Roosevelt’s

Roosevelts. What can I say? It is rated excellent by so many people! Pricey but worth it.

I’ve looked at Roosevelt’s menu, and I want the decadent experience of tasting each item. Because of timing, weather forecasts, and the forces of fate, an elegant dinner at Roosevelt’s is not in my immediate future. Today’s reservations are for alfresco dining, Thanksgiving Lunch at 11 am. I wish it were for dinner with their regular menu—which sounds divine. But—I’ll take what I can get.

If I were a bird, I could fly from where I sit and be at Roosevelt’s in five seconds. I’m not a bird, but it will take me a bare two minutes to walk through their door once we step out of ours—no need to hurry.

Thanksgiving Dinner

Reservations

We arrive at 10:59, and so does everyone else who has reserved space at the first of three seatings on Thanksgiving Day. Along with these individuals, everyone who placed To Go orders for their Thanksgiving feast is here to pick up their food. It is chaos. My daughter, who was a restaurant hostess in high school, would say they got slammed.

I made our reservation last week, but because Murphy’s Law is my shadow, our reserved table for two is marked down for the dining room. I specified OUTSIDE in the courtyard (weather permitting). In 2020 I don’t do inside dining. I tell the harried hostess-waitress we will wait until they sort it out. So, I sit, trying to figure things out on my phone while Michael wanders off and takes pictures. 

Eventually, we are seated at the table for two I saw from our balcony—no one has come by and said, “That table is ours.” I feel it was really meant for us—they just had a tiny mix-up.

Bread and Wine

A basket of rolls is already at the table. We order wine. Our server delivers a warm bowl of cranberry sauce. The young woman looks stressed–like she is about to have a heart attack. And this is just the first wave of hungry customers she has to take care of today. Michael and I both try to encourage her to relax—a tiny bit.

I look at the bread. Then I look at the cranberry sauce, telling Michael, “Just pretend it’s cranberry butter.”

And we begin dunking the bread in the warm sauce. It’s good. I have a recipe for cranberry chutney that is a requisite for every turkey day dinner at our house—this is so different. Elegant. And it has a lovely flavor that I cannot identify.

Dinner

A different server appears bearing two large plates full of traditional Thanksgiving side dishes, with instructions to go inside to get our servings of holiday protein. We also need to wear our masks. There is a hungry grackle roaming around, and Michael volunteers to stay and guard our table and wine. So, I take an empty plate and load up on ham and turkey for two—with lots of turkey gravy.

In all honesty, I’m not too fond of turkey; I only serve it at Thanksgiving because it is tradition. But when I put a forkful of this roasted turkey in my mouth, I cannot believe how delicious it is—well seasoned, savory, moist, tender. They must have brined it with a much better recipe than I use and a much better roasting method. If I could filch a copy of their recipe, I might even become a turkey convert.

Our dessert is served immediately after dinner—not three hours later, our normal drill at home. I love the cranberry sauce so much that I spoon it over my slice of pumpkin cheesecake. Roosevelt’s should put this cheesecake with this version of cranberry sauce on their menu. The combination is that good.

I look around at our surroundings. Golden sunshine. Gorgeous blue sky. The courtyard of a 125-year old historic inn that has survived, despite everything Mother Nature has thrown her way—and my life’s soulmate sitting opposite me, sharing the day. On top of that, there are NO dishes to wash. This is one of the most relaxing Thanksgivings ever.

With a tiny bit of wine left in each of our glasses, we raise them in a toast—to us. We couldn’t have ordered a more perfect day.

I look up at the old inn and see the private balcony attached to our suite. It calls my name. I probably need a nap.