The Bread at Little Washington

There’s a story behind every loaf of homemade bread, and this one’s got a 5 star tale.

What happens when you’re planning to bake a rustic whole-wheat loaf, and you realize that you’re out of whole-wheat flour? I’m cooking a family dinner with my friend John MacPherson, chef and co-owner of the Foster Harris House bed and breakfast in Washington, Virginia. We think it might be nice to add one of my specialties - a rustic whole-wheat boule – to the menu. The only problem – there’s no whole-wheat flour in the pantry.

What to do? The town of Washington is roughly about three blocks long with just a handful of residents. The nearest grocery store is probably 20 miles away. The obvious solution? You ring up the neighbors and see if they’ll loan you a cup or two of flour. But, there really aren’t that many neighbors …

John picks up the phone, and within minutes we’re walking up Main Street toward The Inn at Little Washington. You may have heard of the Inn - a world renowned 5 star restaurant of some notoriety.

We stroll up to the back kitchen door and knock. Inside, I spot a squadron of kitchen team members, all wearing the signature Dalmatian-spotted aprons. There is a flurry of activity and someone produces a container of whole-wheat flour. Right neighborly.

We saunter back to the Foster Harris House and I begin the bread baking ritual. The boule rises beautifully. The mahogany-colored crust is crisp and the crumb is exceedingly tender.

We dine on the patio as the sun sets, and slather the warm bread with butter and honey. It is an exceptional loaf. It must be the terroir of the whole-wheat flour.

Gladys Kravitz, eat your heart out!

©2011 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

A Summer Feast, Foster Harris House-style

Blue hydrangeas embellish the table, stemware shimmers and candles flicker, casting an ethereal glow. Diane MacPherson puts a whimsical menu at each place setting and fills each wine glass with cold, crisp Sauvignon Blanc. This is the culmination of the visit to the Foster Harris House in Washington, Virginia - a singular dinner created by Chef John MacPherson, which fêtes the edible gifts of the summer season.

The menu unites the elements that inspire Chef John’s culinary muse – fruits and vegetables from the rich soil of Rappahannock County, surprising flavors, bold splashes of color and family traditions – with each plate artfully composed to entice the eyes and the appetite.

Grilled Halloumi and Roasted Beet Salad is a tangy offering of earthy red beets and salty cheese, charred on the grill.

A sunny Yellow Squash Soup takes on a touch of playful attitude, topped with a sassy swirl of parsley-mint pistou.

Cedar Plank Halibut with Lemon Tarragon Butter, Toasted Pine Nuts, Grilled Eggplant and Patty Pan Squash is Chef John’s re-imagining of “surf and turf” – glistening white fish, perched atop smoky eggplant and surrounded by neat wedges of summer squash plucked from the fields at The Farm at Sunnyside.

Mom’s Meatballs with House Made Tagliatelle is a MacPherson family classic, first created by John’s mom, Jan and served at the table growing up in Boston. The meatballs are presented on a nest of tender, fresh pasta ribbons and the rich sauce has a touch of sweetness from brown sugar balanced with just a hint of cinnamon.

The sweet finish starts with a prelude of Basil Mint Lady Grey Ice Cream a recipe created just for the dinner. Luxuriously-smooth ice cream is flavored with handfuls of fresh basil and mint, plucked from the kitchen garden at the Foster Harris House and accented with a perfumed kiss of Lady Grey tea.

Finally, individual Blackberry Frangipane Tarts with Vanilla Bean Cheesecake Ice Cream feature flaky puff pastry studded with plump, inky blackberries and glistening wineberries discovered at The Farm at Sunnyside.

We savor the sweet elegance of the tart and Diane and John join us at the table. The wine flows and we talk well into the night. We finish with a nightcap of Wasmund’s Rye Spirit, hand-crafted at the local distillery down the road – a fitting conclusion to a celebration of good company, edible Virginia and Chef John’s culinary gifts.

I visited the food and wine country of Virginia July 23 – 27, 2009.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Flavor, Labor and Neighbors at The Farm at Sunnyside

Breakfast has concluded at the Foster Harris House, and John MacPherson sheds his chef whites in favor of a green tee-shirt, shorts and baseball cap. We hop in the truck and head out into the rolling hills of Rappahannock County. Chef John is putting together a special dinner and he is in search of local ingredients.

We drive several miles and finally arrive at The Farm at Sunnyside, a source for much of the produce prepared at the Foster Harris House. The farm was established in the late 1700s with an apple orchard and some cattle. In 2006, Nick and Gardiner Lapham took ownership. The CSA program has 65 members and has been in operation for two years.

We park the truck and enter a wooden structure. I am introduced to Casey Gustowarow, a young bearded man in a red tee-shirt and one of four interns working on vegetable production at Sunnyside. Casey is the CSA manager. Immediately, my eye is drawn to bins of vibrantly-colored vegetables in shades I don’t always see. There is rainbow Swiss chard, eggplant the color of indigo, blush-pink potatoes, purple bell peppers and sun-drenched gold tomatoes.

Chef John is like a kid in a candy store as he looks over the selection. I’m getting a sense of the chef’s creative process. He has no shopping list, but as he examines the produce and the range of colors and textures, his plan for the dinner begins to take shape.

As John looks over the produce, I chat with Casey. He graduated college with a degree in biology, joined the Peace Corps and did conservation work, but found himself drawn to sustainable agriculture and a desire to provide sustainable food for others. He says community sponsored agriculture brings people together around food.

“I like the CSA a lot because everyone comes to the farm, rather than dropping off a box somewhere,” he tells me. “I really like that people get a community feeling – you know, come here, and talk to their neighbors and exchange recipes.”

It turns out Casey knows a lot about the subject of local food and has been a proponent at the highest level of government. He says interest in sustainable agriculture is increasing and change is possible.

“I went around on a crazy bus tour to get the White House to put a garden in,” he tells me. “Around the country, everywhere I went on this tour, people were incredibly interested in the local food movement and changing the way we eat in this country. And luckily, the President, or the First Lady, decided to do something about it, so I’m glad that’s the case.”

As we chat, Casey will periodically stop to talk with CSA members. He takes a minute to extol the virtues of the Cherokee Purple Tomato, a chunky fruit with deep-colored flesh.

“This one says, I am a tomato!” he tells a member.

Chef John takes note. “There is a tomato salad in our future,” he tells me.

Casey will often make recipes available for members. “I try to put out recipes – and every once in a while I’ll cook something and have a sampling,” he says. I ask him if the farmer is ultimately focused on the plant, or the taste that people experience.

“I think a lot of small scale farmers really care about delivering a good product to their customers,” Casey replies. “For me, I certainly think about what I would want to grow is what I would want to eat and how I’m going to prepare it.”

I’m admiring the perfect potatoes and notice that Chef John and Casey are deep in consultation. Casey disappears and returns shortly with a cardboard basket of tiny, jewel-like red berries. They are wineberries – a relative of the raspberry – and they grow in thorny bramble bushes all over the countryside.

Chef John considers their potential for the menu that’s been percolating in his head. The wineberries may find their way into a dessert. He drops a tiny berry into his mouth and offers me a taste.

“They’re like little pockets of summer,” says John “They’re like sweet-tart caviar the way they pop in your mouth.”

We return to the truck and bounce along a meandering road out into the vegetable fields. Shortly, we spot a woman on her knees tucking bright shocks of lettuce into a long plastic white strip. The midday sun is hot, and the attentive Virginia gnats are swarming. John introduces me to Emily Cook, who manages vegetable production at Sunnyside.

“I’m transplanting lettuce which we do every week,” explains Emily. This season, they have planted 30-35 generations at Sunnyside. The white plastic strip is used for week control. She tells me that varieties such as New Red Fire, Tropicana and Jericho do really well in the summer.

Emily has a Master’s degree in horticulture from Penn State. She started farming in 1997, shortly after completing her undergraduate degree.

“I went back to DC where I grew up and started looking for a real job in the non-profit world,” she says. “I couldn’t find one. My mom sent me out to get some cucumbers one day and mentioned there was a little farm stand in town. It was the first farmer’s market I had ever been to. I just stood there and thought, My God, I’ve never seen half of this stuff. What is kale?”

Shortly after, she started working at the farm stand, and then worked on several farms before completing her graduate work. She tells me that organic farming is not without perils. Right now the staff at Sunnyside is desperately trying to keep the tomato crop healthy, as a late blight attacks tomato plants throughout the mid-Atlantic region.

I ask her what people take away from their experiences at the Farm at Sunnyside.

“I model our CSA as a CSA that I would like,” Emily says. “I think they get huge diversity. We try to give them more choice than a lot of people get at a CSA. They’re getting the freshest produce that anyone could possibly get. And, hopefully learning a little bit and making friends with people who are interested in food.”

She says that CSA members become much more conscious of the effort required to grow wholesome, nutritious food.

“People are thinking about everything that’s going into producing their food, which I think is really important,” says Emily, mopping perspiration from her brow. “It just makes people more aware of how hard it is – like all the little steps that go into this head of lettuce. It started in the greenhouse a month ago, and somebody had to mix the soil and fill the flats and then seed, water for a month and fertilize. Now, somebody’s on their hands and knees out here putting it into the ground.”

Along with gorgeous varieties of summer lettuce, the best of zucchini – tended with care – is now available at farmers markets and CSAs. At The Farm at Sunnyside, Casey Gustowarow recommends a recipe that adds a dash of spice and heat to all that summer goodness:

Puree of Zucchini

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/3 cups finely chopped onion
3 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
¼ tsp ground tumeric
4 medium zucchini (about 2 ¾ pounds) peeled and cut into ¼ inch dice
1 tsp salt
1 tsp ground cumin
1/8 tsp cayenne
Freshly ground black pepper
1 ½ tsp tomato paste

Put the olive oil in a medium frying pan and heat to medium-high. When hot, sauté onion and garlic for 10 – 12 minutes until onion is soft. If necessary, reduce heat to avoid browning. Add tumeric and stir once. Remove a third of the onion-garlic mixture and set aside. Add the zucchini and salt to the frying pan and return the heat to medium-high. Stir and cook for 1-2 minutes or until the zucchini begins to release a little liquid. Cover, turn heat to low and cook for 10 minutes, until zucchini is soft. Uncover, add the cumin, cayenne, black pepper to taste and tomato paste. Mash zucchini with a potato masher in the frying pan, allowing it to cook gently as you do. Keep cooking and mashing for a minute or two, until you have a course, well-mixed puree. Add the reserved onions and mix well. Serve hot, warm, at room temperature or chilled.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The Chef’s Canvas

A succession of rectangular plates is arranged on the counter in the kitchen of the Foster Harris House, like a gleaming mosaic of perfect white tiles.

Chef John MacPherson steps back and silently considers the potential of the pristine, blank canvas for just a moment. Then - quickly and precisely - he sets to work.

I have been given a backstage pass. Welcomed beyond the kitchen door of the Foster Harris House, I sit at the work island – with a steaming cup of coffee in hand – watching Chef John MacPherson in action. Few guests get this behind-the-scenes glimpse. It’s like entering the artist’s studio. This is where glorious breakfasts begin.

Chef John applies technique, artistry and imagination, and I watch – riveted – as a dazzling tableau takes shape. Every step is deliberate. Colors, textures, aromas, flavors and dimension all work in concert to shape the total creation. Flaky puff pastry elevates the dish. A curl of hickory-smoked bacon catches the eye. A brilliant fresh salsa of red tomato and green avocado is scented with tart lime juice and cilantro. Luminescent poached eggs are meticulously trimmed. Deep red pepper, finely-diced is scattered across the plate, with a flourish of chipotle cream.

The finished entrée is indeed a masterpiece. One’s first inclination is simply to gaze, and take in the spectacle, but then, the appetite is inspired.

Art is to be admired and appreciated, but is food ever too beautiful to eat? At the Foster Harris House – never!

I visited the food and wine country of Virginia July 23 – 27, 2009.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Do I Dare to Eat a Virginia Peach?

No sooner have I entered the Foster Harris House in Washington, Virginia when I spot it – a deep straw basket delivered by a neighbor, piled high with luscious round orbs, streaked with pink, blush and gold.

It has been just a few hours since I’ve departed the Big Apple, and I am confronted with a mountain of giant peaches. The Southern air is a touch sultry and the peaches simply glow with enticement.

Diane MacPherson invites me into the kitchen, and she brings along the basket. I perch myself on a stool. There are lots of things to catch up on after almost a year’s absence. Chef John MacPherson offers me a glass of wine. Diane slices one of the tempting peaches.

If it is true that one can actually taste the anticipation of a pending holiday, the flavors of the adventures that lie ahead are surely locked in these succulent peaches. The fruit is impossibly bright, ripe and laden with juice. The nectar sweetens my lips and clings to my fingers. All past peaches seem dry, woody and withered by comparison.

We talk for hours about food, wine and plans for the future. Time seems to pass differently in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. And, the taste of these decadent peaches is like an infusion of sunshine.

John scoops servings of his homemade vanilla ice cream and surrounds the velvety rich concoction with more sliced peaches. Does anyone want a shaving of chocolate on top?

Heck, yes!

The cold, silky dessert and the peaches rejuvenate, signaling an awakening of all the senses neglected by just a tad too much responsibility.

It is good to be back at the Foster Harris House.

I visited the food and wine country of Virginia July 23 – 27, 2009.

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

A “Foster Harris House Cookbook” Giveaway – Recipes, a Memoir and a Visual Feast

Every cookbook tells a story. Rarely is a collection of recipes simply an instruction manual. The life experiences, family connections and personal passions of the creator flavor every ingredient, measurement, technique and photo. In total, a cookbook is a very personal bequest – a delicious meal wrapped in memories and seasoned with a collection of unforgettable experiences.

The debut of the Foster Harris House Cookbook is a significant chapter in the culinary journey of John and Diane MacPherson, owners of the Foster Harris House bed & breakfast in Washington, Virginia.

“It’s somewhat of an unexpected chapter,” says John. “I don’t think we had it in our plans to write a cookbook.” But, over time, the compilation of the volume, which includes more than 80 recipes and 130 full-color photographs, came to reflect, not only the extraordinary food served at the Foster Harris House, but the personal story of John and Diane.

“When we were putting it together, we didn’t plan on it being a memoir, but it just kind of evolved into that,” John explains. “We felt that for someone to pick this up and look at it, we really wanted them to have a sense of the place and a sense of the people. So the recipes came first, and then we added the story about the inn, and the story about us, and the story about our guests.”

The MacPhersons left their jobs in September 2004 and purchased the Foster Harris House, located in the heart of Virginia food and wine country. They quickly established a reputation for imaginative breakfasts and warm hospitality.

“In the end, the cookbook really kind of encapsulated our whole life and our journey to get here, and also what it feels like to be here at the Foster Harris House,” says John.

Guests would frequently request recipes and initially the MacPhersons thought the cookbook would be a simple spiral-bound paperback. But then, John Spaulding – a professional photographer and visitor to the Foster Harris House – offered to photograph the recipes. The photos truly capture the artistry of the food served at the Foster Harris House. When Spaulding got involved, John MacPherson says the vision for the cookbook changed.

“The first night we sat down and looked at the day’s pictures, we realized it had to be more than a spiral-bound paperback book.”

From recipes scribbled on yellow-lined paper and stuffed in a three-ring binder, emerged a handsome coffee table edition featuring John’s signature breakfast entrees as well as recipes for soups, salads, dinner entrees and desserts.

With each page, the reader is treated to personal anecdotes (John’s mother Jan influenced his love of cooking), favorite family dining experiences and glimpses of the morning rituals at the Foster Harris House. Diane served as editor and taught herself computer design to assemble the book. She also asked visitors to contribute their favorite food memories. The book represents the collective experiences of the MacPhersons and the many guests who visit the Foster Harris House. “We live this place, and this is what we do,” says John, “So, I guess we were really fortunate that it was able to be transposed onto the page.”

The photos and text convey a critical element of John’s culinary philosophy – that breakfast “be a feast for the eyes, as well as the stomach.” Indeed, the visual experience is a key dimension of the gastronomic pleasures found at the Foster Harris House.

“When it comes to the food, it’s just really important to convey a level of anticipation,” John explains. “When that plate comes and it’s set in front of someone, it needs to look a certain way. It needs to look incredibly appetizing, and it needs to have dimension to it. A few ingredients on a beautiful plate, placed-well, can convey so much about the person that’s cooking it, the place that they’re eating it, and what they should expect when they first put a fork into it.”

John says the cookbook allows guests to recall memories of visiting the Foster Harris House in a very tangible way. “I want them to remember their stay here and remember it fondly. They get to experience the meal here and the place and then take this book home, and are able to replicate these dishes at home and share them with people. They just get to relive the experience a little bit more.”

The tempting aroma of baked goods is one memory all guests recall as it signals the start of breakfast at the Foster Harris House each morning. As you take a seat at the table, Diane places a towering basket of scones in front of you, creating that kind of anticipation for the meal that John describes. Here is John’s recipe for Ginger Scones. John says: “No one is able to resist these light, buttery scones. The key to great scones is keeping everything cold. I put the cutting board, mixing bowls and pastry blender in the fridge before I start. After cutting the butter into the dry ingredients, put the bowl back into the fridge for a few minutes.”

Ginger Scones

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons very cold unsalted butter
¾ cup chopped candied ginger
1 egg, lightly beaten
½ cup heavy cream, plus more for brushing
Raw sugar for dusting

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Place ungreased baking sheet in freezer. Place flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a cold, large mixing bowl and whisk to combine. Cut in the butter with a pastry blender until pea-sized pieces are left. Stir in ginger. Set aside in the fridge.

Whisk together egg and cream. Pour egg mixture into dry ingredients and mix just until incorporated. Knead a few times in the bowl to bring the dough together. Turn the dough out onto a cold, floured surface and form into a flat disc about 3/4-inch thick. Cut out 2-inch rounds with a biscuit cutter and place on a cold, ungreased baking sheet 1 ½ inches apart. Brush tops with cream and dust with raw sugar. Bake for 10-12 minutes until just golden brown. Makes 12-18 scones.

Cookbook Giveaway Details: If you leave a comment on this post between now and 11:00 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time on April 15 and mention your favorite breakfast dish, you are eligible for a random drawing. The winner will receive a copy of the beautiful Foster Harris House Cookbook sent directly to their home.

(Photography of John MacPherson and Ginger Scones by John Spaulding)

©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Pot Luck Night at the Foster Harris House

How does one define the word guest?

It is Thursday night at the Foster Harris House in Little Washington, Virginia. Technically, the inn is “closed” for the evening, but I’ve booked an extended stay, and fortunately the MacPhersons have not yet kicked me out.

John and Diane have graciously invited me to join them and several friends for a night of food and wine. It promise to be a taste of what daily life is like in this “fertile crescent” region of Virginia that includes farms, vineyards, dairies and a world-famous restaurant.

I knock on the door at the end of the dining room marked “private” and John MacPherson welcomes me into the kitchen. He has shed his chef’s uniform, worn each morning, and is instead wearing a party shirt covered by a kitchen apron. An assortment of ripe red tomatoes and bunches of green basil have been placed on the counter.

The plan is that I will serve as “sous chef” for the meal. I am both intrigued and nervous. I welcome the opportunity to observe John – a highly intuitive chef – in action. I tend to be a “by-the-book” follower of the recipe and I’ve been trying to loosen up my approach to cooking and go with my instincts. So, I’m anxious to see how John operates. Yet, there is nothing so humbling as teaming up with “a natural” in the kitchen. Your bad habits tend to get exposed very quickly. But while there are culinary tasks at hand, it is also a special treat. I do a lot of traveling, and to have an invitation to dinner from the innkeepers is quite rare. John hands me a Foster Harris House apron and sets me up with a chopping station.

“Here’s what I had in mind,” he explains. The menu will be summer at its most glorious – seared duck breasts with a reduction of champagne and white and yellow peaches, vine-ripe tomatoes stuffed with fresh Italian burrata cheese and breadcrumbs and drizzled with basil vinaigrette, and roasted fingerling potatoes. The peaches and herbs are from the Foster Harris House kitchen garden and the tomatoes are from the nearby organic farm. John explains that he usually prepares the duck with a cherry sauce, but the peaches are abundant, so he thought we’d try something different.

I gulp. Already we’re improvising and we haven’t started to cook. “Where’s the recipe??” screams my inner control freak. But, then, John pours me a glass of cold Riesling, and my imagined stress starts to dissipate.

I tackle the tomato assignment and begin carving the tops off and hollowing them out. With the tomatoes prepped, I move on to the basil vinaigrette. John gives me instructions – some oil, some vinegar, and heaps of basil from the garden. Maybe some lemon juice to make it bright. He pulls seven small white ceramic pitchers from the cabinet. I need to make enough so each guest has some to pour over their baked tomato.

Okay. No measurements. Just ingredients. I can handle this. I rev up the blender and get to work, creating an emulsion with the oil and vinegar and dropping handfuls of basil into the device. In my mind, I’m trying to remember the formula for perfectly balanced vinaigrette, and I have no idea how much basil I will need.

At this point, Bill and Joanne arrive, friends of the MacPhersons who were their first guests for the Tour D’Epicure, their series of Virginia cycling adventures. Bill is watching me fanatically work the blender. “Are you going to pulverize everything in this kitchen?” he asks only somewhat facetiously. Sherri and Kevin arrive. They are the innkeepers at the Hopkins Ordinary in nearby Sperryville, Virginia. Sherri brings a homemade ice cream pie made with goat’s milk, and Kevin offers fresh goat cheese he made himself. Sherri and Kevin had worked in the not-for-profit world before opening the Hopkins Ordinary. I talk cheese with Kevin as I continue to work the blender, although the whir is slightly distracting. Finally, I have enough vinaigrette to fill the mini-pitchers. It is a vibrant emerald green color and tastes pretty snappy. Don’t ask for the recipe. I don’t remember it.

John prepares the duck breasts. At this point, it is occurring to me that this is kind of a weekly ritual at the Foster Harris House. Duck on a Thursday night? Don’t you want to just move in? I chop the peaches, even though removing pits from stone fruit is not my strongest skill. Nobody seems to mind and it all simmers into a luscious, golden puree.

John and Kevin are about to plate the meal and he sends me to the garden to pick a handful of lemon thyme. It all smells the same to me, and for one comical moment, I am crouched in the garden with my nose in the herbs trying to pick out the lemon scent.

The gentlemen work as a team, and within seconds the white plates are perfectly adorned. I grab two plates and John stops me. “Take off your apron,” he says. “It’s time to relax.”

We dine on the patio as the sun goes down, in the shadow of an ancient magnolia tree. Everyone raises their glass in a toast to the chefs. There are several excellent bottles of wine on the table, and the food tastes so satisfying because it is truly a community meal in which we’ve all played a part, from the ingredients, to the preparation, to the conversation.

As we are clearing the dishes, Diane says suddenly, “I forgot to turn down your bed!” Morning coffee and the precision turn down service in the evening are all part of the complete experience at the Foster Harris House.

“What? Does that mean no chocolate on my pillow tonight?” I ask.

Diane gives me a hug as I exit the kitchen. “Tomorrow will be 83 degrees and sunny,” she says. “The chocolates are in the drawer at the top of the landing.”

At this point, I realize I have transcended what it means to be a guest at the Foster Harris House and am now an honorary member of the household and their extended epicurean community.

Recently I traveled through the Virginia countryside, discovering the local food, history and hospitality of what is called “the birthplace of the nation.” Pot Luck Night at the Foster Harris House took place on Thursday, August 21, 2008.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The Hand of Friendship, the Art of Breakfast

A framed, counted cross-stitch sampler hangs in the foyer of the Foster Harris House. It depicts a whimsical country cottage with the words, “Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man.”

The sampler is partially hidden by a large hat tree, but if you manage to spot it, it tells you a great deal about the owners of this bed and breakfast by the side of the road in Little Washington, Virginia.

The first time I stayed at the Foster Harris House I had a feeling of déjà vu, as if I’d met innkeepers Diane and John MacPherson before. Perhaps it’s their natural warmth and generosity that embraces you from the moment you enter the inn, creating the feeling that you’ve known them forever.

Diane and John are my heroes. Several years ago, they quit their day jobs in California and now live, work and cook in a town of 186 people where exquisite food is the lifeblood of the community – from a renowned five-star restaurant just a block away, to local vineyards and surrounding organic farms.

Diane orchestrates ambiance and amenities. Each room at the Foster Harris House is elegantly furnished yet supremely comfortable. John is the chef who sees artistry in simple ingredients like eggs and bacon.

Diane greets me with a smile and a hug upon my arrival. Within minutes, she presents a glass of chilled Pouilly Fuisse on a silver tray. I unwind on the deck reviewing hiking options for the days ahead. Shortly, John is at the side door and we are chatting about my career journey and his efforts to preserve the abundance of yellow heirloom tomatoes available at the nearby organic farm where they have a share. No sooner is it mentioned, when he offers me a creamy, golden tomato soup with a smoky adobo base and garnished with a perfectly pert basil leaf from the kitchen garden. John then offers bowls to two other guests. The soup is delectable after a long day of travel and practically glistens in the late afternoon sun.

Virginia has been blessed with a series of perfect days, and breakfast is set on the deck beneath a large, green market umbrella. While John works in the kitchen, Diane serves the four-course menu to guests. Each meal opens with an elegant parfait of fresh fruit with vanilla custard yogurt and granola, and there is always a basket of warm scones direct from the oven:

The main entrées are towering, imaginative designs of flavor and texture. Ingredients are impossibly fresh and bursting with color. Can one possibly select a favorite among such creations?

Each morning is better than the day before. New guests whisper to me, “Have you gotten this kind of breakfast everyday?” They can’t quite believe that such exquisite works have been prepared especially for them. When they think they can’t eat another bite, Diane takes special pleasure in announcing a “sweet finish,” perhaps a Lemon Liebchen with Blueberry Coulis, a miniature stack of pancakes sprinkled with slivers of luscious chocolate, a Cream of Wheat brulee or a Strawberry Cheesecake Crepe:

On the night before my departure – over an excellent glass of Bordeaux-style wine – I question John about the sense of place the MacPhersons have created in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. His answers reflect a genuine delight in the guests who visit their establishment and the ability to connect with them for a brief moment in time.

“You get to see them in a place where they are happy and come to celebrate something,” John reflects. “They leave, and they are appreciative and satisfied. It’s a job well done.”

On my final morning, I am reluctantly preparing to return home. I am sitting in the kitchen, as John checks a couple out. I am just within earshot and can hear their conversation.

“Just one night, and we feel restored,” the woman says gratefully.

John responds with an ebullient and spontaneous, “Fantastic!”

The woman will likely pass the counted-cross stitch sampler in the foyer as she departs, but whether she notices it or not doesn’t really matter. Intuitively she knows that the art of friendship is more than just a clever saying, but a way of life at the Foster Harris House.

Recently I traveled through the Virginia countryside, discovering the local food, history and hospitality of what is called “the birthplace of the nation.” I visited the Foster Harris House in Little Washington, Virginia August 18 through 25, 2008.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

The Foster Harris House

Saturday, January 20 -- Near the edge of the tiny town of Washington, Virginia, in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, sits the Foster Harris House, a handsome yellow-and-green bed and breakfast that is as vibrant as a sunflower in full bloom.

As a young surveyor, a 17-year-old George Washington plotted the town of Washington in the year 1749. Today, there are less than 200 residents in this historic village.

I awake in a plush bed at the Foster Harris House after nine hours of deep sleep, something unheard of for me. The aroma of eggs and sausage caress my nostrils from the kitchen below.

Proprietors Diane and John MacPherson offer a gracious haven that delights the senses. The MacPhersons abandoned the corporate grind in California several years ago for life as innkeepers in the rural Virginia countryside. They are ever-present with welcoming smiles, a complimentary glass of wine and advice on local sights. John even loans me a new sport jacket to wear at dinner, since my packing on this trip has left something to be desired.

The rooms in this Victorian home, circa 1900, are bright and cheerful. Mine has a view of the rolling countryside behind the inn. Linens feel incredibly soft and the smoky sounds of Diana Krall and Nat King Cole fill the dining room where breakfast is served at a rustic tavern table. The MacPhersons have followed their dream and it is delicious.

John prepares a four-course breakfast that is nothing short of a work of art. He is a self-taught chef, and tells us that he is from a family that loves to cook and eat. We are served fresh mango, kiwi and blackberries with vanilla custard yogurt and granola, a perfect golden omelet of spinach, mushroom and goat cheese with tarragon potato “roshi” and apple chicken sausage, and lemon “Liebchen, ” a type of German pancake, with blackberry maple butter sauce, sprinkled with mint chopped extremely fine. It is a morning feast. The ingredients are garden-fresh and burst with an harmonious symphony of colors and flavors. The MacPhersons’ passion for good food and the country life infuses every detail of the Foster Harris House.

After the long and leisurely breakfast, I drive along the Skyline Drive deep into Shenandoah National Park. It is colder at the higher elevation, and I encounter no more than a dozen tourists during the entire drive through the park. The car thermometer reads 23 degrees, and the frigid wind buffets the rental car. I spot several deer foraging for food. I hike to the top of the Stony Man peak where a lone blackbird glides the stiff wind currents and ice fills the crevices between ancient gray boulders.

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