Gentle Reader,
Lebanon, Ohio, a town of about 14,000 in southwestern Ohio just to the northeast of Cincinnati off of I-71, is on the old National Road, the first major east-west route in the nation. This road was supposedly planned at a dinner in the inn where I'm staying, the state's oldest and probably best-known inn. The Golden Lamb opened its doors in 1803, and because of its location (on the National Road and in Ohio, a political center in the 19th and early 20th centuries), it's had some notable guests. Ten U.S. presidents and more celebrities than I can count. The 18 guest rooms and several dining rooms, all furnished in Shaker antiques, are named after some of them. I'm in the Harriet Beecher Stowe room. Downstairs is the Charles Dickens room, a favorite room in the summer because one need only step out one of its windows to reach the balcony overlooking the town's main street.
Even in its earliest days, The Golden Lamb was reputed to "set a good table and have comfortable beds." Today, people come from miles around to dine here upon old-time midwestern cuisine. The dining room was certainly busy this evening, filled with antique antiquers, a scattering of younger couples, and a few families with rambunctious children. (There are many things for vacationers to do in this locale, from antiquing to a huge amusement park. Next weekend "Mark Twain" and "Stephen Foster" will be entertaining in the parlor.) I had a meal like I only get now on holidays: roast lamb (which I ordered "as rare as the chef can find" since the menu offered it only well-done and medium), whipped potatoes, and sauteed green beans, all absolutely marvelous. I took a pass on the relishes and rolls, but worked at the salad, tho it was nothing special. After wolfing down the main course, I was full, indeed, but could not pass up the old-fashioned homemade desserts, so had rhubarb-strawberry cobbler with a dab of ice cream with my coffee. I rolllllled out of that dining room. This was all traditional American midwestern farm cooking of the sort I grew up on. Meant to feed hard-working men who labor in the fields, not little slips of ladies who sit in the shade and work their needlepoint. Had to go for a walk after that just to assuage my guilt. So, the rain having ended and the sun come out, I put on some shorts and strolled up and down main street, then sat on a park bench for a spell, enjoying the summer evening and thinking how lucky I am to do what I do for a living and get sent to places like this.
For another take on the Golden Lamb, take a gander at Charles Dickens' American Notes. Seems when he dismounted from the stage coach at the door of the inn, he wanted a drink. A reasonable request after an arduous coach ride, except for the fact that the Golden Lamb was a temperance inn in those days. Dickens had rather unpleasant things to say about American hospitality after that.
See you online,
-MacDuff
-June 16, 1997
