The Cold Spring Tavern - A Travel Piece

Exercise Time: Write from memory. It's beautifully simple. Give it a try and let me know how it goes!

The Cold Spring Tavern

Despite the central fireplace’s warmth, a consistent draft drifted through the slits between the wood planks of the floor and walls, meaning I would be eating dinner in my coat. And although the space appeared clean, its age and décor gave the impression that cobwebs lingered in every corner and the dim gas lamp, which sat at the end of our table only lengthened the shadows.

In theory, it was not romantic. And yet as I observed the history of The Cold Spring Tavern in the black and white photos on the walls and the hulking sturdiness of the stone fireplace, the romanticism began to swell within me.

Nestled in the hills and hidden from Highway 154, the setting gives the impression that you are not riding within the luxury of modern technology nor are you driving along a smooth paved road (although you are) as you approach the restaurant. In seeing the lush greenery and steep peaks and valleys and creeks and boulders, you hear the sound of horses’ hooves. Your body begins to sway to and fro with the motion of the wagon. The brisk January air mildly stings your cheeks and you pull your shawl around your shoulders tightly. You have traveled a long way and the hollow ache in your belly is growing. Finally, the small, but homey appearance of a tavern comes into view.

You ask for a bowl of the wild game black bean chili and it is served steaming. The smell, as though all of nature had been created for this bowl of chili, is divine. After blowing on a spoonful to cool it, you bring the food to your lips and taste the warmth. The game meat, beans and tomato base have no problem sharing the stage. It is delicious! 

I was chilled before taking that bite of chili, but in feeling the warmth start in my head and travel to my toes, I understood the essential purpose of food. I found something romantic in the more primitive need for sustenance. I was not eating out of indulgence...Ironically, I really was. I had come to The Cold Spring Tavern to do what most people would-try it for myself. However, the place, in all its antique glory, made me feel that I had come out of necessity. It did not ask me to walk through its doors and grant it my lofty appraisal. Rather, I asked it if I might be welcomed in. If I could take shelter within its walls, sit beside the fire and eat, that I might live to see another day.

Why is that romantic? I think it plays on something instinctual. But you will have to try it for yourself!