Farewell to Jarman's Gap

I apologize to Dr. Chewbakka for failing to publish these posts until now. - Ed

For the past month or so I've been bartending and waiting tables at a restaurant right down the street from my beautiful home at the toe of the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Fine dining for fine folks, I guess. There's a smoker out back that's big enough to fit half a hog in. There are two, maybe three back rooms that are full-up with enough sutff - I don't know what the hell it is, and I'm always coming straight from work so I don't have time to poke around - that it'll take the owner a week to get it all out. Unless, of course, he subscribes to the zen theory of "leave all your shit when you move."

Oh yeah - On Monday, May 22nd Jarman's Gap Restaurant in Crozet will be no more.

I was first brought to the joint for a Sunday brunch - the greatest meal of all times - about a year or two ago by my associate The Bear. I was living in Belmont at the time, and my girl was nobly carrying me to work 5 days a week, albeit on a pretty heavy bar tab. I am unaware at the current of the transpirings of the night before the morning(ish) in question, but I am certain that every old lady in town had someone to help her across the street and that I was out very late making sure of this. Also, it may have been in season. I'm not sure.

Finally, I was convinced to leave the neighborhood to seek repast in the country. Unassumingly located in the heart of Crozet, and with only a thin white line and about 4 feet seperating parking lot from state road, my nose began trolling for pancakes. Or piles of scrambled eggs. Greasy, soul-less food that fills the need of the white man.

The duck with figs and parchment-wrapped red potatoes with gorgonzola is a dish with few peers. Probably a little too much butter and garlic on the vegetables, but they're certaily not corn in a can.