Savannah for Xmas
 

Marnie, Carol's TA, had a bunch of Independence Air
credits that were going to dodo around New Year's,
so she offered us some; so we decided to find a city
where neither of us had been - a limited number of
choices, mostly Huntsville, Nashville, and Savannah.
So Savannah it was.

DH1557 BOS IAD 1030 1214 CRJ 3D

I admit the staff were fine - much nicer than the old
Atlantic Coast guys - and actually relatively competent.
But old Kerry Skeen probably to this day has no idea
what amount of bad will his old airline had caused.
I actually dreaded stepping on the aircraft; it's been
a while since I had that feeling: probably since the
mothballing of those unairworthy ACA 19-seaters.

Actually, everything was on time and fairly smooth; our FA
was a jolly retiree (by the looks of him). Service was
minimal but with a smile. Bad things: the plane felt
pretty cramped, the leather seats thin and uncomfortable;
and the recorded safety announcement, by some down-and-going
television comedian, was grating and offensive. Catering was
scanty: various Pepsi products, Arizona iced tea, and juices
from cans. Mints and hot paper towels shortly before
touchdown. The flight arrived, a quite cowboyish landing,
half an hour early (thanks to the miracle of padded
schedules), which, coupled with Carol's cellphone service,
led to a slight contretemps - I called her with the news
that we were on the ground, but the call didn't go through,
so I deduced she was still at security and so breezed to the
main terminal, where I figured I'd surprise her. Turns out,
the reason the phone didn't ring was because it was being
ornery, and she was actually waiting at the loading area of
gate A5 instead of the debarking area of the same gate, so
there was this comedy of errors thing going for nearly an
hour until we met up at the C17 Red Carpet Club, which
turned out to be worthless as there was no cheese and
crackers for lunch. I spent two coupons on booze - a Sam
was okay, and a Remy VSOP was somewhat nicer than okay.

DH1946 IAD SAV 1445 1627 CRJ 11CD

Back to gate A4 for our onward - another Canadair, but
this time in the wayback. A cute little munchkin FA, just
the right size for a munchkin plane. He made a point to say
that DH had quicker boarding than the real airlines but
didn't note that that was because the aircraft are
unpleasantly small.

Drink service was as before, only they were serving beer
and wine ($5 a drink), so I had the Independence Chard,
made by Oasis. Low concentration, curious mix of sweet,
sour, and salty. Melony-tropical fruit, but not very good,
with a plasticky finish.

Another uneventful flight, somewhat better landing, and
we were out in the warm sunshine by 4:30. Downtown bus
came at 4:33, and the question was, should we take it for
a buck a head or a taxi for $25++? The bus was okay and
didn't take an inordinate amount of time. Dropped us off
a block from the hotel.

The Doubletree, formerly the Radisson, bills itself as a
boutique hotel, which it isn't. It's decent, though; gave
us a pleasant little room with a nice four-poster king
bed; 4 lamps, all completely different styles, including
one whose base was made out of old encyclopedias; and a
funny smell. Also, one of the lamps was burned out, which
we brought to the attention of the extremely jolly front
desk person, and it was in fact fixed by the time we got
back from dinner. The funny smell, it came to me, was
evidence of a smoking room hastily converted to non-,
coupled with mildew in the air-conditioning unit. The
chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies that come with checkin
were crunchy but good.

Everyone we'd talked to said we just had to go to Paula
Deen's Lady and Sons restaurant, and the attendant on
my first flight, who looked as though he enjoyed his
food, praised the buffet highly. Carol wasn't optimistic
about our chances to get in, but as it was early, we
tried our luck, and we were given a little admission chit
to the third-floor dining room, where we were greeted and
seated by an enthusiastic young crew. Started off with
iced tea (ordered unsweet, came sweet, easily and quickly
corrected) and Bass Ale in bottle. We did the buffet:

Fried chicken was nicely crisp and nicely fresh, but the
batter was hardly seasoned at all, normal for food around
here, but hardly salted at all, not normal. (The spicing
options at table were salt, premilled pepper, Texas Pete
hot sauce, and Texas Pete pickled peppers.) On our first
trip, there was only white meat! but there were thighs
and drummers the second time round.

A Low Country shrimp boil was the best of the meat
courses - very plump, fresh, sweet shrimp, some slightly
overcooked but most fine, ring sausage (salty), taters
(didn't try), and slices of corn on the cob (supersweet,
okay). All steamed together and liberally coated with an
extremely cayenne-heavy shrimp boil.

What was represented as country fried steak was actually
some kind of Salisbury steak thing, decent, rather starchy,
in a green-pepper-scented brown gravy. I didn't care for it
but give it points for being wholesome. Carol actually had
a small second serving of it to go with mashed potatoes.

Baked chicken with stuffing had nice plump thighs, rather
well salted, over a very banal mushy bread stuffing that
had leftover vegetables in it.

The nine side dishes were

green beans and ham - very mushy, rather hammy, ok;

collards and bacon - a little on the tough and bitter side
but ok (points off for serving with tongs and there being
no way to scoop up the pot likker);

mashed candied sweet potatoes - extremely sweet, would
have been ok for dessert but quite jarring as is;

rice - looked normal; didn't try;

mashed potatoes - looked normal; didn't try;

zucchini casserole topped with O&C type onions - tried
and found, well, as expected;

black-eyed peas - underseasoned but okay;

a kernel corn and grits mixed thing that Carol had but
I didn't; and

macaroni and cheese, which was quite Cheddary and in
fact pretty good, and I had seconds of it.

A forlorn-looking salad bar in the corner housed the
usual suspects, only a little seedier than usual.

Biscuits and hoe cakes are brought to the table; these
are accompanied by a Log Cabinish syrup. The former are
fluffy, huge, and pretty good; but in a demonstration
of the inconsistency here that people have complained
about on the Internet, the corn cakes vary widely, from
the fluffy and perfectly fine one that I was served to
the grease-soaked disaster that Carol got, from the same
server, at the same time. The grease, by the way, tastes
synthetic, both for these cakes and for the chicken.

Dessert is peach cobbler, which tasted like raw Bisquick,
banana pudding right from the back of the Nabisco Vanilla
Wafer box, or some other thing that we didn't get to try.

We were filled up for a fair price (considering that I
did eat 10 very large shrimp), but the food was variable,
some (roast chicken, mac and cheese) surprisingly good,
much of the rest no better than the Hometown Buffet.

Carol pointed out that this sort of semi-homemade cooking
now passes for the height of gastronomy, in this world of
working numerous jobs and having barely enough time to
nuke a Lean Cuisine for the kids.

We walked around downtown for an hour or so and then
turned in.

thanks for the report ^ , Oh Gertie y'all need some more cream with that? :)

:D
Welcome.

Christmas eve - a good, though not very Southern, meal
 

Daylight revealed some oddities - front door with spill
marks (a rather strange phenomenon), the mismatched
finish of the pieces of furniture, the ugly color of the
carpet - but the room was still okay. The bathroom, though
small, was more than acceptable, with the exception that
the fan sounded as though a little guy with a jackhammer
was living inside. Nice shower.

The breakfast buffet was at best mediocre. As this is the
first advertisement for the hotel restaurant that most
people get, it ought to have been better.

Six kinds of fruit (mostly foodservice) in nine fruit
niches; the usual cereals, somewhat stale breakfast
breads; milk and yogurty things. I had sweet but canned-
tasting orange pieces (not segments; the membranes had
not been cut out); crunchy bad two kinds of melon;
extremely bitter grapefruit pieces (ditto); and some
surprisingly fresh-tasting pineapple chunks.

There's a sausage gravy and biscuits station; I took some
gravy, which tastes like butter and nothing else, and
ladled it over a croissanty thing that was about as tough
a piece of boulangerie as I've ever encountered outside
a dark alley.

Sausages, both patty and link, were mediocre and flabby.

Bacon ditto, only a bit fattier.

Didn't look at the French toast.

Hash was foodservice, but I ate a lot of it, as it was
about the best thing available.

Scrambled eggs were sandy.

An omelette station was unmanned throughout; perhaps it's
a make-it-yourself the way the waffle machine is. Carol
says the waffle machine makes great waffles (she covered
hers with sausage gravy).

The hard-working waiters brought canned juice to the table.

The off-the-street public (if there were any) and nongold
members pay $8.95 for cold food only, $12.95 for the whole
schmeer. Definitely no way to make friends, a symptom of a
foodservice manager who hasn't a clue about the larger
implications for the hotel's well-being.

The outing we'd planned was to River St., the New Orleans
of Savannah, or so the books and articles would have us
believe. It's one street of tourist trap - diversion for
about half an hour. Had lunch at Fiddler's Crab House,
which advertises 25c oysters on the web; I guess there
must be a shortage, because they're 35c now (the signs
and menus have the 25c crudely inked out). This still
represents 50% off what any other place, no matter how
divey, was selling them for; and also I liked the name,
so we ate there.

I started with a dozen oysters, which although opened in
advance and sort of clouded over tasted good enough, and
a spicy, above average Savannah Fest ale. Carol, despite
my steering her elsewhere, ordered the grilled mahi-mahi
sandwich (the waiter, who was pleasant but very slow,
steered her toward blackened), which was nasty, somewhat
old fish with a big line of fish gristle (?!) on a cheap
burger bun with some lettuce and tomato slices (the best
part of the plate) and some nothing fries on the side.
Only a large amount of jarred tartar sauce rendered it
edible. I had another 18 oysters, which took a darn long
time coming, and they were freshly opened and sparkling
good. Also another glass of ale, which also took a long
time coming. The waiter apologized, saying that they were
shorthanded, and he had to change the keg himself. Carol
wondered if he'd also had to open the oysters himself
and - given his relative incompetence at waiting - if he
was the manager. The oysters were at a fair price; the
beers were at a fair price; the fish, well, I'd have
sent it back.

Back to the hotel to freshen up; then a walking tour of
town interrupted when we saw the free downtown shuttle,
so we took that all through the rest of town - it doesn't
give you much view, though, as you're elevated above the
windshield level so can look only out the side windows.
(Later discovered that this was the weekend service - on
weekdays they run trolleybuses with big windows.)

On our walk we'd noticed the Savannah Wine Shop, and as we
got off at City Market Carol mused that we should have had
the sense to pick up a celebratory bottle of bubbly; so we
headed up Broughton only to find that the place had shut
down. As we turned away, we noticed that there were still
people in there, and they were waving us in. Turns out they
were just closing, hours early, because there hadn't been
any customers. I saw the Nicolas Feuillatte Brut without a
price tag - inquiry determined that it was $48, but as I
can get it for $30 or less on sale in Boston, we decided to
go with the perfectly fine Gloria Ferrer Blanc de Noirs for
$20. While we were in the store, several other people also
wandered in, so I hope it was worthwhile for them to have
reopened the store. Back to the hotel to put the wine on
ice and change for dinner.

For Christmas Eve dinner I'd taken the precaution of
booking at Bistro Savannah, which is whispered to set the
classiest table in town, culinarily speaking; and in fact
we had the only standout meal (made up of six appetizers)
of our stay here.

Carol started with a seafood chowder that had tilapia,
crab, lobster, and mussels - fairly rich and quite good;
my first dish was a little puff-pastry-topped ramekin with
8 very large snails in a garlicy butter sauce, a little
salad (dressed with a quite sweet vinaigrette, one of two
minor miscalculations of the meal) on the side.

The Maso Canali '04 Pinot Grigio was melony and lemony
(or is it only me?); not a profound wine but pretty good
for this kind of food. As one of my friends says, "cuts
the grease."

Our second course was crispy chicken livers over buttered
grits and topped with fried spinach, a perfectly executed
dish, the livers very crispy outside and just cooked firm
inside, the grits delicious (according to Carol; I am not
a grits kind of guy), and the spinach fried crisp enough
but still tasting of spinach. Sandeman's Don Fino was a
perfect accompaniment. We were glad to have gotten two
orders of this, instead of splitting one, and were almost
ready to have a third to split.

We ended with a pair of mussel preparations: Carol wanted
the Thai-style curry in coconut milk, and I the Indian-
style curry in a creamy sauce. Both were good, my supposed
Indian dish really being sort of Singaporean, the Thai one
quite convincing. I preferred mine; unfortunately, a heavy
hand with the chopped bird peppers rendered Carol's choice
nearly inedible for her, so we ended up switching. This was
the second miscalculation; we brought it to the attention
of the waiter, and he only grinned, which was the wrong
response. Of course two empty plates bespoke a general
satisfaction, but I'm betting that a lot of that stuff
gets sent back.

The smooth, honey-scented Sam Adams Boston Lager moderated
the heat well.

For dessert we had a pumpkin brioche bread pudding with
cinnamon ice cream, quite nicely done and a giant serving,
and a slightly gummy but otherwise nice creme brulee.

Woke up to a pretty grim day - windy and rainy, and the
forecast was for more of the same, so after a quick trip
to breakfast (same as the other day), it was back to bed.
We woke up in the early afternoon, to bright sunshine and
and 67 glorious F. So we hastily clad ourselves and walked
about town for a while - quite dead it was, too, although
pretty; then came back for the Gloria Ferrer, which was a
pretty decent Champers substitute for $20 (regular retail
$18, but we'd got it on Christmas Eve in Georgia) - a very
comely pale pinky orange that poured with an excellent
mousse and nice little bubbles. Strawberryish-lemonish
aroma, rather enticing, and a mixed berry and citrusy
taste, good acid-sweet balance. Not much finish, but
what do you expect. After which it was time for a brief
nap and then off to Christmas dinner.

Got all dolled up and took a stroll down Bay St., which
was deserted except for a couple bars that were totally
jampacked - we noted the Moon River Brewing Co. for later.
Arrived at The Olde Pink House a hair early and went to
the basement pub for a drink - the bartenders pour without
measures, but they obviously are held to a close standard
- the girl behind the bar eyeballed a pretty exact 1.5 oz
Maker's Mark, and she got her supervisor to pour the
right-size measure of Don Fino for Carol. A fairly festive
but low-key atmosphere with a decent tinkle pianist singer
in the corner. At 8:29 we went back to the hostess station
and in a minute or two were sent into a half-empty top-floor
room (I guess they wanted to make sure we were going to buy
that extra drink); as we were on our way the hostess
whispered behind her a warning about the prime rib, saying
that they'd had complaints about it. Interesting, thought I,
and opined to Carol that they must have been running out of
it. We were seated in a quiet corner table with a view of
the square where John Wesley used to live or something (for
Carol) and of the Lucas Theater, site of various musical
and theatrical events (for me). Did you know that a city of
the pretensions of Savannah cannot sustain a professional
orchestra (or, as far as I can tell, any orchestra at all)?
The musicians of the former Symphony have this bitter joke
that if you want culture in Savannah, eat some yogurt.

Anyhow. We were having a decent time. Our waitress was
friendly and didn't seem put out to be working on Christmas
- I inquired about the prime rib, just to see what she would
say, and she sort of paused, said it was fine, but then
suggested the crispy flounder with apricot glaze, which was
what I was inclined to order anyway, as it is as much as
anything the "signature dish" of the area (both Anson's in
Charleston and Garibaldi's in Savannah claim inventorship).

I started with she-crab soup, another low-country specialty
- this turned out to be a pretty ordinary though well made
cream of crab with no roe and garnished with a few drops of
what tasted like Fairbanks sherry. Very unlike the delicate
she-crab I've had before.

Carol's bean soup with bacon and collards was hearty and
as advertised; it would have been well served, though, by
some of that cheap sherry.

Her black grouper stuffed with crabmeat was a sizable slab
of quite nice fish topped with a green-pepper-heavy crab
imperial - decent.

The famed crispy flounder with apricot glaze was in fact a
pretty exact copy of Cantonese sweet-sour fish. The sauce
had a hint of sesame oil and ginger, which means of course
that I liked it (really!). One of the pleasures of this dish
is that you get to crunch on the fried bones; unfortunately,
the fish had its revenge on me, and I ended up with this
sharp thing protruding from my upper gum. Endured this until
we got to the hotel, where with the assistance of a pair of
tweezers and an interdental stimulator, out popped an inch-
long bloody fishbone.

The sides for both dishes were "hoppin' John," really rice
with a few black-eyed peas, and barely-steamed baby green
beans, which were extremely stringy.

We'd ordered the Trimbach Pinot Blanc, which would have
been a good all-around accompaniment, but our waitress
came back, with apparent chagrin on her face, with the
news that it was out; my second choice was the Ch. Ste.
Michelle Chardonnay, which was not as nice. Rather oaky,
imbalanced toward the sweet; better with the grouper
than the flounder, I thought.

The only dessert that called our names was pecan pie,
which was served with an oversweetened, overwhipped, grainy
whipped cream and (apparently) Haagen-Dazs vanilla. Carol's
slice was overcooked and dark; mine undercooked and very
blonde. They were both okay and nothing more - I wouldn't
be surprised if they'd come from Piggly Wiggly.

During our actually pleasant and leisurely meal we had 12
other diners order within earshot; only one of these asked
for the prime rib. Of course, I excused myself to go to the
restroom and not incidentally eyeball they guy's dinner -
it was a decent-size cut of the less good end of the rib,
done quite gray (he'd asked for medium-rare, but it was 10,
and medium was probably the best they could offer), and he
ate only half of it. So maybe the hostess had had our
interests at heart after all.

all good things must end [my last flight on DH]
 

I was curious as to whether they would do something clever
like make hash leftovers out of the Christmas buffet
($21.95, advertised on placemats both here and at the hotel
next door; when we poked our noses in we found the place
pretty deserted: serves 'em right for serving a crummy
breakfast), and Carol said she'd have a bowl of Total, so
we used the last of our free breakfast coupons. It was the
same old story, except the omelette station was manned
(actually womanned), so I decided to do the obvious
experiment. The rather sullen cook, as it turns out,
makes an excellent omelette, marred only by the fact
that the butter was very stale, which is in keeping with
what we already know about the procurement practices of
the Doubletree's foodservice department.

This of course meant that we were full enough to decide not
to lunch at Mrs. Wilkes', which is fine, because this famed
bastion of cheap eats now charges $13 for lunch (5c more
than Paula Deen), and the Monday offering is abbreviated
compared to the rest of the week's. On the other hand,
there are probably 100 cities we'll visit before time to
return to Savannah, so it was a missed opportunity.

We walked around town a bit, mostly traversing ground that
we'd trod before but getting a couple new squares and seeing
the Davenport and Juliette Low houses, among other historic
sites. Ended up, of course, at the Moon River Brewing Co.,
where the beer and food are good and fairly priced, and the
help is genial if maddeningly slow. Samplers are 9 x 4 oz
for $8, not a bad price.

Wild Wacky Wit (4.8%) - their riff on Belgian white
beer; it's almost totally unhopped but with a huge dose
of coriander and orange peel. I liked it better than any
wheat beer of any kind that I'd ever had, which surprised
Carol a lot

Moon Light (5) - standard, plasticky, somewhat more hoppy
than the norm

Savannah Fest (5) - same as at the Fiddler's, i.e.,
moderately hoppy, moderately spicy, decent

Swamp Fox IPA (7) - heavily hopped and floral, with an
aroma that I likened to lychee and Carol to pear juice. She
liked it, which surprised me a lot. We ordered a pint of
this and a pint of the Wit; the beers cost .25 less down
on the waterfront

Captain's Porter (6) - dark, coffeelike, okay, not special

Road Trip Cider (5.8) - quite acid, very fruity, made with
Pink Lady apples; Carol liked it a lot, I not at all

Irish Stout (4.8) - kind of weird, with a medicinal,
neither Irish nor stout flavor

Moondance Pale Ale (4.2) - very sissy in taste and alcohol;
as much like an American beer as a microbrew can be

Claire [sic] de Lune Kolsch [sic] (5.4) - seemed to be your
average low-hopped lager, pretty characterless; of course,
as it was the 9th we sampled, perhaps some sensory fatigue
had hit by the time we got there. This beer got the silver
at the latest GABF, so somebody must like it.

Carol lunched on a bowl of the special enchilada soup,
which she diagnoses as salsa, Velveeta, chicken, beans, and
squash. She found it quite good, though.

I didn't want any food, but after Carol pressed me a bit
by saying there wouldn't be time for dinner, I ordered the
spicy onion rings, which, after they finally came out
after half an hour, were crunchy and all right, if a bit
grease-soaked and not spicy at all.

Staggered back to the hotel to claim our bags and then to
the bus stop (saving another $23 plus tip), where the #2
took us on a circuitous but only 30-minute trip back to
the airport.

1226 DH1947 SAV IAD 1710 1844 CRJ 11CD

Check-in took all of one minute (efficient and pleasant
counter staff), so we had a bunch of time - luckily there
is a business center (outside security) that has no phones
but free Ethernet (one of the fastest services I've seen),
so I could check the mail and play for a while while Carol
shopped (got to give her credit, she didn't buy souvenirs
or any other junk until we were there). It's a no-frills
service with, shall we say, a minimal support presence,
essentially limited to a sign that says "If you d not
normally use high-speed Internet connections on your laptop,
this may not be for you. If you need an Ethernet cable, you
may borrow one with a photo I.D. deposit. Proceed to the
visitor center on the lower level for this service."

Presently Carol came back with the news that a line was
forming at security, so at 4:30 we got in queue; through
in about 5 minutes and discovered that the Passport Club
admits members of the major airlines' clubs - or the
general public, for that matter, upon payment of a $2
day pass fee. There's a TV room (TV blaring CNN or the
local equivalent), flight monitors (the departures one
still had the early morning info on it for some reason), a
few carrels with local phone lines and Ethernet ports, and
a drinks area (free coffee and water and a passthrough to
the Budweiser Brew House with a sign that promises discounts
on booze). It's an interesting little amenity, but actually
the business center is nicer, and, aside from us, was
deserted during our stay there.

Loaded up on time, had the same idiot safety announcement
(the FA said it's by someone whose name is like Rich Little
but who is not Rich Little), took off in short order,
headed north lickety-split, and then circled about for a
good while, the winds getting continuously stronger and
the ride bumpier. A few minutes later than scheduled we
endured what Carol said was the worst landing she had ever
suffered through. It was, I admit, a fairly barfolicious
little ride. Probably not DH's fault, as United has both
a 767 and a 757 arriving just at that time, and the Weather
Service website said that there had been gusts to 44 mph
that evening.

A warning about the parking shuttles at Dulles. They are
said to stop at 2B, 2C, 2F, and 2G. We waited a while at 2C
until we figured out that they stop there provided they are
not full. Walked to 2B and got on with no problem. On this,
one of the bigger travel days, the things were hideously
crowded and chaotically slow.