What's Laird Drinking Now?

It’s hard to believe it’s been over twenty years since I walked in the back door of the Yellow Brick Bank. At the same it is impossible to be who I am without it. I have intertwined my life with that of the restaurant. I met my wife there, made my best friends there, and found my passions for food and wine.

Over the years, through good times and bad, the Brick has been a constant, like an old friend you can count on. I have been lucky enough to be a small part of thousands of people’s memories. The marriage proposals, birthdays, anniversaries’, and reunions that punctuate the lives of our guests have been my pleasure to host.

The Yellow Brick Bank is as much a state of mind as it is a restaurant. Fancy enough to be special, yet as familiar as an old sweater. We welcome new friends and remember the tastes of long time regulars. The great strength of the Yellow Brick Bank, even more than the venerable, quirky building has always been the staff. So many talented, energetic personalities have come through our doors. I always smile thinking back on the mental rolodex of great chefs who have worked the line here, so many of them have gone on to run other great restaurants, or to start their own. Bill Powell, Matt Miller, Damian Heath, Scott Guarino, Jim Carey, Moss Rudley, Rick Bishop, Carl Brown, Larry Messenger, and many more all contributed a true love for the craft of cooking and built the foundation of a really great restaurant. Mike Luksa anchored the staff as head chef for most of that time. I always thought his greatest ability as a chef was fostering and guiding talent. He got his cooks to hone their skills and really blossom into chefs. Today we are again blessed to have another head chef with the same gift. Chef Jeff McGee has a huge wealth of knowledge and talent but he also allows his staff to show off their own gifts for creativity on the menu and with our specials. From week to week I never know what will emerge from the minds of our kitchen staff and that keeps things exciting.

The front of the house has always been a melting pot of personalities with an emphasis on fun. We are not the most formal or stodgy, but hopefully the most genuine. The model for this, and our anchor, has always been Clifford Branson. Seventy-six years young, he quite simply is the Yellow Brick Bank. Always quick with a greeting and a smile, Clifford is as much an institution as the building itself. I am often reminded of just how special a place I work in by the return visits of former staff and the great nostalgia they have for the place.

Long ago I asked Kevin Connell, who founded the restaurant, just what it was we were trying to accomplish with the Yellow Brick Bank. He said, “…everybody needs a favorite restaurant, a place to feel welcome and to belong, that’s what we are.” A few years ago the Bank changed hands and the new owners, Ken and Mary Lowe, have stayed true to that notion. The future and the menu hold more surprises and fun in the beautiful old Bank building, while the familiar sounds of laughter and jazz play in the background. I’ll see you there.

So this weekend we headed down south to "Get Pasturized". Bath county Virginia is, to me, one of the holy places. I'll put it right up there with any place on Earth for beauty and for some reason it seems to both calm and awaken the senses. We arrived Friday and pitched our tent. That done we relaxed by going down to the Cow Pasture river on the front of the property. We took the golf cart down the precarious hill and through the pasture, trying not to scare the cows. The river is a meandering affair running clear as glass right to the bottom and tasting of limestone. We got in and took a swim with Kate and John's dog Turley herding us all. We grudgingly got out in order to head back up to the cabin to make dinner. There were burgers, beef and bison, homemade French fries and John's wicked blue cheese Caesar salad to accompany a few good wines. The evening went long into the night with a fire built in the old camp lodge fire place, a free standing chimney, now the only evidence of the lodge. 

We woke up on Saturday to coffee and donuts. After an hour to rally the troops we set about making turkey subs for an afternoon on the river. We had loads of great ingredients and about five of us quickly turned out a dozen large hoagies. We packed up the food and some beverages and headed for the water. Ever have a perfect afternoon? When time, place, and friends all come together just right. We had cheap wine and played in the river, it couldn't have been better.

John had arranged for the evening meal to be catered so that everyone could just enjoy the food and company. We met many locals and shared stories and tall tales. As it got late another fire was built and a bunch of fireworks were set off. Many folks camped out and ran the evening into the wee hours. I am always amazed by the generosity of friends, old and new. We enjoyed great hospitality and met many new people,hence the lack of any tasting notes. I am also always struck by the aching beauty of Bath County. Entering it is a tonic for the spirit and leaving always a bit melancholy. I don't know why it has so strong an effect, but it has from the first time I went.

I loved the weekend and am indebted to both Johns, Kate, and Mary. I have always loved coming to the cabin and always think of each visit as a very special gift. I hope I will have many more trips down, it has a real place in my heart, and you are blessed to have it.

Late August, high summer. So humid last night that the windows of the pub fogged, the kitchen was like a boiler room. The beautiful, locally farmed tomatoes we use sag under their own ripeness and burst with the first puncture of a knife. The late evening air on the back porch is heavy and the aromas of burning wood from the grill and oven mingle with the sweet mint growing beyond the wood pile.

The students are back and town swells with their arrival. The rite of their return promises the coming of autumn and blessed relief from the sweltering air. At work we grouse about the lack of parking and the back up of cars at the four way stop but the air is filled with the energy of it all. The farmer?s market is overflowing with the gifts of the field and in the kitchen we sometimes can?t cook the produce fast enough. On the river, we watch swarms of cyclists pass by and the canoes and kayaks seem to outnumber the fish. My favorite pastime has become watching the hummingbirds dogfight for rights to our feeder. At times there are six or seven of them dive bombing each other.

Soon, all over the northern hemisphere, vintners will begin to nervously watch the skies and weather reports. A vintage is the story of a whole year expressed in the fermented juice of grapes but the finale is written in the next six to eight critical weeks. Veraison (*) and harvest culminate with crush, a frenzied time of day and night activity. Just as the shadows grow longer and the days quicken, the chapter of a year ends and the seeds of the next are sown. Fall is my favorite season but I have to remember to savor the last of summer; it'll be here soon enough.

* Veraison - when the grapes turn from green to gold or red in color