For THE FREE LANCE–STAR
She: Soft lighting from a well-polished chandelier glowed down upon wine-colored walls and burnished hardwood floors. Black-and-white clad servers with enviable posture tended to tables laden with snowy linen and sparkling stemware. Spacious windows were hung with festive, old-fashioned Christmas wreaths.
On a recent visit, the only immediately obvious clues that we were in a 21st-century restaurant rather than a well-run salon of the 1800s were patrons’ reindeer- and Santa-themed sweaters, the kind favored by those merry and mysterious souls who finish their Christmas shopping by Thanksgiving.
He: Toliver House, once a Main Street dining mainstay in Gordonsville, had stood empty, forlorn and fading into genteel poverty, when new owner Vicky Castegren stepped up to the plate last spring. After a history-conscious refurbishment, the two-story, 19th-century structure, originally a residence, emerged a freshly groomed grande dame enjoying a new incarnation.
The three dining areas reflect the proportions of Victorian parlors, lending an air of intimacy. There is also a barroom for more casual dining, and in warmer temperatures dining is available at a half-dozen tables on the screened-in, wraparound front porch.
We have long been followers of chef Jonathan Hayward, a veteran of Charlottesville’s Escafé and C&O, and Orange’s Firehouse Café, and we were delighted to learn that he is now in charge of the kitchen at Toliver House.
She: We arrived on a frosty December evening and were grateful to discover that the Victorian ambience did not include period-authentic drafts.
I studied the concise, but not minimalist, wine list, and having settled on fish for an entrée, decided to have a little fun with our attentive server. I mentioned trout and pointed to a dusky grape on the list. Without pause, she smiled warmly and said, “Oh, that’s very good. If you like reds.”
There is a special place in heaven for servers who know how to steer a wine selection without being unctuous or smarmy. I settled in with my actual choice, a crisp and breezy 2004 Barboursville Pinot Grigio (glass, $6).
He: The calamari appetizer ($7.50) promised a tinge of ginger, which proved subtle, and the accompanying scallion cream sauce was rich and smooth. The calamari were fresh, bountiful and gently fried, attaining an exquisite flavor and nearly fluffy consistency.
Alongside were yeasty rolls kept warm in a jacket of meticulously folded linen and a small plate of molded butter pats.
She: My French onion soup ($5) arrived with a nearly quarter-inch crust of oven-browned, rich gruyere atop a sea of onion-rich broth. At the bottom was French bread with enough character and strength to support, Atlas-like, all that was above.
The house salads that preceded the entrées were of a mixed green variety made more interesting by the colorful addition of roasted red peppers. All of the dressings are made on-site, and the blue cheese dressing was both splendidly light and rich with large chunks of tangy cheese.
He: The duck breast entrée ($18) was an attractive presentation of tender slices of pan-seared duck sweetened by an orange–cranberry glaze in which cranberry was the prominent note. Alongside were hand-mashed redskin potatoes and tender-crisp, emerald-green broccoli spears. Color, flavor, texture— this selection had it all.
She: My roasted Virginia trout ($16) was rather wan, and did not reflect what I’ve come to know of the chef’s flair for seafood.
But the go-withs were chunky-creamy, parmesan-infused grits and two large wheels of crisp fried green tomatoes, both so magnificently prepared that the Southern staples were elevated from the stuff of “Hee–Haw” ridicule to selections that deserve their due at the finest five-star establishment.
He: There’s a television ad that chants, “There’s always room for Jell–O.” Wrong–o. There’s always room for crème brûlée ($6), the only dessert selection made on-site. It was flourished with crisp chocolate-center wafers and a sprightly fresh mint sprig. A few thunks of the spoon melded the sugary shards of crust with the satiny interior.
We then dawdled over piping hot, freshly brewed coffee ($1.95) and its cream-topped, Bailey’s-spiked cousin ($6.75).
Last thoughts. From décor to service to cuisine, I felt spoiled rotten.
She: The coziness factor is through the 19th-century roof at Toliver House, and it’s an ideal spot for an impress-your-date tête-á-tête or for hosting business clients and out-of-town holiday house guests who otherwise might not believe such understated elegance could be had in sleepy central Virginia.
And if there’s a Santa of the South, he’ll be sliding down the chimney of Toliver House to score some of those superlative grits and fried green tomatoes. They’re at the top of my wish list.
Nancy Dearing Rossbacher and Stephen W. Sylvia publish a Civil War magazine together. She likes to cook. He likes to eat. To reach Rossbacher and Sylvia, e–mail them at editor@nstcivilwar.com.