Years ago, when I was younger, a roadtrip might mean anything from a couple of days at Nag’s Head to a midnight run to West Point -- complete with a six-pack -- to look for the ghost light on the railroad tracks.
This summer, my friend Jill and I seem to be taking roadtrips just to have lunch. We didn’t plan this as a series. We just thought we’d take a pleasant drive down to Wakefield (pop. 927) in Sussex County and have lunch at the famed Virginia Diner in the heart of peanut country.
We got lost at one point (due to my inattention) and had to ask for directions at a rural 7-Eleven. Not only did one of the guys hanging out in front of the store tell us how to get back on track. He actually followed us in his pickup for a mile or so to make sure we took the correct turn. When he was sure we were headed in the right direction, he stuck his hand out of his window and waved goodbye.
(We had another offer of help in the parking lot at the Virginia Diner. Jill and I were taking a selfie when a man asked if we wanted him to take our picture. We said yes and handed him the camera. He took one image and asked if we wanted another. We said “sure.” Back in Richmond, I checked the images. Only the selfie appeared. The helpful stranger had apparently pushed the on/off button for the camera instead of the shutter release. Oh, well. It’s the thought that counts.)
Wakefield isn’t much more than a wide spot in the road, the road being US 460. Before interstate highways came along, 460 was the road to the beach, and the Virginia Diner was a convenient place to stop for lunch.
The Virginia Diner was around long before I was born. It opened in 1929 in a refurbished railroad car. Since then, more and more dining rooms have been added because of the restaurant’s popularity.
What I had for lunch only confirmed the reason for the restaurant’s continued success: a cup of Brunswick stew almost thick enough to eat with a fork and a kick that was enough to make me sweat, and a fried country ham sandwich. Jill had a barbecue sandwich. We were both happy diners.
On the way out, we stopped in the gift shop, where I bought a bottle of Virginia Diner’s own habanera hot sauce for my nephew. When I gave it to him that evening, we both tasted it and learned exactly how hot the sauce was: the word “blazing” comes to mind. Ouch. It was then that I realized what gave the kick to that Brunswick stew I had for lunch.
The Virginia Diner roadtrip was a winner, so Jill and I decided we’d try to make this a regular thing this summer.
Next up: a trip to Ashland and the Iron Horse Restaurant.
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