The stroll on the River Walk in Augusta teased me. Too beautiful to describe in a paragraph short enough to keep you interested. I held my open map and followed the anticipated bliss of brick buildings, cobble stoned streets, colorful walls, vines, huge windows... and charming locals. Was it happy hour already? I felt happy and my watch held true to an hour. Good enough.
Now things became eerie. I did not encounter one other casually perusing person as I walked Broad St. Yes, there were construction workers. Plenty. Busily getting tasks done. Yes, there were vendors in some shops behind counters. Yes, there were waitresses and servers busily prepping their restaurants. Empty tables. Empty chairs. I had researched my places, I had reservations for the coming two nights, but had left lunch empty hoping to choose amidst a colossal confusion of possibilities. The joke was on me. The talking traffic light posts were odd enough for me...now this sense of abandonment. Could they be filming a movie? Had I casually strutted into a scene? A lot of deserted, vacant buildings, foreclosed stores crawling under this really beautiful architecture. Dreams of a decadent time passed. A dream deferred. This place was once some kind of wonderful.
Then there it was: Whiskey Bar Kitchen. A man at the bar. A couple enjoying a bottle of white wine. Crowded enough. Is lunch time too early to have some drinks? Never while on vacation. Never when exploring. A really friendly server greeted me. I asked about the loneliness. She told me a story of old money and a mosquito plague, about hoarding family treasures gone rotten, about barely letting go lately when perhaps it is too late. I thought of Jay Gatsby.
I ordered a "Broad Street Sour" (since this scrumptious discovery, one of my favorite drinks) and I lost myself in so much wood. What a neat little place! I just loved the gilded ceilings, the carefully built wooden booths, the brick walls, the barrels, the exposed concrete. I did not know how lucky I had being when I walked in. About ten minutes later, the place had a waiting line of usuals. My drink arrived and I was mesmerized by the layering of colorful libations. Sophistication liquefied and to be held. Truly an amazing combination.
We ordered a Banyard Pimp Nuggs and a Tokyo Beef Bowl (against my instincts which sounded exactly like the traffic light post "wait! Wait! WAIT!") What is a seemingly Japanese dish doing in this dive? It should not have remained a rhetorical question lingering in my conscience, but rather a sarcastic warning coming from the depths of my sardonic self. No. Not to be done or had. Bland skinny steak overly "onionized" with very little liquid to rescue it. I comforted my disappointment with another "Broad Street Sour" to make sure that the bartender was consistent and that my first drink had not materialized out of beginner's luck.
The nuggets were delicious. Huge squares of white. Very moist and well-seasoned. Certainly comfort food. How could I go to a whiskey bar and not order a whiskey? Since already one Japanese had disheartened me, I dared to venture once more. Japanese whiskey. Hibiki 12 years. A blend of Hakushu and Nikka. A smell f oranges and cinnamon. Oaky. Very nice. Tried it neat and straight and... on the rocks. A tiny rock, but still. I grabbed my map. Penciled in "must return." read more