West Chester Dish

We had nowhere to stay when we crossed the Floyd city limits around 7:30 pm Saturday evening. In search of accommodations we did what anyone else would do. We went to the local Dollar General. The yellow pages had exactly three options under the heading œLodging. The first listing was a motel/senior assisted living center. It was also the only place within walking distance of local food and nightlife. I used the store telephone to see if they had availability. The woman on the other end said she would need to check on it and call me back. My cell phone had spotty service, so she said she said she would reach me at the Dollar General.

I killed some time and used the restroom. The staff lent the employee only keys to me so that I could use the facility. I then proceeded to lock them in the restroom. After many apologies I shopped for over-oversized sunglasses with my friend. We each found an amazingly huge pair. Soon enough a call came and the employees at the store yelled, œIt’s for you, which got some puzzled looks from other customers. The lodge had vacancy and we had an official a room at Oak Haven Lodge/Senior Assisted Living.

After getting settled into our quaint room at the lodge, a skittle told us to check out a local place called Odd Fellas for live entertainment and good eats. Here is what we discovered.

Floyd is an amazing mix of down-home mountain folk and organically grown middle-aged hippies. The two subcultures blend to create a town where one can find homestyle or gourmet cooking as well as trendy coffee shops or local blue-collar bars.

The Odd Fellas owner, Rob, was an actor from California. He purchased the place five years ago and moved to this one stop-light town in Southwestern VA with his family.

I asked for the recipe for the root vegetable soup that rocked my world. I also had an organic salad with free-range chicken. The feta garlic dressing was homemade and super yum. My friend got a chimichanga that œcould feed a family of four. She did alright packing away the deep fried goodness filled with rice, chicken, cheese, black beans and topped with Pico de Gallo sauce. I’m not sure which was yummier, the food or the guy jamming on the bass.

After dinner we headed toward the local general store for the Friday night jamboree. Two words. Culture. Shock. Or maybe I should say ¦Over, and Alls. Or maybe¦ Crazy. Mountain. Folk. Wait, that’s three words.

At first we tried to blend in to the crowd of tap-shoe-stomping cowboys, couples and sweating, middle-aged men. Then we realized there was no way to pretend to be one of them. We soon became the most popular girls in the room. The sweating men invited us onto the dance floor and showed us how to dance like a local. I did my best to stomp and kick like the skinny awkward cowboy who kept bumping into my friend. A man I met at the dollar store swung me around to the beat of the mountain music.

Though we had many potential suitors, my heart belonged to a local three-year-old named Andrew who only liked to dance œto the fast music. Words cannot truly capture the experience (But I have a home video that can).

We were a little intimidated by the prospect of drinking in a strange town, but it was a Friday night so we decided to hit up a local bar. As the jamboree ended we had our choice of three drinking holes. 1- Whiskers, a smoky place across the street. 2- The beer-filled cooler in my trunk at the lodge. 3- Ray’s.

We chose Ray’s. We parked my Subaru next to the gun-rack laden pick-up trucks parked out front. We sat at the bar and it wasn’t long before several local guys struck up conversations and drinks began appearing in front of us. I tasted a local favorite brew called a Red Eye. This was a draft mug of Budweiser that was topped off with a hearty pour of tomato juice as it finished filling from the tap. I was pleasantly surprised.

Our bartender Leanna consulted us on who to we should steer clear of or continue talking to. We met Randy, a local baker who I hoped to visit the next day. Jim, who had an amazing amount of data storage in his cell phone to show me rolls of pictures of his home projects (before and afters), horses, goats and his dog and cat. Patrick failed to notice my friend’s wedding ring and left his number on a bill for her. Dean bought us beers. Doug was a local teacher and had a wicked John Deere hat on. Then, there was the local girl who œgets crazy when she has a few drinks in her. And our personal favorite was Vic, a hot cop who was in town hunting for the weekend. I’m not sure if it was the mustache or his camo pants that made him irresistible, but he had our attention all night. That’s all I’ll say.

Local eats, check. Local culture, check. Local drinks, check, check, check, check, check, check. Almost forgot¦ check, check.

Quote of the night: Sitting in the car outside of Ray’s after our introduction to the locals at the jamboree. œOkay, we’ll go in for one drink. That’s it. And we aren’t talking to anybody.