drawn carriages as they prowl the cobblestones.

Go ahead. Jump into one of the most special places in North America. Bask at the beaches. Bargain at the old, brick vegetable market, or suck down some oysters at a hundred and one places. Stay at a fashionable downtown hotel, or just amble along the confluence of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers and stare at the narrow streets lined with stately antebellum homes.

Ah, but in the evening, when a gentleman and his lady, or his friends, or people he barely knows get thirsty, they have choices. Slosh down a pint of suds over fried seafood, or winnow through the old section of town and find something worthy of a slow touch and a carefully drawn out evening.

I have often mellowed in Charleston. Swilled a toddy or two here and there. Not saying any of the watering holes were bad. Matter of fact, I’ve darkened a few doorways more than once.

When they say 'alley,' they mean it!

But, this time, I found a special haunt. McCrady’s Restaurant, tucked away in an historic building at 2 Unity Alley. No trouble to find. March along East Bay until you see the sign. Don’t let the word ‘restaurant’ put you off. The bar is right out of the 1930s. Carey Grant and Humphrey Bogart style.

Dating from 1788, McCrady’s owns a piece of history. The building, originally a four story public house, was erected by Edward McCrady and although the inside has been altered, the new owners showed due reverence for a building that is on the National Registry For Historic Places and Landmarks.

My friends and I didn’t go for the food, which I understand is locally gathered and prepared by a noted chef. We went for social drinks, to practice the declining art of relishing each sip, and sharing good conversation. If you want to be surrounded by dark wood paneling, and served by barkeeps who know their libations and didn’t graduate from high school just last week, McCrady’s is the spot.

When I chat with someone about wine, it grates to hear, “It’s like a really, really fruity Merlot? You know, I like really, really love it with caramel crunch Hagen Daaz?” Being a person of temperate mood, I usually walk away, rather than empty a full clip and reload. But, I’m always tempted.

Ryan, at your service.

No riffraff behind the bar at McCrady’s, where they proudly call their drink recipes ‘pre-prohibition.’ Ryan, a young, bearded barman, knows his stuff, with just a touch of attitude that lets you know, he ain’t messin’ around. He really does know his stuff. My friend, a connoisseur of the Spanish grape, mentioned a notable region and Ryan’s eyes lit up. He knew the region and pointed out several wines from the award winning wine list. Ryan also called our attention to a French vintage. “Small winery, and special. We seldom score more than a case or two.” My friend’s eyes rolled back at the first sip. I gave it a sniff and a smaller sip. Smooth. Full nose and full flavor, but easy on the tannin. Notes of berries and leather. In short, a 2004 Rhone that made you wish you’d paid more attention in French class.

Lots of other things about McCrady’s are special. Small hand-labelled bottles stand on the bar. Mute testimony to house-made bitters, ready to spice any Manhattan, and even greater testimony to "this is a serious drinking establishment."

For me, it was a beer night. I went for a dark, almost black, house stout. Our other two drinkers followed up with a bourbon and a full bodied ale. Nobody complained. And nobody said a word for the first few sips.

McCrady’s is like that. You feel a strong need to linger, to relish the moment. Shadows fall across the long Mohogany bar. Look up and you’ll glimpse the second story, where a glass wall protects row after row of wine. Behind you, corner booths offer a nod to privacy.

Feel like a little nosh? The specials change daily. Read them off the blackboard at the end of the bar. We had bite-sized chunks of tender lamb, skewered, grilled, and served in a wooden bowl, with a delicate mint yogurt condiment.

I already mentioned I’d been to a few other drinking establishments in Charleston. For the life of me, I can’t remember the names. Once you’ve found McCrady’s, the rest fade. It’s a hideaway that makes any evening special. Take only your closest friends. You’ll be there awhile. Cheers!

Racin' to Rothenburg ob der Tauber

St George fountain (1608), 8 meters (26 ft) deep, with a capacity of 100, 000 liters.

In good weather, cafes are everywhere.

Stroll the old market square. The buildings date from the Renaissance.

...or sit in the market square and enjoy a cup.

(more photos follow this sparkling epistle to travelers)

Rothenburg, pronounced Row-ten-burk, is one of the primo tourist attractions in all of Europe. Amazing that it is not yet a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

When people first began to stack rocks and roast deer in Rothenburg, Native Americans were running rampant through Manhattan, Conquistadores were searching in vain for the cities of gold, and the U.S. wouldn’t be a nation for another five hundred years. Lots of cities in Europe make the same boast; however, most don’t have a well-preserved medieval wall. I’m not talking about a collection of loosely organized stacks of rocks, but a well laid out town, with a high, unbroken wall, complete with towers, narrow gates, half-timbered buildings galore, and cobblestone streets. In the past few hundred years, they’ve added some swank hotels, restaurants and shops, and cappuccino emporiums bubbling out onto the market square.

While I’m a fan of cobblestone streets in theory, the reality is, they’re tough on your feet and ankles, unless you were born in the 12^th Century and feature cobblestones as a significant improvement over muddy lanes, slick with horse droppings, and smelling of garbage and human feces. Ah, the good old days. Take a deep breath.

Why here? Why did a city arise and prosper just above a small, insignificant river? As the realtor said, location, location, etc. Seems the east-west trade route from Turkey to Paris intersected the north-south trade route just a few hundred meters outside of Rothenburg. The city of 5,000 folk prospered. Until the middle of the Thirty Years War, when a Catholic army, through a stroke of bad luck, came to this Protestant town.

General Tilly, with his army of some 40,000 was passing by in 1631 when a drenching rain turned the roads to brown muck, stalling caissons and cannon, and bringing the army to a dead stop. Unlucky for Rothenburg. What to do with an army of that size that needed feeding and housing? Send word to the town to surrender.

Tilly didn’t get the answer he expected. Siege and victory. Rape, pillage, and plunder followed, and afterwards the black plague delivered a second crippling blow, bringing ruin and two hundred and fifty years of poverty. But, everything has a bright side. The city grew no more. The walls remained, preserved until the present day.

Later, tourism peeped in, with a joyous smile, and saved the fortunes of the town.

There are a number of interesting stories about Rothenburg, one of which occurred during the last days of the Second World War. But, you really need to visit this fine old city, take a room for a night or two, enjoy some Franconian beer and wine, and by all means go on a tour at dusk with Hans Georg Baumgartner, The Night Watchman. He’s been plying his trade for some twenty years. As everyone knows, the watchman sees all and in this case tells all. History delivered with wry sense of humor right out of the Borsht Belt. Secrets of Rothenburg revealed.

Walk the walls, visit the Kriminalmuseum and see how justice has changed, not always for the better. Check out the ‘twin violins’ that latched people together until they could agree to get along and stop arguing. Let’s take a collection and send a few hundred pair to Congress.

Visit St Jacob’s Church, as magnificent as any cathedral. Take a chance and go to hell…..an inn called Hell, that is.

What kind of money are we talking about? Rooms run from the super reasonable, to the super expensive. Bed and Breakfasts abound. Eat well for a hundred dollars, or for five dollars. This city doesn’t gouge its guests, it welcomes them, and has since the 12^th Century.