Entering the Twilight Zone
The employees claim to have never seen this sign.
Getting to our cabin from the playing site, we drive up Ski Run road, which runs all the way to the top of the mountain and the local ski resort. This is one of the main ways to get to the many vacation homes here in Gatlinburg, which the owners rent out for much of the year.
I kept passing the sign you see above, and was fascinated by it. “Restricted” communities have been illegal for quite a while now, it just isn’t possible to have the white, Christian enclaves of the past, so what can this sign mean?
Being congenitally inquisitive, I asked at the Chalet Village market, and the guy who worked there told me he had no idea. So I turned off the road and into the rental office today, and asked the same question.
In truth, I expected them to tell me that it was an age thing, like Rossmoor, and you had to be of a certain age to purchase property and live there. That’s not what happened.
There were 2 people in the office–a man in his 30’s and a woman in her late 40’s, I should think. They told me that they had no idea. The told me that they had never seen the sign–even though it is on the main road and they would have to pass it every day to come to work. I asked if black people could stay there. I asked if Jews could stay there. These are easy questions. They didn’t seem to know the answer.
I thought I was in the twilight zone, and the aliens who were taking over the planet were pretending that they didn’t exist. It was one of the strangest experiences of my life.
I knew that Gatlinburg was redneck heaven, but this is really more than one could possibly expect. Is it possible that Chalet Village is really “restricted”? Or is it possible that their employees are so incompetent that they don’t know what their own signs mean? I’m fascinated, and intrigued, and amazed.
Coming down the home stretch
Danny, Jack, Bruce and Bob pretending they are hiking.
Not much time left here in G’Burg. Just 4 more sessions to enjoy.
Yesterday we won the finals of the morning KO’s, then started a new event at 1:00. Winning both matches there, we go into the semi-finals this afternoon.
Because there was no morning event, the four athletic outdoorsy types in the house went on a drive this morning to Cherokee, North Carolina, through the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, the most visited national park in the US, and the only one without an entry fee. I slept in, having been up late playing Bridge Base with Gail. We won 0.90 masterpoints, to put me ahead of the rest of the guys for the week.
The Appalachian Trail runs through the park, on its way from Georgia to Maine. While some people take a year, or 2, or 20, and hike th entire length either at once or in stages, our boys just made the hike from the parking lot to the sign so they could say that they had been there.
Once in Cherokee, the proper thing is apparently to go out for pancakes. Jack picked up a paper and noticed an ad for “tribal services”. He wondered what tribe that meant, forgetting that he was in CHEROKEE. Fortunately, Bruce gently pointed that out to him.
The changeability of the weather here is astounding. Last night we had a huge storm with rain and thunder. Our power went off during the night, causing all the smoke detectors to screech and beep and otherwise make themselves known. This morning is bright and clear, although the forecast is for more rain and quite cold tonight.
Tomorrow we play the final Swiss teams. Many/most of the people will have already left–this tournament is biggest during the week, then empties out on Saturday as the players start what is often a long drive home. Mike and I will play our share early, then head for Knoxville, where he is convinced we will find interesting tourist attractions–as if Dollywood, which is only 12 miles from here in Pigeon Forge, isn’t exciting enough. But he won’t go to Dollywood, and doesn’t realize that here in the Bible Belt most everything in Knoxville will be closed. So we’ll go out to dinner and watch movies in our room and prepare to head home Monday morning.
Fair bridge, decent food
The best restaurant in Gatlinburg may well be No Way Jose’s Mexican.
No, it isn’t modern Central American Fusion. Not Spanish tapas. Just regular Mexican, but done well.
Gatlinburg is pretty clearly badly hurt by the recession–there are vacancy signs on the motels, empty storefronts, tables available at No Way Jose’s. There were even 2 parking spaces in front–and that’s just unheard of around here. In past years it has been a challenge to cross the street with all the traffic, but not not. The point of this is that there were really too many empty tables tonight for a good restaurant in a tourist town.
So we got in quickly, and started looking at the huge menu, with all the usual things. I always read the entire document, then order the Fajitas, so that’s what I did.
In a tourist town, the goal is always to feed the customers and get them out so you can turn the table, and tonight was no exception. Our drinks came, orders were taken and the food arrived toute de suite.
We started with the guacamole–they make it fresh onsite, an it was as good as you could ask for. Portion sizes here in the south are enormous, which may explain why I feel like a skinny guy around here. Bob and Jack each had the quesadilla, and I’ve never seen them that large. Bruce and I had the fajitas, and neither of us could finish our dinner, but not for lack of trying.
Mike has one (1) glass of red wine with dinner every night, usually Merlot or Pinot Noir. The wine list in a Tennessee Mexican restaurant, as you might imagine, is not very extensive. Burgundy, Chardonnay and White Zin. So Mike tripped me up, and did something I’ve never seen in the hundreds of times we have been out to dinner.
Yep, that's a Corona, lime and all.
There was just too much dinner for any of us to crave dessert, so we bailed out of their for $18 apiece, tax and tip included. Such a deal, such a meal.
Oh yeah, the bridge. We won the morning KO, coming back from 22 down at the half. Then lost the prime time KO by 1, after being up 26 at the half. At least I was sitting out the second half, but I could surely have played one imp better in the first set. Then Danny, Jack, Micky and I played cards in the evening–although I was rooting for us all to go out and play miniature golf instead. Bob and Bruce stayed in the house and played pool, while the others won half our matches in the A/X loser swiss.
So tomorrow we play the finals of the morning KO’s, then start another prime time KO at noon. This might sound like a silly grind to some people, but we love it.
Mike Bandler, famous person
It isn’t enough that he plays good bridge, has a beautiful wife and a hockey team of grandkids (6 boys). While we were playing tonight, Mike had to go make a call right in the middle of the 2nd match, and came back grinning.
It turns out that he has been appointed to the California State Senate Commission on Cost Control. This is a group tasked with finding ways to cut the insane costs of our government, and reports directly to the State Senate.
If he is as good at cost cutting as he is at being my partner, we’ll have a cash surplus in no time. Congratulation, Mike.
Gatlinburg, Wednesday afternoon
I heard this yesterday from the table next to me: “Shirley’s dog got runned over.”
Yes, folks, we’re in the deep South here, much deeper than Florida. Jack, Bruce and I went to lunch today. The hot dog place is run by generically middle-eastern immigrants, so they serve gyros, too. Except that they serve beef or chicken gyros–no lamb to be found anywhere near here. I took the special: gyro, soda and chips. It was 10 cents cheaper than NOT having the chips.
I like this place. I feel thin here. Californians just can’t believe the number of 4 and 5 hundred pound people walking, or riding their scooters, around the souvenir shops and fast food joints. Of course, when they actually pay you to take the chips it becomes more understandable.
Here in the Bible Belt being a friend of Moses should be a pretty good thing.
I have no idea why this guy was wearing this hat. He was with a group of 5, all wearing similar chapeaux. “Retired Stripper”, “Help me find my dentures”, witty sayings of that nature. Just another day here in redneck paradise.
Bridge, that right, we’re here to play bridge. So far, we win one, lose one. That isn’t good. Maybe, though, things are looking up. We won the first match in the new morning KO series today, and noticed that we are the top ranking team in the second bracket. That doesn’t make things a cakewalk, of course. There are about 20 brackets, so each one is fairly tightly grouped and all of the other teams in our bracket are full of competent players. We just don’t have to play against the top pro teams.
Bruce just called, and we won the first match of the new prime time KO, too. (Since there are 6 of us, we each get to sit out 1/3 of the time, and it’s my turn now). So although they are in different events, at least we have now won two consecutive matches.
The weather has cleared–beautiful skies, crisp but not cold, couldn’t be better. More thunderstorms expected Friday, but I like rain so that’s fine with me. We don’t get enough thunder and lightning for my taste in California.
And that’s the news. More later.
Aloha also means goodbye
And we’re gone.
I’m sitting in Dallas (where else?), having flown all night from Honolulu. Meeting Mike in a couple or three more hours, then on to Knoxville, renting a car and driving to Gatlinburg for a week of big boy bridge with the Unit 499 travelling squad– Micky, Bob Munson, Danny Friedman, Jack Scott and Bruce Tuttle.
We’ll play three sessions a day, rotating our three pairs in and out. Play 24 boards, sit out 12. It’s my third year on the team, Mike’s seventh or eighth. Mike takes a hotel, the rest of us share a house and talk too much bridge when we aren’t playing.
But I need to finish the story of Hawaii.
Friday night we ate at the St. Regis, a stunning resort on the north side of the island. The economy must still be bad–there were more staff than guests. The lobby must be more than acre, with not a single person in it.
We ate in the Grill, in a semi-private room for the 7 of us. We had enjoyed the sunset on the drive, and could still see a hint of color in the sky as we sat down, then watched the headlights of the cars on the road across the bay. The dinner was excellent, and we have a winner for the Lava Flow Quest.
Yes, it needs an umbrella.
By far the best Lava Flow I had–smooth, deep rich coconut taste, just the right amount of strawberry, I could even taste the liquor.
I can't resist foie gras
I started with the foie gras, a particular weakness of mine. It’s pretty much impossible to OD on, because it is on so few menus. This dish was interesting because it was served with roasted mango, something I’ve not seen before. You need the intense sweetness to balance the richness of the goose liver, and foie gras is often served with a fruit confit of some sort. This was better.
Gail had the heart of palm salad. She likes that much more than I do, and where can you find it better than in Hawaii?
We started with a bottle of Prosecco to celebrate Toby’s 21st birthday (and Molly’s, who is 6 weeks older).
Entrees came and went, all excellent. I had Ahi, Gail had short ribs. We all had a good time and a fine meal.
The quest continues
I’m in training now, keeping in top fitness to face the task of imbibing as many different lava flows as possible. Just saying that makes me feel like Travis Bickel.
Consequently, I did nothing today, to prepare myself for the evening. Played Bridge Base. Lay in the sun a little, not too much. Drove to the airport about 2 to pick up Toby and Molly. Traded our “full size” car in on a mini-van, so we could get all 7 of us in one vehicle. Ate lightly. Took a short nap.
So I was in peak form as we entered the Planation restaurant, in Poipu, at the southern tip of the island. The Plantation is just a big resort–they have a menu on the wall from 1975 where they mention being a “Victoria Station Restaurant”. Made me wonder what happened to all those old railroad cars they turned into steakhouses in the mid 70’s.
Walked through a gorgeous orchid garden, then into the building. We had a lovely table outside on a balmy evening with just a hint of rain on the drive down. Eventually a waitress found us, and I placed the order for the Lava Flow.
There is a reason that big city restaurant reviewers try to be incognito and unrecognized. The first drink I ordered was pretty plain.
What they give the proletariat.
It wasn’t a bad drink, it just wasn’t great. Good proportion of strawberry puree, no big ice chunks, but just standard.
However. The waitress noticed us hold up napkins trying to make a decent photo, and I told her about the Totally Unofficial blog’s quest for the perfect Lava Flow. So when the second one came (because you really have to try two to make sure), I think she had a word with the barkeep, because it looked a trifle better:
A true tropical work of art.
Notice that this one has the blue umbrella–the mark of a great drink, I should think. The green thing is a frond from the top of a pineapple–you can’t eat it and trying to lick the drink off it will shred your tongue, but it’s the thought that counts.
This one had more strawberry, too. And I think even a bit more alcohol, although it’s really hard to tell. Once they heard about the blog review, they went all out to give me a great drink.
Yes, there was dinner, too. I had grilled Ono, which is a much denser fish than I really prefer, but I’m flexible. Gail had the seafood curry and loved it. Toby and Molly split the vegetarian soba noodles. The kids all shared the garden rolls–sort of like a sushi roll with veggies instead of fish. Demi was drinking virgin Mojitos, which were served in a Mason jar for some esoteric reason.
Gail and I debated whether the service was as poor as it seemed to me or is everything here on “island time” and one should just expect things to happen when they do and no sooner. The debate continues, no answer is immediately apparent.
No dessert tonight, so we could get back to the condo and surprise Toby with a birthday cake his cousins baked this afternoon. Then he went right back to work–he has homework due at 9:30 tomorrow morning. I looked at the questions, hoping that I would at least recognize the subject, but it was hopeless. He is studying discrete math, whatever that is, and it’s way over my head.
So far, the score stands at 4 lava flows consumed. The Plantation is better than The Oasis, and if they know you are a famous blogger they make better, or at least prettier, drinks.
Now I need a good nights sleep to be ready to continue the search tomorrow.
Stalking the perfect Lava Flow
Not this kind of lava flow:
Spectacular--not tasty
THIS kind of Lava Flow:
Spectacular AND tasty
We’re in Kauai for a few days with Gail’s daughter Kate and grand-daughters Demi and Chloe. Toby and Molly arrive today, and we’ll be celebrating Toby’s 21st Birthday. I plan to celebrate by showing the kid how to drink silly concoctions with umbrellas in them–specifically Lava Flows.
The Lava Flow is essentially a Piña Colada with strawberry puree added, because the original isn’t quite sweet enough. Bartenders love this kind of drink because the customer can’t tell if there is much real booze in it, and they can make up for the doubles they are pouring their friends. I like it because it’s sweet, and I don’t care about the booze much in the first place.
Camping out
We are staying in resort complex on the east side of the island where you can rent other people’s time shares, or something. Anyway, it’s a nice place and we have a lovely 2 bedroom condo. It’s Gail’s definition of roughing it, but only because there is no room service.
Last night’s dinner was excellent, except the Lava Flows were imperfectly blended and I kept finding big chunks of ice. That’s petty, I know, but this is a quest for the perfect drink, and I have to be strict.
Off to pick up the kids at the airport. More drink reviews tomorrow.
Home Again
Off the plane, into the car and home in one hour–not bad.
We had a great time, but poor SR seems to have caught a cold somewhere, and was feeling pretty puny. Still, I got a few photos for the home town crowd:
Evil Twins on our walk around the lake.
BFF's in the elevator.
Playing Bridge Base. The hat helps her think.
Two sets of jammies to keep her warm. Also playing Bridge Base.
Orlando Sunset, Even on an iPhone it's a great photo.
Saturday night we went across the street to Shari Sushi for dinner. Living downtown has some wonderful advantages, and the biggest may be the ability to find a good restaurant a 2 minute walk from home.
Orlando is a city of young people, and Shari Sushi is just full of the young, beautiful and hip. And us. But the food is great, and if you get there before 7 it’s happy hour and the price is right. Besides the usual sushi, there are a couple of interesting things:
The biggest hunks of Pork Belly I've ever seen.
We ate here in November after the Nationals, and I remembered this next dish as excellent and different. It still is:
Albacore sashimi and guacamole
Gail is slowly coming around to liking sushi, and this time we even got her to try the chopsticks. Here she is enjoying her very first bite of food in the Asian fashion:
Burdock root roll, a good thing to start with.
And that’s the end of the story. We had a fine dinner, went back home, Gail and SR played Bridge Base and then went to bed, and here we are.
Off to Kauai later this week, but that’s another story.
Totally Unauthorized 