Last Friday, I offered the following Gheorghe: The Blog comment:
So instead of being on a plane to Paris and Munich for a week, we are doing a dinner at a French restaurant in Williamsburg. Yeah, that’s the same. Didn’t feel like battling traffic to come up here on a Friday night but felt obligated if I want to stay on course for at least getting the 1.5 credits for this kick in the groin.
I just got a speeding ticket driving into town by College Landing. Where we used to go and drink a bottle of Bounty Fijian rum circa 1990.
I guess I’m glad to get pulled now rather than then, but Williamsburg can suck it. I’m a bit pissy at the moment, needless to say.
Shortly after that, I realized that the dinner I was attending at the Blue Talon Bistro was at 7:30 rather than 7, so I ambled around the corner to The Trellis for a drink.
Ah, The Trellis . . . the first restaurant I visited on Duke of Gloucester Street in 1988, and it became the go-to free/good meal place when my parents came to town. Occasionally I would pony up some cash and take a date. Very, very occasionally. In a college dining tenure littered with Caf/Marketplace, College Delly, La Tolteca, and Sal's meals, plus a few trips to Peking and Baja Bean Co. and many freshman visits to Wendy's Superbar, The Trellis got very little of my time and money.
Founded in 1980 by resident award-winning chef
Marcel Desaulniers, The Trellis had a very upscale 80's feel to it. They may have stuck with that vibe too long. He sold the place in 2009, and it's trended downward steadily. But I always kind of liked the joint.
I had a pair of quick Jameson rocks and split. Quiet, small crowd. The bar is configured differently than it used to be, but it served me well. Well, it served me. Those two not-stingy drinks gave me just the lubricant to get the conversation rolling at dinner with six grad school classmates and the Associate Dean.
Amusing side note: That dean is a terrific guy with a fascinating backstory from Pittsburgh TV on-air sports reporter -- the "Bruce Rader of Steeltown" -- to business school stalwart. He also has a good memory for ridiculous stories, one of which was my first conversation with him. Two and a half years ago I had applied to William and Mary's b-school, and because my undergrad GPA was sub-3.0, I had to get an obligatory phone call from the Associate Dean (AD) to discuss it before being approved for admission.
AD: So Whitney, I just want to let you know that this is a formality. Your career across several industries more than makes up for grades you got 25 years ago. Plus, it's William and Mary, and we know how we grade. But . . . I gotta ask . . .
W: Yes?
AD: How'd you manage to get exactly a 2.0??
W: Well, Dean So-and-So, I'll tell you the same thing I told my parents. When I got college, they told me that in order to graduate, I had to have a 2.0. I didn't know they meant "or above"!
Yeah, it was doofy and dumb, but apparently amid a sea of boring phone calls with applicants justifying their mediocre undergrad performances, he appreciate the levity. He brought it up the other night and laughed again, saying he'd also told his wife about it for a chuckle. Glad I can play the same part in business school that I played in high school, college, and beyond.
Mantra: They don't give Class Clown to just anyone, you know.
The Trellis
closed down two days ago without much fanfare. Its heyday was my heyday, and it was a long slog since. I'm glad that my own blockheaded time mismanagement meant that I got to throw back a last couple of liquor drinks in a quiet toast of a rather classy eatery's 40 years.
You can go home again, but the landscape strays further from how you remember it every time that you do.
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